“And the turkey…” Her hands wind around my neck, threading into my hair.
“The turkey was great. And the dessert.”
“Jay?”
“Hm?” I say, rubbing the tip of my nose to hers.
“I think I’m done talking about food.”
“Thank god.” I dive in again, taking more from her, feeling her under my palms as she pushes against me. There’s something to be said for making out with a girl under the cover of darkness and streetlamps. It makes me feel like I’m in high school again.
She pulls back, and I try to chase her. “We need to get home before I can’t stop.”
“My car is right here.”
“Jay Oliviera, are you saying that you want to fuck me in your car?”
My hands tighten at her waist before I can stop them, the challenge in her voice sparking straight through me. “I’m saying,” I murmur, leaning in until my lips brush hers, “if you keep grinding on me like that, I won’t care where we are.”
She throws her head back and releases the biggest cackle before looking at me again. “In that case, then, let’s go home. I want you all to myself.”
She pecks me once more and leaves me wanting; she’s really freaking good at that.
The drive is short but feels endless. Liv’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my thigh, crawl up my arm, skim the nape of my neck like she knows every place that makes me twitch. I can’t even look at her without picturing her spread out beneath me, so I grip the wheel tighter and count the damn streetlights.
The second we’re inside, she pushes me against the door, her mouth finding mine again. I let her have it, let her climb into my space, because there’s no part of me that doesn’t crave her like this.
“You feeling horny, gatinha?” I mutter when she nips at my lip.
“Pretty sure that’s your fault.” She’s smiling smugly.
I walk her back step by step until her legs hit the couch, and she sinks down, pulling me with her. My weight settles between her thighs, and she arches into me like she’s been waiting all night. Welcome to the club.
Her hands roam everywhere—my shirt, my shoulders, my hair. She’s bold, reckless, and I love it. She’s trying to grind into my thigh, get any kind of friction I know she needs, but I hold back, loving the frustration building beneath me.
“I need…” she stutters, breath ragged as she rolls her nipple between her fingers.
I catch her wandering hand and bring it lower, slipping it beneath the band of her leggings myself. Her lips part on a gasp, and I smirk. “There. Better, isn’t it?”
She tilts her head, pupils blown, but somehow, she still manages to give me that trademark sass that I’ve noticed make a comeback lately. “What if I like doing it myself?”
“Then let me watch.” I lace my fingers over hers, pressing her hand deeper between her thighs. My palm covers hers completely, guiding every twitch, every circle. “Better yet, let me help.”
Her eyes flutter closed as her breath ghosts over my lips, the scent of sweet wine engulfing me as she nods slightly.
“I could get used to this version of you that behaves,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss her jaw as I set the pace, dragging her fingers exactly where I want them.
“Just like that.” Her moan spills into my mouth as I move, needy and desperate, her body already moving in time with the rhythm I set. She pushes harder against me, desperate for more, but I ease her back, slowing her fingers until she lets out a breathless whine.
“You want it fast, don’t you?” I taunt, letting my voice deepen with my desire for her. I speed her up suddenly, driving her hand harder, and her hips buck beneath me, curses falling like whispers from her mouth.
But just as her eyes flutter shut, right when her breath stutters into a ragged rhythm, I rein her in. My grip tightens, pulling her back into a slow, cruel drag that makes her squirm.
“Or maybe you like it slow,” I whisper against her ear, letting my lips ghost over her skin, never giving her the pressure she craves. “Drawn out until you can’t take it anymore.”
Her nails dig into my arm, a frustrated sob escaping her throat. She’s trembling, caught between pleasure and fury, and I can feel the need radiating off her in waves.
“Which is it, Liv?” I ask, guiding her hand in one long, aching circle, then switching it into quick, relentless strokes that make her cry out. “Do I take my time with you…” I slow again, excruciatingly. “…or do I make you fall apart right now?”
