Page 192 of Ominous: Part 1
And I… go limp in his arms, confused on what to think, how to feel. There’s a mess between my thighs, and I should really pee, but I don’t have the energy to fight him.
I just give in.
Heaviness and contentment settle over me, and I drift off.
By the timeI realize I should get up and get off of him, there’s drool at the corner of my mouth. I try to wipe it off, but before I can, he grabs my chin, lifting my head so my eyes are on his. He dips his head, licking off the drool from my face, his eyes closed, a low, soft hum of serenity against my skin when he’s done.
Then he pulls back, eyes on mine again, and I see he looks dazed. Like he’s high, but I know we’re both sober. “You’re always so good,” he says, tracing my lips with his finger. “That was so fucking good.”
Pleasure from his approval flushes through me, feelings of pride and awe tangled tight under my skin. I slide my hands up his chest, cupping his face. Then I lean in, planting a soft kiss on the upturned tip of his nose.
His smile is real, or, if it isn’t, his mask in this moment is flawless.
I pull back and he drops his hand to my hip. My skirt is still hiked up around my waist, my underwear still by the gas pedal. He notices me glancing over my shoulder to look at it, and keeping a hold on my hip, he leans down past me, snatching up my black bikini briefs.
It takes work, but with his help, I manage to get them on over my shoes, up my legs, lifting one knee, then the other as I’m still kneeling in his lap.
Then, feeling clumsy and awkward, I plant my hand against his chest and move one knee to the passenger seat, knowing I’ll need to adjust my skirt, still rumpled up over the waistband of my underwear, but I’d rather move off him first and get some space between us.
And yet, when he reaches for my wrists, gently, helping balance me, I gasp, and it’s not from his touch.
Looking down, I see my underwear, tangled from being put on so quickly, is caught on the gearshift, pulling enough to expose me.
My fingers wrinkle the cotton of his shirt as I hold on to him tighter, and I don’t know why I don’t just move, until I realize he’s only circling one of my wrists now, and his other hand is on the outside of my thigh, furthest from him, my knee pressed into the base of the passenger seat.
I’m straddling the hot leather of the gearshift, my pussy grazing it. My abs are tense, my breath caught in my chest, and even though I should just keep going, the way his fingertips dig into my skin won’t let me.
Slowly, I drag my gaze up to his, and find he’s biting his bottom lip, wholly focused on the shifter he spends so much time with his hand on.
It’s like two of his favorite things, come together.
My cheeks are hot, one hand on his chest, another coming to my heart.
I try to remember to breathe, but he has this look in his eyes that steals the air from my lungs.
“Fuck.”Every time he says that word, I feel this need to please him. But this time, it’s worse. Maybe because of what we just did. Maybe because I’ve never seen him look so enraptured before. Maybe since I’ve already let him steal the air from my lungs enough for me to black out, this feels like nothing.
I want to keep his attention.
And I’m still so fucking horny.
Before I can think through it, I lower myself down, just enough to rub myself over the shifter. Enough to tease the ache building all over again between my thighs, a whimper on my mouth.
I look down, feelinghis cumseeping from me, the smallest drop of pale white on the shift knob. Heat like I’ve never known sears through me.
His eyes snap up to mine, lust in his gaze, I’m not even sure he’s breathing until he says, “Get your ass back in your seat.”
I drag my nails over the fabric of his shirt, shifting my hips, the warmth of the shifter knob against my clit, knowing more of my wetness and his cum are smearing all over it. My words are strangled when I speak. “I like how you’re looking at me too much to move.”
He stares at me, my fingers pressing hard over my own heart to try and calm my pulse, one hand still on his chest to keep myself steady.
I grind myself against the gear again, dirty thoughts racing through my brain, ways to hold his attention just like this, to get his dick fully hard all over again, because I can see it straining once more in his pants. But before I can even dare consider it, he’s grabbing my upper arms and hauling me back into my seat, pinning me against the leather as he leans over me, his face inches from mine.
“Don’t do that.” He sounds angry, or tortured. I keep my palms pressed against the warm seatback, my skirt falling over my lap, having come loose from the waistband of my underwear because of his sudden movement. There’s a messy wetness between my thighs from me and him and I squeeze them together, wanting him to fill me all over again.
“Why not?” My voice is rough.
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he’s kissing me so deep, there’s no chance I can take a breath. My fingers find his hair, his palm plants against my chest, then he’s undoing the buttons I have up to my throat on my shirt. His short nails are clawing at me as he undoes each one. I think he wants to feel me up, but he scratches against the skin over my heart instead, deep enough I might bleed. His tongue wraps around mine, then he’s biting my lips, every inch of my mouth, sharp, quick bites, pinpricks of pain, possession, he’s holding himself up with his hand beside my head. I yank his hair, relishing in the smallest of whimpers coming from his lips into mine. I moan in his mouth, then he’s pulling back, dragging out my bottom lip as he nudges his nose against mine. I squeeze my thighs together, wanting him so much it hurts, but when he releases my mouth, he says, “You’ll regret it. You’re high tonight, but you might wake up and regret it.”
