I huff, climbing in. “How fun.”
He leans closer and pulls the seatbelt over me, the strap brushing against my chest before it clicks into place. Then he lifts his head and looks at me, his eyes locking on mine.
“It will be,” he says, leaning in until his breath warms my lips. “I heard you’re afraid of heights.”
I swallow.
“Don’t worry.” He chuckles. “You won’t even notice you’re in the air while you moan my name with my fingers inside you, Kitten,” he whispers against my mouth. “Deep inside you.”
I blink at him, my thighs pressing together, heat already creeping between them just from the thought. My gaze drops to my bare knees.
I picked the wrong day to wear a dress.
He pulls back, shuts the door, and walks around the car. I watch him slide into the driver’s seat, then force myself to look ahead. This is the first time I’ve been in the front seat since the accident.
He starts the engine and turns“Call Me” by Bonnie Tyleron the radio. As we pull away, he glances at me, his gaze moving from the road to my hands clenched tight in my lap. He notices. And moves his hand to my thigh.
“Breathe,” he says. “I’m here.”
I drag in a breath, then let it out while looking at him. My hand finds his fingers, wrapping around it hard enough for my nails to sink into his skin as the car keeps moving.
I close my eyes.
The song keeps playing, and when it ends, the car stops.
I open my eyes and realize we’re parked near the bus station, in the lot beside it. A fair is just in front. Lights are coming in every direction, splashing color all over. Families move past with children tugging at their hands. Couples walk by with cotton candy. Clowns move near a tent, dancing and waving people inside.
And we’re here.
I let go of his hand and look down.
He’s bleeding, tiny crescent marks rise on his skin where my nails dug into him.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
His hand lifts to my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut on reflex. My body braces for a slap that never came. Instead, his fingers curl gently around my jaw and guide my face toward his. His lips press against mine, and when he pulls back, his breath stays between us.
“I’m not him, Kitten,” he says. “And I will never be.”
I nod, my eyes filling with tears.
It’s complicated when someone breaks you so badly that every person after them feels like a threat. When they tear your trust apart so completely that even your own mind starts turning against you.
He unbuckles my seatbelt, then steps out of the car and walks around to my side to open the door for me. Before I can get out, he crouches down between my knees and slides his hand up my dress. His gaze scans the space around us, checking if anyone is watching, and then his fingers hook into my thong and pull it down my thighs, then past my sneakers.
“You won’t be needing this,” he says, tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans.
He locks the car, and we walk toward the fair. Compared to the house, everything here feels blinding. Neon lights flash fromevery direction. Disco music blasts through speakers hooked to long cables running between the swings and carousels.
He points at the swings and pulls my hand toward them.
I shake my head.
We stop by the man selling tickets, and he buys ours for the next ride. My stomach twists as people crowd around us. For a second, it feels like every pair of eyes is on us.
Then I realize why.
He didn’t just buy tickets for one round. He bought the next four.
