His head turns slightly in my direction to glare at me.
My eyes open wider in eager anticipation. “Oooo. I called you out of your name. Whatchu going to do now?”
Chapter 47
Continuing to push his head, his frustration finally boils over at me and he grabs my left hand before it can connect to his temple again and shoves it into me.
“No no. We're doing this. Since you like being physical so much bitch,” I say again as I shove my hand toward him again, but this time he grabs my wrist and pulls me onto his lap.
His arms wrap around me like a boa constrictor, holding me in place as the rim of the steering wheel bites into my upper back.
Through my leggings I can feel his cock pushing up against my pussy as it hardens.
His brown eyes glare at me, trying to maintain control.
My hands find his hair and I pull.
He growls through the pain as he tightens his overlapping arms around me, squeezing me, causing me to feel the bend in my ribs.
It actually hurts a little.
Fisting my left hand, a cluster of his strands still in its grasp,
I yank his head to the left, causing him to growl, before my right palm smacks the left side of his face.
Lincoln growls louder, squeezing me tighter.
Go ahead, keep squeezing me and see what happens, I grunt as I tell him, yanking his hair more.
His eyes shut tight in pain before both his hands release from around me, one holding my throat and the other yanking my hair, causing my head to snap back.
I really do try to pull my head forward, but he continues pulling back my hair, fully exposing my throat.
“You need to calm the fuck down,” he tells me.
“Or what are you gonna do?” I ask. “You going to hit me again?”
“Is that what youwant?” he asks me.
My hand continues slapping his face as he continues yanking my hair, the both of us growling, his dick getting harder against me.
“You like that, don't you?” I question as I grind my pussy against his erection.
Lincoln whimpers, a deeply masculine, and yearning noise, as his eyes close.
“You hate me?” I ask him, with anger in my eyes, and suddenly my eyes are tearing up too, and I have no idea why.
“You really fucking hate me?” I question him again, pulling his hair, slapping his face.
The windows have already begun to fog up, rain still pelting outside, and for the moment neither of us is worried about Morris.
“You didallof that shit to me,you'rethe one who broke my heart, and somehow you turned this around to make it aboutyou, Lincoln,” I tell him, a tear escaping down my face.
Slapping him, my voice rises. “You ALWAYS find a way to make it about YOU,” I yell.
“But now you hate me, and I didn't do SHIT to you! So tell me why the fuck,howthe fuck do you even have the right to hate me?!” my voice shrieks again.
“Because it'seasierhating you!!” he says, yelling back at me, causing me to stop pulling his hair, to stop hitting him momentarily.
