19. Aurora
AURORA
My breath catches as I settle over him, heat blooming low in my stomach when the hard length of him presses between my thighs.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, even as my hands slide up over his shoulders to steady myself.
He squeezes his eyes shut and drags a hand through his wet hair. “Fuck if I know,” he grits out. “You drive me insane, Prescott. I keep telling myself I’m not touching you again and then—” he looks up at me, the muscle in his jaw jumping, “—you breathe near me and I lose my goddamn mind.”
Something hot tightens low in my stomach at that, and it’s deeply, deeply annoying how pleased I am by it. I should shove him away. I should remind him he was the one who said he was done with me. I should tell him I don’t want to do this again.
But his hands settle on my hips, tightening his grip on me, and the heat that shoots through me derails every reasonable thought.
“This is such a bad idea,” I mutter.
A rough sound leaves him, sending a shiver down my spine. “You think I don’t know that?” His hands clamp down harder, pulling my hips in. “You think I don’t know exactly how fucked this is?”
The rain keeps pounding against the roof of the car, and I glance toward the building. We’re parked right outside my apartment. Anyone could walk by and see us. This is a terrible idea. For so many reasons.
But right now, I can’t seem to care.
One of his hands slides down, cupping my ass through my jeans.
He lets out a low groan and his breath fans across the hollow of my throat.
My eyes flutter closed when he presses his lips to it, my fingers sliding into his hair.
I quickly snap my eyes open and tug him off, glancing down at his confused look.
“No kissing,” I remind him. If I’m going to do this with him, I need to remind myself exactly what this is. Kissing makes things confusing, too intimate.
His eyes flick up, one brow raised. “I’m nowhere near your lips.”
“It still counts.”
“Yeah?” His voice lowers and his lips curl into a smirk. “Does that mean I can’t kiss your pussy, either?”
My thighs tighten instinctively around him, and he feels it. I know he does, because the corner of his mouth lifts the tiniest bit.
“I’ll allow it,” I say, as coolly as I can manage.
He huffs out a laugh. “So generous.”
He reaches between us and pops the button on my jeans, sliding the zipper down before pushing the denim over my hips, inch by inch, revealing skin that feels too exposed under his gaze.
His eyes drop to the wrapped tattoo on my thigh, and he traces the edge of it with his fingertip, so light it makes my stomach dip. “Careful with this leg,” he murmurs. “It’s fresh.”
The brief softness disappears as quickly as it appears because a second later, he grabs the hem of his shirt and rips it over his head, tossing it aside. The sight of him bare and inked, with his muscles flexing under dim light makes my core throb.
God, he’s so stupidly, unfairly hot.
I want to slap him and climb him like a damn tree at the same time.
He drags his seat back and pulls me with him, settling me over his thighs.
A car door slams somewhere outside and I gasp, twisting toward the fogged-up window, my heart pounding. “Someone could walk out and see—”
He doesn’t even let me finish before his hand slides between my thighs and presses right over my panties, knocking the rest of my thought straight out of my mind as a whine leaves my lips.
“You’re worried about someone seeing us,” he murmurs, rubbing my clit over the damp fabric. “But your pussy says you want exactly that.”
I open my mouth to deny that, to tell him someone finding us is the last thing I want, but he presses harder, rubbing me through the soaked cotton and my words melt in my mouth, my hips tilting into his hand.
“Thought so,” he says with a low chuckle, his thumb dragging over the wet spot. “Fuck, you’re dripping through these.”
Before I can catch my breath, he hooks two fingers under the waistband and tugs my panties down, tossing them over his gear stick. The sight alone makes my pussy clench, needing him to put his hands back on me.
It’s like he reads my mind because as soon as they’re off, his fingers slide through my slick pussy, and I let out an embarrassing moan, my body practically vibrating with need. Because, God, he remembers exactly how to touch me, and my body reacts like it’s been waiting for him.
My breath catches when his middle finger settles at my entrance, teasing just long enough to make my pulse stutter before he pushes inside. I can feel how wet I am by how easily he sinks in, how his knuckles brush my lips before he even meets resistance.
I let out a helpless moan, my thighs shaking slightly as he thrusts his finger into me.
He leans back just enough to watch his finger disappearing into me. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, and the praise makes my nails dig into his shoulders.
God, I hate how intensely my body wants him. Hate that just one of his thick fingers has pleasure coiling tight and low in my stomach, ready to snap with barely any effort. Hate that he knows exactly what my body needs.
He pulls his finger out and my eyes fly open when I feel it press along my lips, rubbing it along my bottom lip.
“Open.”
Heat floods my body. Who the hell does he think he is? I’d be crazy to let him do this, and yet, my mouth is already opening for him before I can decide whether I want to or not.
He pushes his finger into my mouth, and the taste of myself hits my tongue. His pupils darken as I wrap my lips around his knuckle, hollowing my cheeks as I drag my tongue along the length of his finger. His eyelids lower, the muscle in his jaw twitching like he’s trying not to groan.
He slips his finger free with a soft, wet pop, and a shiver tears right through me as he unbuckles his jeans with one hand, reaching for a condom from the glove box with the other, and tearing it with his teeth.
He shoves his jeans down to free his cock and rolls the condom on before he fists himself, giving it a slow tug.
I lift my hips, brace my thighs on the seat, and wrap my hand around the base of his cock. He groans when I drag him through my wet pussy, his piercing teasing my clit just right.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Stop teasing and put my cock in you.”
I pin my bottom lip between my teeth and shift onto my knees, lowering myself slowly onto him… but he doesn’t wait.
His hands snap to my hips and he thrusts up into me in one brutal thrust, pulling a rough sound out of both of us. My head drops forward, my forehead brushing his shoulder as the thick stretch of him punches every ounce of air from my lungs.
He groans into my neck, his fingers digging into my ass as he holds me there at the base, impossibly deep. “Jesus, Prescott,” he grits out. “I forgot how—fuck—how good—”
I slowly grind my hips, rolling up and forward so the piercing drags along the exact place inside me that makes my breath hitch. My head tips back, a low, needy moan slipping out before I can stop it.
How does he feel this good? Why does he feel this good? Why does my body betray me like this every time he touches me?
“God, I hate you,” I moan, humiliation and pleasure tangling so tight I can’t tell them apart.
“Yeah?” he grinds out, his fingers biting into my ass as he lifts me off his cock, only to slam me back down. “Me too, Viper. But fuck, I love this pussy.”
A shiver slices through me and I rake my nails down his chest. He groans, dropping his head back as the car rocks beneath us. The windows fog up from the rain and our heavy breaths, the sound of skin slapping and the slick slide of my pussy taking him again and again filling the car.
His gaze drops to where we’re joined, where I’m slick and stretched and taking him to the base, and his thumb trails down to my clit.
“Fuck…” he murmurs, rubbing little circles over it. “Watching you take me might actually ruin me. Look at how wet you are. Christ, Prescott, you’re making a mess all over my lap.”
His hand slides up my spine, tugging me forward until my chest meets his. He pushes my shirt up, shoves the cups of my bra down, and drags his mouth over one nipple, then the other, sucking hard enough I hear the wet pull of his lips.
A moan tears out of me and he groans in response. His fingers slide into my hair, fisting it, tipping my head so he can press his mouth against my throat.
“Cole—” I manage, though I have no idea what I’m trying to say. Stop. Don’t stop. Don’t do that. Please do that again. Nothing makes sense except the heat of him inside me and the pressure of his lips on my neck.
“God, you feel so good,” he mutters against my skin. His thrusts slow, deepening.
My breath stutters when he presses his lips to my neck, kissing my skin over and over again. My hands curl in his hair when his pace slows even further, rolling, grinding in a way that feels… oh god… tender.
Absolutely.
Fucking.
Not.
A coil tightens in my chest and I slam it down before it can breathe. I drag my nails sharply down his back, enough to make him hiss.
“If you’re too scared to actually fuck me, just say so. I can always take care of myself later.”
His hips falter slightly and his breath stops against my neck. When he lifts his head to look at me, the look he gives me is pure, livid fury.
His hands grip my ass so abruptly that I gasp, and before I realize it, they’re under my thighs, gripping the backs of them, hauling me up and twisting me around. A sharp yelp escapes me as my back hits the seat, my legs instinctively spreading around his waist.
He doesn’t give me a second to breathe.
Cole lifts my ass in the air and leans down, spitting directly onto my pussy, making my clit throb so hard it’s almost painful. He drags his thumb through me, smearing it over where I’m already drenched before he grips the base of his cock and rubs himself along my pussy.
“Cole—” My voice cracks on his name.
He shoves into me so deep and fast that I cry out, grabbing the sides of the seat as he drives into me again, harder, his breath breaking in a low groan that vibrates against my skin.
“Oh fuck—” I can’t stop the words from flying out, my breath from coming out in choppy little gasps, the way my back arches as he pounds into me.
“You’re such a brat,” he snarls, driving into me harder, the seat jerking beneath us with every thrust.
I narrow my eyes, even as my hips lift to meet him. “I’d rather be a brat than a boring Barbie doll.”
“You’re never gonna be that, huh?” he grits out as he slams into me, deeper, harder. Oh God. “Never gonna be sweet and predictable.”
My head tips back as he fucks me, the seat squeaking beneath us while rain pounds on the windows.
“You’re always going to be vicious and poisonous, and a fucking tease.” His mouth drops to my chest and his teeth close around my nipple, tugging it between his teeth. Hard. “You’re always going to drive me out of my mind.”
A cry tears out of me before I can bite it back, my back arching off the seat, my hands flying to his hair at how good this feels—how wrong it feels.
“God, I hate how good you feel,” he murmurs against my breast, his tongue dragging over my nipple. “I hate that I think about you every night.”
“Then stop fucking me,” I gasp, even as my hips lift to meet him, my traitorous body chasing every brutal thrust.
“Can’t.” His voice is a ragged groan against my skin as he pulls out all the way—just to slam into me harder, making me choke on the sound that bursts out of me. “I can’t stop wanting you no matter how hard I try.”
He thrusts into me again and again until there aren’t any thoughts anymore. I’m too drunk on sex to think, my lips falling open as moans and whimpers spill out.
“Look at you,” he mutters with a chuckle as he watches me come undone beneath him. “All mouth until I put you where you belong.”
“Fuck you,” I choke out.
He grins and his hand slides up my throat again, squeezing just enough to make my pulse stumble and my breath catch. The pressure sends a bolt of heat straight between my legs.
“You gonna come?” he rasps.
“No,” I pant, even as my clit throbs.
His mouth curves. “Liar. You’re squeezing the life out of my cock.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, because if I look at him right now I might come. But his hand tightens around my throat, forcing my gaze up to meet his as his hips drive into me harder.
“Don’t,” he growls, and I feel every word like an electric zap to my clit. “I want your eyes on me when you come so you know exactly who’s ruining you.”
My mouth falls open on a strangled moan, my fingers clawing at his shoulders as the orgasm crashes into me, my pussy clamping around him, trying to keep him inside me.
“Jesus fuck—” he groans as he thrusts one last time, burying himself deep as he follows me over, his hips jerking as he fills the condom.
He stays inside me longer than he should, breathing hard, his fingers still tight around my throat like he forgot to let go. I shove his hand away and sit up fast, wanting to shake free from the fog still buzzing under my skin.
He pulls out of me, both of us hissing at the sudden empty ache. He groans under his breath as he rolls off the condom and ties it off.
He pulls his jeans up, and I avoid his gaze as I stretch awkwardly, climb into the passenger seat, reach for my panties—still hanging off his gear stick—and yank them on. I grab my jeans and wriggle into them, needing to get the hell away from him.
By the time I’ve dragged them up and buttoned them, he’s already tugging his shirt over his head. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even look at me. He just digs into his jacket pocket, pulls out a battered pack of cigarettes, and lights one up.
He slouches back in the driver’s seat like he didn’t just rearrange my insides, blowing out smoke.
“This didn’t mean anything,” I tell him.
He snorts without sparing me a glance. He doesn’t even take the cigarette out of his mouth. “No fucking shit, Prescott.”
My fingers clench around the door handle before I push it open. The rain slides down the back of my neck as I climb out, and I slam the door harder than necessary.
By the time I’m inside, I’m dripping, shivering, flushed all the way down my chest… and furious at myself for letting him touch me again.
Furious that I wanted it.
Furious that I know this won’t be the last time.