Page 37 of That Moment
“Yeah… we’re a helluva lot better at it now,” I murmur against her skin as I drag my lips across her jaw. Her eyes flutter close as I drag my tongue up her neck to toy with her earlobe.
“So much better,” she groans, then fumbles for my shirt, shoving it up to get skin. I give it to her, bracing one palm on the hood near her hip, the other hand dragging greedily up her thigh. When my knuckles graze the seam of her jeans, her breath stutters. I do it again, slower, letting the friction say what I can’t.
“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?” I breathe, nipping her bottom lip. “You think I don’t see you looking at my hands when you think I’m not paying attention?”
Her back arches slightly as she attempts to press herself harder against my hand, wanting more friction, so I give it to her. I press my thumb against the seam over her clit, moving it slowly in a circular motion.
“Your thick fingers,” she mumbles through a gasp.
“Yeah?” I continue toying with her, “We’ll have to see how many of my thick fingers you can take.”
“Scotty.” My name comes out in a soft plea. Her eyelids flutter slightly as her head starts to lull back with a low groan. “You’re going to make me come.”
That sentence is like throwing gasoline on a fucking four-alarm fire. I take her mouth hard. We move together in a rhythm that’s not quite on beat, her hips rolling, my fingers pressing against her as she tries to find her release.
The bay, the lights, the boards on the wall, everything blurs. There’s only her—her taste, her breath, her fists in my hair, and the low, helpless sounds I’ve never heard her make.
My hand skims under her tee, the soft plane of her stomach clenching beneath my palm. I trace the lace edge of her bra, my thumb sweeping over the swell of her breast. I can feel the sharp kick of her heartbeat against my hand as I drag the lace of her bra down her breast. She gasps, surging into the touch as I run my thumb over her pert nipple, and I swallow the sound with another kiss.
“Say it,” I growl into her mouth, dragging my teeth along her lower lip. “Say you made me do this to you, all that teasing.”
“I made you,” she whispers, shameless, eyes dark. “I’ve been teasing you for years.”
“Yeah, you have.” I press my thumb harder against her, moving it faster as I toy with her nipple with my other hand. She jerks, a soft cry catching at the back of her throat. “Time to pay up.”
“Scotty…”
I drag my lips down her throat, tasting the flutter of her pulse, the salt of her skin. I’m completely gone… rock hard, beyond thinking, past the point where I can tell myself this is harmless.
Her legs wrap my hips and pull, bringing me tight to the cradle of her body. I pull my hand back, replacing the friction against her clit with my cock. I grind once, just once, to feel how hot she is for me, and even through both of our jeans, I can feel the heat of her pussy, begging for me. We both break on the contact. She gasps my name again.
“Shit,” I bite out, forehead to hers, breathing hard.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” She practically begs.
I want to give her everything. I want to drag that tee over her head and replace my fingers around her nipple with my mouth. I want to make her forget her own name on the hood of this car she loves, then carry her home and ruin every room I own. I want to give her morning and after, and all the years I keep pretending I don’t have in me.
The wanting hits too big. Too real. The panic knifes right behind it. Not because I don’t want her. Because I do. Because the need in my chest isn’t casual; it’s a goddamn vow. And that terrifies me.
I tear my mouth from hers, sucking in air like I’ve been underwater. She blinks up at me, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, hair a mess of gold around her shoulders.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and for one dizzying second, I hate every version of myself that can’t be what she deserves.
Her fingers tighten on my shirt. “Scotty?”
I step back a fraction. She stares at me, chest lifting in shallow breaths. “Seriously?” She groans, “You’re not going to let me finish?”
My hands fall from her like they’ve forgotten who they belong to. I step back again, leaving the heat of her. The loss is instant and brutal.
“Please don’t freak out on me now.”
“Fuck, sorry.” I stammer, running my hands through my hair because I don’t know what the hell to do right now. “Shit.”
Confusion washes over her face, then hurt, fast enough to make me flinch. I force my features into something neutral, safe, when all I want to do is say the thing that’s clawing at my throat:Stay. Please?
Instead, I offer my hands and help her down from the hood. She slides off slow, thighs brushing my jeans, and for a heartbeat we’re flush again, the spark lighting right back up. I step away like I’ve been burned.
“Scotty,” she says, softer now. “You now friends can have benefits, right?”
