Page 52 of Speeding Hearts

“You look beautiful, Stella. In case no one’s told you that.”

He tried to turn away, as if it was the only way he could stop himself from staring, but I grabbed his arm.

“You’re right—you have fucked everything up,” I said.

Dean looked at my hand on his arm. “You shouldn’t touch me, Stella,” he said, his voice low. There was a warning in it that only made the heat inside me spread.

“Why not?” I whispered.

His eyes met mine. “You know why.”

Something spiked inside of me. It was like the last time, only stronger. A thousand times stronger.

If we were too far gone, then I would take this all the way. Go out in a blaze of fucking glory.

I took a step toward him. “Because you want me,” I breathed.

Dean’s jaw tensed, his eyes on my lips. His arm, still in my hand, had hardened, all his muscles tensed, like an animal ready to strike. “Stella…” It was a warning and a pleading all at once.

“Say it.” I moved until I was a hairs breath away from him, my face tilted up toward him. “Say it,” I repeated.

His eyes bored into mine. Then his hands went to my hips, pulling me until I was pressed into him. I felt the hard length of him against me.

My breath caught in my throat.

Dean didn’t break eye contact as he held me there. One of his hands slid up my back until it was tangled in my hair. He backed me up against the car. A couple stumbled out of the bar, laughing, lost in their own world.

Dean leaned in until his lips were against my ear.

“I fucking want you, Stella,” he whispered. “More than I’ve wanted anyone. Ever.”

Liquid need ran through me, spreading like something molten between my legs.

I was still angry at him, angry at myself, but my need for Dean Hughes eclipsed every last shred of my common sense.

“Take me home,” I whispered.

* * *

I don’t knowhow we made it back to the trailer without going off the road, but we did.

Before we’d even gotten on the road, he pulled me toward him in the cab of the truck, his tongue probing my mouth, my name on his lips. I pushed him away, buckling up my seatbelt.

“Now,” I said, entwining my hand in his.

On the way home, we pulled up to a stoplight. Without taking his eye from the light, Dean’s hand slipped from mine, moving to my thigh. He slid it down, over the hem of my dress, then up under it, his hand gliding up higher. Every inch made me suck in a breath. His fingers met the damp fabric of my underwear and electricity spiked through me. I swear I saw stars.

Dean never looked away from the intersection in front of us. “Stella Archer,” he said, his voice gravelly. “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Or touched.”

He slid my underwear aside, and suddenly his fingers pressed against my clit. I gasped, gripping the seat. He dipped a finger inside of me, then another.

“Dean,” I breathed.

Then the light changed, and he pulled his hand away, leaving every part of me aching to a fine point.

It felt like an eternity getting to my place. I remembered as we passed the darkened house that his mom was out of town this weekend.

He pulled up outside the trailer, jumping out of the truck. I sat in the passenger seat trying to gather myself together. It was pitch dark down here—I’d forgotten to leave the outside light on. Only stars and moonlight lit Dean’s face as he came around the front of the truck.

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