Page 44 of Savage Hate
“Four hours in the backseat with me?” he asks, smiling monstrously. “That’ll be fun.”
* * *
I fall asleep instantly, especially since Jude plays his psycho killer classical music playlist. I smile as I drift off, somehow feeling like I’ve perhaps found a group of people that cares enough about me to drive through the night, and over eight hours round trip, just to ensure I have all my things in my new place. The thought is so unfamiliar to me. I only ever had Mindy and Wright to count on, and even then, the latter turned out not to be so reliable. So the fact that these guys–guys I’ve known almost my whole life, but whom I thought hated me–are giving up their sleep, for me… it almost feels unfathomable.
It isn’t until we enter Manhattan four and a half hours later that I wake up, the stop and go traffic jerking the car enough to rouse me. I sit up, realizing with horror that I’ve drooled all over Damon’s shoulder. He just chuckles and hands me a tissue, but I slap it out of his hand and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Morning, princess,” he mutters.
“Did I sleep the entire way?” I ask incredulously.
He tilts his head and scoots a bit closer. “If your snoring was any indication…” I groan, covering my face. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and leans in until his mouth is over my ear. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re incredibly sexy when you sleep, snoring or no snoring.”
My cheeks heat, and I smile. “I find that hard to believe.”
I glance up front, and Silas is fast asleep in the passenger seat. Jude is staring straight ahead, a pair of aviator glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The sun is high now, above the buildings, blasting the car with shiny light. I sigh contentedly. IloveNew York. And I especially love New York in the morning. Summer mornings, before it gets too hot, are perfect. Before the tourists get bussed in, before the shops open, when it’s just the locals out for a coffee run, or the occasional walk of shamer. I smile as I look out of my window, watching the brownstones as we pass them. A deep, gnawing sort of ache starts in my chest. This was my home for the last six years. A part of my soul is embedded into this city, even if I know deep down that it’s not for me. It was still more of a home to me than Greythorn ever was.
“You miss it,” Damon observes, his voice low as his hand comes to rest on my thigh.
I stiffen at his touch and nod. “I do.”
He’s quiet as I watch the city pass me by, as I remember the place I left behind.
“Are you nervous?” he asks, his fingers trailing up my thigh.
I turn to face him and quirk an eyebrow. “You’re distracting me.”
He grins a wide, beautiful grin. His wild hair and dark eyes cause my stomach to bottom out, and then he licks his lips.
“Sorry, I’ve just spent the last four hours staring at you while you sleep. I’m feeling a bit cooped up. Wild.Feral.”
I swallow thickly, a shockwave of hot electricity running down my limbs, pooling in my throbbing clit. I should balk at his words. He was justwatchingme sleep? Why? It sounds creepy, but as his eyes find mine, he shifts his body slightly so that he has better access to me.
“No,” I whisper, looking up front.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Jude says, smirking at me in the rearview mirror. He doesn’t say anything else, just turns the music up. It drowns out my conversation with Damon.
“You’re all pigs,” I chastise, pulling away from Damon against my body’s will.
“Lennon,” Damon growls. “Do you want me to stop pursuing you?”
I open and close my mouth several times. “I–you–you’re pursuing me?”
He chuckles, his tenor deep. “Something like that.” His hand roves up farther, to the apex of my thighs. To my horror, my legs spring apart, allowing him to do exactly what he wants. Leaning closer, so that Jude doesn’t hear, he begins whispering into my ear.
“Do you like that my hand is resting on your wet little cunt, princess?”
I gasp, but his other hand comes over my mouth. I glance at Jude in the rearview mirror, but he’s either pretending not to hear us, or he’s distracted by the large intersection we’re about to enter.
“Tell me what you want, Lennon,” he whispers again, his fingers pressing into my clit, clawing at it, cupping it roughly. I buck my hips against his palm, the sensation causing shivers to run all the way down to my toes. “Good girl,” he mutters, his fingers brushing the spot I need it most.
“I don’t know what I want,” I respond, resisting the urge to grind myself into his touch.
He cups me harder, his hand circling the spot that’s now wet through my jeans.
“Your pussy is lying, then,” he growls.
“Do we have to do it here?” I hiss, trying to push his hand away.
