Click.
Her spine stiffens. Her head jerks toward me, eyes wide, pupils already starting to dilate with the adrenaline.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I don’t answer. I don’t give her the time. I unbuckle her seatbelt, reach across, and grab her wrist. Not gently. Ihaulher into my lap with a jerk that has her gasping, hands slamming against my chest.
The moment she lands on me—straddling, caught—I feel it. The heat of her thighs. The tremble in her breath. The shock. Thewant, buried under the anger she’s wearing like armor.
“You think you can run?” I growl, voice low and feral. “After everything that happened? After I warned you that I would ruin you beyond comprehension?”
“I’m not the one who’s been running, Nicolo.” Her breath stutters.
Her hips betray her first, grinding down against the hard line of my cock through my slacks. I kiss her before she can say more. But it’s not a kiss. It’s a fucking punishment.
My mouth crashes into hers, tongue sweeping past her lips like I own the space. Like I’m taking back every ounce of control she thought she had. I devour her moan, let it vibrate down my throat like the first swallow of something forbidden.
She bites me. Good.
I growl, and my hands go to her dress—shoving the hem up her thighs, dragging the fabric so roughly it stretches, warps, and rides high until I can feel the heat of her pussy through the sheer lace of her panties.
“You’re soaked,” I mutter against her mouth, teeth grazing her bottom lip. “Fuckingdripping, and all you’ve done is glare at me for the past forty minutes.”
She claws at my shirt, frantic. Her hips are already rocking. She wants friction. Contact. Ruin.
I give it to her. My belt’s off in a second, the clink of the buckle loud in the enclosed space. One hand is on her throat, the other pulling her panties aside—not off. I want them in the way. I want her to feel how little I care for neatness right now.
“Wait,” she breathes.
But her hands are on my chest—not pushing, just trembling. Wanting. Hesitating.
“Iamdone waiting,” I growl. “I told you not to push me, but what did you go and do? You pushed me every chance you got.”
And then I push into her. No preamble. No soft words. Just the blunt, stretching pressure of my cock forcing her open inch by brutal inch.
She gasps—sharp, shocked—head snapping back, hands scrambling against my chest as she adjusts to the intrusion. Her pussy is tight, hot, greedy. She clenches around me like she hates it. Like sheneedsit.
My head drops to her shoulder, breath hot against her neck.
“You feel that?” I whisper. “The way your pussy clenches around me? The way my cock is pulsing? That’s what you do to me every fucking time you walk around pretending you’re innocent.”
Her hips snap forward—once, twice, finding a rhythm, already chasing the edge. It’sdesperate. She fucks herself on me like she’s punishingme, like she’s trying to make me feel the ache she’s carried all dinner.
And I let her.
She rides me, thighs spread wide, hands tangled in my hair now, pulling, anchoring herself. Her dress is bunched at her waist, panties pulled tight against the curve of her ass, forgotten. Her tits bounce with every thrust, nipples hard under the lace of her bra.
My hands go everywhere—her hips, her ass, her throat, her mouth. I don’t guide. Itake.
Her walls pulse around me, slick and fluttering, each movement making a mess of my lap. I feel her clenching harder, trembling, the high-pitched keens in her throat turning frantic.
“Fuck,” she gasps. “I’m…don’t stop?—”
“Not a chance,” I snarl. “You’re not coming until you say it.”
She shakes her head, wild. “Say what?”
“You know.”
