Page 102 of Powerless
I move my feet up onto the dash, making the fit that much tighter. I moan at the sensation.
“You love this. I know.” He juts his chin at me. “Knees open so I can see.”
“You sure this is safe?” I tease breathily.
“There’s nothing safe about how badly I want you, Sloane. Never has been. Now add a third finger. I wanna watch you work for it.”
His head flips back to the road. It’s a straight, quiet stretch on a perfectly sunny weekday afternoon. Jasper would never take unnecessary risks.
As I slide a third finger in and feel the bite of my body stretching, I decide this risk is very necessary. Coming is very necessary. And following his orders like this sets my body buzzing like I’ve never felt.
“How does that feel, Sloane?”
I close my eyes, imagine his body over mine, and moan. “So good.”
“You pretending it’s me stuffed between your legs rather than your fingers right now?”
My eyes snap open and I glare over at him.
“Fuck your fingers and answer my question.”
My hand moves in and out slowly, feeling so fucking good. It’s dirty and kinky and so unlike the reserved version of me. I became someone else under the thumb of all the shit around me, so I let myself luxuriate in feeling dirty and free to take what I want.
“Yes. I was thinking about you. I’m always thinking about you.”
A soft, satisfied smile touches his lips. Everything about him is so hyper masculine, hard and domineering but doting all at once. Jasper always makes me feel like he’ll catch me when I fall. He always has.
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” I pant out, still working my fingers wantonly into myself.
“Too bad.” He chuckles. He fuckingchuckles.“Put your pants back on and wait.”
I loud groan erupts from my throat as I bang my head against the seat, instantly crossing my legs to ease the swell of pleasure coiling in my core.
Like I might strangle it. Snuff it out.
But it doesn’t work. Every nerve ending is firing. Everything I see is Jasper.
I’ve never been so fucking worked up in my life.
“That is just cruel. Aren’t you so uncomfortable?”
He shrugs, looking altogether too pleased with himself. “Yeah. It’s not worse than watching you date losers for years though.”
I scoff at that. “You’re a masochist.”
He doesn’t even flinch. “I believe a therapist suggested that once.”
“Or you just secretly hate me.” With a shaking hand, I reach for my leggings that I so badly do not want to put on. Even running fabric over my skin is going to drive me insane. It’s just going to make me hornier.
“Trust me, Sunny. I don’t hate a single thing about you. But I do hate you talking abouthimwhile you’re touching yourself.”
“I didn’t— Oh. The lion hunting.”
He gives me a wink. A playful, handsome, fuckinginfuriatingwink.
“I hate you.”
