I nod frantically, biting down on my own lip until I taste copper. My hips stutter, small, desperate jerks, and he matches me, thrusting up in short, controlled snaps that make stars burst behind my eyes.
The song swells around us, and he grinds harder, faster, the seam of his jeans catching my clit piercing at the perfect angle. I’m soaked, slick enough that I can feel it soaking through his jeans. My nails dig into his shoulders, body locking tight as the edge rushes up.
He feels it and rolls his hips one last time, pressing his cock against me.
I come silently, even though the mic is off now, my body seizing, thighs clamping around him. The choked, muffled cry is swallowed against his neck as pleasure rips through me in white-hot waves. My walls flutter uselessly around nothing, clit pulsing in time with every aftershock.
He’s right behind me.
His grip on my neck tightens, hips jerking up once, twice, grinding hard against me as he spills in his jeans. A low, guttural groan vibrates through his chest, muffled against my hair. I feel the heat of it through the fabric, his cock twitching against my pussy.
We stay locked like that for long seconds, breathing ragged, bodies trembling. Our clothes may still be on, but they’re messy and ruined.
He finally exhales, breath shaky, and reaches for the cigarette burning on the can. It’s still burning, tip glowing cherry-red in the dim light of the console.
He brings it close—close enough that I feel the heat kiss my cheek, then lower, hovering just above the swell of my breast. His pale, stormy eyes meet mine–pupils blown wide.
“I could mark you right here,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Burn my own mark into your pretty skin. Make sure you remember who made you come like this while the whole town listened.”
My breath hitches. The heat of the cigarette is so close I can feel it prickling, promising pain that might drown out everything else—the fountain, the bugs, the ghosts racing in my head.
I don’t pull away.
But he does.
He pulls the cigarette back, takes a long drag, and then drops it in the can.
“Not tonight,” he says quietly. “I’ll save it for another time. When you’re ready to scream for real.”
He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, gentle, almost tender.
“Why do you call me that?” I ask, “Hex.”
“Because I’m pretty sure the day we met, you put a curse on me.”
There’s no humor behind his words. No smirk on his mouth. He means it.
“Next song’s almost over,” he says in his radio voice. “Fix your skirt, we’ve got air to fill.”
I nod, shaky, still buzzing from the high.
And when he spins back to the console, voice sliding smoothly into the mic again like nothing happened, I know the truth about myself. I wanted it. I wanted to feel that pain. And that’s what makes Hunter and me dangerous together.
One day, one of us isn’t going to stop.
26
Damon
We head to campus together,Hunter driving while the sky sinks fully into the night. Arianette sits between us quietly, bundled up in layers that make her look smaller than she is. The closer we get, the heavier everything feels–like the air itself knows why we’re coming and doesn’t care if we’re ready or not.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, eyes fixed on the students walking toward campus as Hunter slows the truck.
Hunter's eyes dart up to look at Ari in the rearview mirror. “Because we can turn around right now.”
Arianette’s fingers curl deeper into the sleeves of her sweater, the fabric swallowing her hands. She inhales, steadying herself, then nods. “I’m sure,” she says. “It’s the right thing. I should be here.” Her voice softens, fragile but resolute. “It could’ve been me.”
My jaw tightens. “Which is exactly why youdon’t have to go.”
