He grunts in pain as he maneuvers his injured left arm out of the sleeve. I toss the blood-stained hoodie and shirt into the backseat, where Bullet is sound asleep, and turn my attention back to Noah.
In the dim light, the physical toll of his escape is undeniable. His chest and abdomen are marred with fresh cuts and dark bruises from the lake debris. I trace my fingers lightly over a purple bruise near his ribs, my breath catching in my throat.
He is so incredibly battered. And it’s all really because my dad framed him.
And me. I did it, too.
“It all looks worse than it is,” Noah murmurs, his voice dropping an octave.
I lift my eyes to his. We’re mere inches apart now. I can smell the motel soap on his skin, mixed with the scent of him and the cold desert air. His gaze is no longer icy or detached; it is entirely consumed by a dark, desperate hunger that sends a blast of warmth straight to my core.
That’s the Noah that took me in the woods.
I reach for the gauze wrapped around his bicep. The white tape is stained red, but the bleeding seems to be slowing. I pressmy fingers gently against the edge of the dressing to check the tension.
Noah sucks in a sharp breath.
His right hand suddenly shoots up, wrapping around my wrist like a vice. His grip is iron-clad, stopping my movements entirely.
“What?” I choke out, my pulse skyrocketing.
His chest heaves beneath me. The wall he has been desperately trying to keep between us since the motel room completely shatters.
“If you keep touching me right now, Rue,” he warns, his voice a dark, raw scrape in the quiet cabin, his grip tightening as he pulls me a fraction closer. “I’m not going to be able to stop.”
I swallow hard, ignoring the buzzing in my ears. “I don’t want you to.”
“You have a concussion.” His grip tightens.
I lean forward, my nose brushing his and my lips hovering just above his. “Then you can blame that.” My free hand finds the top of his thigh, and I ease upward, feeling his body tense beneath me.
Please, Noah. Please, let me be close to you.
His chest heaves as I reach his cock, feeling the hard length through his sweats. “Rue,” he rasps, his hand comes down to mine, stopping it.
A wave of disappointment hit me, and I braced as I looked up at him.
“Yeah?”
His face darkens. “Take off your pants.Now.”
Oh fuck.
I kick my shoes off and then start to slide down my pajama pants and the underwear beneath them, but he stops me, grabbing the black lace.
“Leave those on. Just in case.”
I nod and then slide out of my pants, as Noah pulls out his cock, stroking it as he watches me. He uses his injured arm to work his shaft, and then adjusts the seat all the way back, and lifts the steering wheel as far as it’ll go.
“Come here,” he barks, reaching across and finding my wrist. There’s nothing gentle about the way he pulls me to him, over the console, and into his lap. I straddle him, the head of his cock brushing against the thin black material covering my pussy.
A sharp breath leaves my lips as his hands brush my bare stomach beneath my shirt. His eyes fall to the space between us, my pussy hovering over his dick, and then back to his hands. He raises his hands, rolling the T-shirt up to his wrists.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, as his fingers push my bra up with ease, my breasts dropping for him. His eyes linger on them, his thumbs brushing my knuckles. “Sit on my cock.”
My heart pounds in my ears as I reach between us and slide my underwear to the side. I ease onto him, my breath stuttering as he rubs circles on my nipples.
His gaze jumps up to mine as I ease down him, pleasure contorting his expression. “Fuck, that’s it. Take me, baby.”
