“No.” She shakes her head. “No one has.”
Oh no.One man, I can justify and chalk up to his own shitty capabilities, but multiple? The logical part of my mind is screaming at me right now to evaluate the facts.
Juliette has practically harassed you your whole life, she clearly has trauma from her abusive gay father leaving her, she has kissed you three times, and no man has ever been able to make her cum.
Juliette is still driving, a light blush on her cheeks, probably from what she's admitted, while my mind is completely racing as Aryan's words are ringing in my head.
Ever heard of compulsory heterosexuality?
“Is that why you kissed me?” I ask abruptly, my breathing heavy.
Her breath hitches and I can see her tightly clenching the steering wheel. “I don't know why I kissed you, Adaline.”
I'm not sure why I kissed her either, so I can understand her hesitancy in answering, but why does my heart drop at her 'non answer'. I'm about to turn my head away, until she speaks again.
“I just wanted to,” she says in a soft whisper like she's scared to even hear herself.
A few months ago, I absolutely despised even being in the same room as Juliette Kingston, now I'm in her car, never wanting to leave; I'm frozen in place latching onto her words as she tells me she wanted to kiss me.
Now, I'm done holding back.
“Stop the car,” I tell her seriously. It's doable, we're still around thirty minutes away from my house and this is an empty street.
She looks alarmed. “What? Why—”
“Stop the car, Juliette,” I repeat, cutting her off, my tone devoid of any emotion.
For once, she doesn't speak again, she listens to me and I can hear the sound of her tires screeching as she hastily pulls up on a random pavement. We're lucky no one was behind us, because that was the most abrupt stop ever.
She unbuckles her belt and turns to me, alarmed and confused. “Why did you ask me to stop? Are you okay—”
I cut her off again. “Can I kiss you?”
Her eyes widen in shock before they glance down at my lips, then back to my eyes as if she's trying to assess how serious I'm being. 'Very serious' is the answer I'm trying to convey through my hooded eyes.
“Always.”
That's all it takes. My hands swiftly unbuckle my seatbelt and I reach over, pulling her lips onto mine.
Electricity surges through my body the moment I envelop her lips. How can this keep getting better each time? I feel her kissing me back, open mouthed, passion and heat bursting at the seams of our mouths.
My hands have a mind of their own as they tangle in her soft locks and I feel hers on the back of my neck, pulling me in. Then I move my hands slowly down to her thighs and tap, hoping she gets the signal I'm sending.
She does, she doesn't even detach her lips from mine as she makes her way over the car console and straddles my lap.
That's the thing about Juliette and I, although we don't like each other, we sure as shit understand each other …always.
I secure my hands on her hips so she doesn't fall from my lap and she answers by grinding her hips into me. I help her by using my hands to guide her grinding, feeling the pleasure of her body rocking against mine.
“Yeah, just like that,” she mumbles against my lips and I find myself having to leave her lips. She whines in disappointment until my lips find their way to her pale neck.
“Use me,” I mumble into her neck and I can hear her moan out in response, grinding harder into me. Heated and crazed, I see her moving her blazer off her shoulders and I fight the urge to do the same.
She needs this. How has no one made her cum? She can't continue like that. She needs to use me as much as she can until she feels herself reaching the brink of insanity—like I'm her toy. There's not an ounce of pride left in me when it comes to making a pretty girl cum.
Hearing her moaning in delight is sending ripples of pleasure through my panties. There's something else too, a warmth of some sorts.
Maybe Aryan is right, maybe Juliette likes girls, maybe she's bisexual or maybe she's even gay; who cares? She's grinding on me right now.
