Page 52 of Feed Your Fiends

I let my tears slide down his neck as I nuzzle into it. He peels us from the hood and places me in the car. Not on the passenger seat but on his lap behind the wheel.

His warm, wet tongue runs along my cheeks until they’ve stopped leaking and the engine’s started, and we’re racing toward…home?

Elle

“Talk to me, dove,” Gant says, his knuckles turning whiter by the second on the wheel. “Distract me.”

He’s distracting me by just existing.

My eyes fall from his tense jaw to the sharp bob of his throat to the deep hollow between his collarbones. His hair, once slicked for Stassi’s performance, has escaped the pomade’s hold because his waves are returning, dropping from the perfect coif to his forehead, the tips falling into his black eyes. I stroke the back of his head absent-mindedly, remembering the way the cropped strands had tickled between my thighs.

I slide my fingers from his hair to his neck, to his erratic pulse point. I don’t know what possesses me to press on it. I guess I thought I could slow it down, but it only doubles its pace.

He pries one of his hands from the wheel, clutches my wrist and drags my fingers to his lips. His dark eyes are wide, focused on the road with a madness that intensifies with each digit he sucks on.

I can’t help the tiny chuckle that escapes my raw throat despite it all.

“What’s funny, baby?”

“There’s not even anything on them.” If they were dripping with slick, I’d understand. But he doesn’t laugh as he devours my middle finger, and suddenly my stomach’s tightening and not with more giggles.

“It’s been five fucking days, Elle,” he says licking between them, “If I can’t get inside of you, I need a bit of you inside of me. Just tasting your skin and inhaling your scent is good enough for now. ”

My throat clenches, and suddenly, I’m breathless. “I shouldn’t be sitting here. It isn’t safe.” I shift in his lap, and his grip leaves my wrist to slide between my thighs. With one tug, he forces my ass back against his hard cock.

“If you leave me,” he rasps, releasing my ring finger from his lips with a pop, “it’ll be even less safe. I told you, I need you.”

But I can’t need you. Not like this. Not yet.

“I’m right here,” I say, kicking my right leg over his to climb into the passenger seat, but his fingers have an iron grip on my pussy.

“Move and I’ll curl my fingers in your cunt like a fucking fish hook and anchor you to me,” he says, his fingers skimming the edge of the tiny strip of fabric that’s keeping us separated.

But I do move, involuntarily rocking against him because he’s stroking me painfully slowly over my swelling clit.

“Fuck, this corset is cheap,” he mutters, slipping his middle finger through the gusset and pulling. The fabric tears with little resistance, revealing my sheer black stockings beneath. “It’s so thin, it can’t even hold a little moisture without soaking through.”

His fingers leave me for a half second to flip down the visor, and I meet his gaze in the little mirror, although he can’t see my face. He can only see my pale pussy shining through the thin black fabric as his eyes flicker from the road to me on a circuit.

“Fuck,” he rasps, pinching my clit and I arch against him as his fingers work to break the thin barrier and expose me completely.

No. Not yet.

“The road,” I say breathily, grabbing his wrist as we shoot around a curb and beneath a street light. “Focus on the road, not me.”

But I know he won’t, not with my legs spread. I close them, trapping his fingers and spinning so that my side’s against his front again.

He said to distract him, so distract him with a turn-off. Distract yourself with a turn-off.

Immediately the topic that crushed me before he touched my slit comes to mind.

“Jarett’s with Jaime.” I watch him carefully, gauging his reaction.

If Sylo was with Jarett at the Watering Hole, then Gant and his father can’t be responsible for his current state, right?

Sylo…Fuck, how did Sylo and Jarett’s brother play into all of this with Madame? I don’t know, and I don’t think Gant does either. There’s no way he doesn’t see the resemblance between Jarett and his uncle. Sure, I’d never shown him Jarett’s picture and his face was hidden in the sex video, but he must know what he looks like. He hunted me for two years. Surely Jarett was involved in the search too, even if Jarett was Bart’s focus and not his.

“She deserves him. He deserves her,” he says simply, his sharp jaw ticking as his fingers sink into my inner thigh, kneading me.

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