Page 65 of Not Falling for the Forward
“Eugh,” I say in disgust, shaking my head as we get to Emily’s Toyota Aygo. “He’s going to fuck my sister, isn’t he?”
“Ummm…” Emily says making a face that has me knowing she thinks yes, and that she doesn’t want to say it. “Why don’t you worry about your own sex life,” she suggests and pats me on the chest, placating me.
Reaching inside her hoodie pocket she flicks her car keys into her hand and on reflex I reach out for them. “Oh, come on,” she scoffs. “It’s my car, let me drive it.”
“It’s a lunch box on wheels,” I reply, lifting a brow at her. “And I’d like to drive.”
She glares but hands me the keys, not arguing at my need to always be the driver. “A little respect for the vehicle, please. A lunch box on wheels it may be but it’s a lunchbox with a brand new exhaust.” She winks.
“Your Ferrari will have brand new everything,” I tease as we buckle in.
“Will I be allowed to drive my new Ferrari? Or will you not trust me in that too?”
The bite in her tone makes me flinch. “It’s not because I don’t trust you behind the wheel,” I say honestly. I do trust her, and if I am going to get out of this rut I am in then I need to at leasttryat being a passenger with someone. If I’m going to freak out, I know I would be comfortable doing it with her.
She turns to me in surprise, “Then why can’t I drive now?” she asks.
“Because I don’t need to be worrying about being in a car accident right now. I’m busy worrying about other things.”
“Like what?”
“My own sex life.” I wink.
Chapter twenty-nine
Emily
Jack pulls off the main road onto a small single-track lane. It’s still tarmacked so I know Tony, my Toyota, will manage on the road. “Where are we going?” I ask. The early spring sun has started to dip behind the hills and it is getting dark fast.
“You’ll see,” Jack mutters. He pulls my car around a sharp turn and into a lay-by, slowing down as he does. He pulls further forward into a line of trees and bushes and stops the car, putting on the handbrake.
“Is this where you murder me?” I whisper.
“What. No. I—” He turns to me quickly, shock widening his eyes, but he relaxes as soon as he sees my teasing grin.
“Why have we parked in a bush?” I ask.
He answers by un-clipping his seatbelt and slamming his lips onto mine in a rough kiss. His hands find my face and hold it still whilst he devours my mouth with his. I groan at the pure domination from him. He pulls back, his lips barley leaving mine to say, “There is no fucking way I was waiting to get you home.” Then his mouth is on mine again, taking everything I can give him.
I meet his tongue stroke for stroke, trying to regain some control, but he has backed me up against the door and his full weight is on me. I’m completely at his mercy and I couldn’t think of anywhere else I would rather be.
His hands roam freely over my body, he passes over my breasts, my thighs, my hips. Finally, he works his hand underneath my hoodie, stroking goosebumps onto my skin on his way to cup my breast. I’m not wearing a bra and Jack pulls back shocked when he gets there. “Expecting me to play with your tits today, Emily?” he asks in a gruff voice. “Wearing no bra, just begging for me to suck those perfect nipples.” I let out a whimper at the thought of Jack’s lips and teeth sucking and biting at my sensitive buds. As if the whimper spurs him on, he lifts my hoodie over my head in one smooth motion, exposing my hardened nipples to him. He sits back slightly and takes me in, naked from the waist up. “Fucking perfect,” he says before he drops his mouth to suck in the piercing he has been obsessed with since he first saw it.
“If you like that I’m not wearing a bra.” I say between the breathy pants and groans that he is working out of me.
“Yes?” Jack growls the question.
“You should see what else I forgot to put on.”
Jack stills, his mouth coming away from me. His hands freeze where they are cupping my breasts, no longer teasing. His gaze travels down the whole of my body, slowly, hungrily. Traveling from my eyes down my naked chest, where my heart is pounding, past my smooth stomach. He stops when he gets to the apex of my thighs that are clenched together trying to squeeze away the pounding ache that has formed there.
His gaze stays fixed on that spot as he asks, “Are you telling me, you have no underwear on under those thin leggings?”
I don’t answer.
“Open your legs for me, Emily.” His voice is rough, as if he has been screaming for days.
I don’t move.
