Page 26 of Wicked Temptations
His teeth caught my bottom lip, biting down, and I groaned into his mouth. The sound was pathetic. Needy. Everything I was trying not to be, but he swallowed it anyway and kissed me deeper, one hand tangling in my hair while the other pushed bruises onto the skin of my hip.
But it still wasn’t enough for me.
This wasn’t what I wanted. Not really. I wanted him, yeah, but I wanted more than stolen moments in backseats and dark corridors. I wanted him to look at me like I mattered. I wanted us to share mornings and coffee and lazy afternoons where we didn’t have to pretend we hated each other.
But Jude didn’t want that. He wanted to fuck me and walk away—all the thrill without the complications.
So take what you can get.
I shoved the chaotic thoughts down and kissed him harder, letting base need take over. Letting myself drown in the heat of his mouth and the weight of his body and the way his hands mapped my ribs like he was trying to memorize every curve.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard, and his eyes were wild. Completely focused on me in a way that made my stomach flip.
“Take them off.”
His fingers hooked into my waistband, yanking, and I scrambled to help. The space was too cramped. My boots hit the door. My elbow smacked the seat. But I got my pants down to mid-thigh, and that was apparently good enough because Jude grabbed my shoulder and shoved me forward.
“Over the console. Now.”
I twisted in the confined space, bracing my hands on the center console, my chest pressed against the hard plastic. One knee dug into the seat, the other foot barely finding purchase on the floor. My ass was up, exposed, and I couldn’t see him anymore. Could only hear the rasp of his breathing behind me.
“This is payback.”
His voice was choked and cruel, and it did things to my cock. It throbbed between my legs, trapped against the console, and the fact that I couldn’t move only made me harder.
There was no escape from this.
Good.
“Wait.”
I twisted, reaching for the glove box. My fingers fumbled with the latch before it popped open, spilling receipts and expired registration onto the floor. The small travel-sized packet of lube was buried underneath, and I grabbed it, holding it up over my shoulder.
Jude went very still behind me. Then he laughed, and the sound was sharp.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Heat crawled up my neck. I kept my eyes forward, refusing to look at him.
“So you get to fuck me dry and rough with nothing but your spit, but you won’t take it yourself?” His hand gripped my hip, fingers digging in hard. “That’s how this works?”
Heat flooded my face. Shame twisted in my gut alongside the arousal still throbbing between my legs.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
I didn’t have an answer. I couldn’t explain that I’d been so desperate for him that night that nothing else mattered. That I hadn’t been thinking, that all I’d wanted was to claim him, mark him, and make him mine. And it wasn’t like he’d tried to stop me. He’d struggled, but that was all part of the game. If he’d really wanted me to stop, he would have made me stop.
The packet tore. Cold slick dripped onto my ass, and Jude’s fingers followed, rubbing the lube across my entrance. Then he was there, thick head pressing against my hole, and I barely had time to suck in a breath before he slammed in.
Jude seated himself with one brutal thrust that punched the air from my lungs.
Pain and pleasure mixed together until I couldn’t tell them apart. My vision whited out. My fingers scrabbled against the console, looking for something to hold on to, but there was nothing. Just the overwhelming fullness of him buried inside me, his cock thick and long enough that I felt it everywhere, stretching me open without mercy, taking everything he wanted without asking. The burn was immediate, intense, and perfect in the worst way. He was bigger than I’d expected, and the angle made it worse, made him feel impossibly deep and me impossibly unready to handle him.
“Fuck.” The word ripped out of me, broken and desperate.
He didn’t stop. He didn’t give me time to adjust. Just started moving, pulling back and driving in again, setting a rhythm that was all punishment and possession.
“Fucking take it.”
