Page 182 of The Wicked
My breathing was just as ragged as his, and my gaze flickered to his parted lips. “Get off me.”
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
I pushed at his chest. “Get off me or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what, hm?” He brought his face closer to mine, drawing his knee up till I felt it brush against me. The friction made my hips jerk forward. The heat, the adrenaline, the fight, everything rushed to the pressure his knee applied between my legs.
“Can’t speak?” he whispered in a fevered breath, moving his knee and pulling a reluctant whimper from me.
I wanted to gut him; I really wanted to make him bleed, but why the fuck was I so turned on instead? Why could I feel him pressing against my stomach like this was as arousing for him as it was for me?
“Tell me, what will you do?” he whispered against my lips.
“I’ll—”
He buried his head in my neck, his warm breath and lips sending a spike down my belly to the pressure between my legs.
“You’ll…” He trailed off, lips brushing my neck.
“I didn’t…”
His knee moved, hands gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him.
“You didn’t…?”
I wanted to push him, punch him, slap him, kiss him, feel more of him. I wanted to get very far away from him, his warmth, the pull of him, his lips on my skin, our breaths falling in sync. I wanted to be mad at him, to be above the effect his body had on me.
But… there was this rush from our push and pull, this pump that had me falling into his warmth and…
Fuck me, I couldn’t remember how to form words, or—I did remember how to form words, just not the ones my anger or brain wanted to say; my body and the desire wreaking havoc between my legs were the demons behind the words that left my mouth next. “I need you,” I whispered, gripping the front of his shirt in my fist. “Now.”
A strangled noise left his throat. “I hate your effect on me; I want to kill you for it.”
“Unfortunately, we are both suffering from the same illness.”
His heated eyes burned fiercely into mine, and he pulled back. I missed the pressure his knee supplied until he opened the car’s back door. “Get in.”
Excitement and anger sizzled through me as I rushed to the back seat, and he followed closely behind before slamming the door shut beside him. “Take off—just take off—”
He didn’t have to tell me twice; I was already taking off my clothes with fast, shaky, anticipating fingers, while he undid his belt and took off his pants, but left his briefs and shirt on.
I wasn’t wearing anything underneath the clothes I wore, so my breasts came free, and his eyes were glued to them.
“On me,” he breathed.
A smirk curled at my lips as I wasted no time getting on his lap, his back to the door, with me straddling him, bare breasts in his face.
He buried his head in my neck, his hand going into the depth of my hair, fisting as he sucked kisses down my neck while I rubbed against him.
Feverish hot lips peppered kisses down to my collarbone.
His other hand squeezed my ass before his palm drew up my back; the warmth from the smoothness of his touch set my body ablaze. My stomach tightened.
I could tell he felt some of my scars, and his touch, though it lingered to feel and explore, didn’t stop his lips from moving down to my left breast. My nipples hardened, ached, and tingled as his tongue flicked up and down the pierced bud before his mouth closed around it.
“Oh,” I breathed out in a moan; the heat from his mouth and the wetness of his tongue twirling and sucking my nipple had my legs squeezing against both sides of his thigh. The sensation was mind-numbing. I breathed out the words that left me. “I don’t like condoms; I’m clean and on strict pills. You?”
“Yes. Clean,” he mumbled before returning to his licking and sucking.
