He then sets the painting gently back in the back of his car and turns back to me, something raw and vulnerable flickering across his features. Before I can process what's happening, his hands are grabbing my face, and his mouth is on mine.
I should push him away. I should remember the promises I made to myself tonight, that this is wrong onevery level. But God, the way he kisses me—slow and deep and desperate, like he's been starving for this moment. His lips are warm and soft, and when his tongue touches mine, I melt against him completely.
My hands find the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away like I should. He tastes like wine and sex, and every rational thought in my head evaporates.
When his hand slides up my thigh, finding the hem of my dress, I don't stop him. I can't. My body responds instantly, heat pooling low in my belly as his fingers brush against the silk of my underwear.
"Jesus, Jenna," he breathes against my mouth as he explores me deeper. "You're already so wet for me."
I am.
I'm aching for him in a way that terrifies the hell out of me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
His fingers trace the lace edge of my panties, sending shivers down my spine. They don’t just trace—they tease, dragging along the delicate lace with maddening slowness, hooking under the elastic just enough to make my stomach clench before retreating again.
A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, dark and knowing, like he can hear the way my breath hitches every time he pulls back, like he’s memorizing the exact degree my hips tilt toward him in silent begging.
He’s drawing this out on purpose, letting the anticipation coil tighter inside me, and the worst part? The shameful, delicious part?
Iloveit. I love the way my skin prickles under his touch, love the way my body betrays me by arching intohim even as my mind screams at me to stop. Love the way he watches me unravel with nothing more than a flick of his fingertips against the damp fabric clinging to me.
He’s not just touching me—he’stoyingwith me, and I’m powerless to do anything but melt into it, my lips parted, my pulse hammering in my throat like a trapped thing desperate to be set free.
"God, I should go," I tell him softly. He knows these are only words. He knows he has complete control over me. I couldn't go even if my life depended on it. And it does… my life as I know it.
"I want to have you right here in the backseat of my car," he whispers against my ear, his voice rough with need.
A shiver runs through me. My breath catches in my throat, sharp and uneven. Every rational thought screams at me to stop, to pull away, to remember who I am and what I stand to lose.
But then his hand slides deeper, harder against my wet pussy, and all those warnings dissolve into static. IknowI shouldn’t. I know this is reckless, selfish, a betrayal of everything I’ve built with Reeves.
I can’t stand it. The promise of what’s coming—it’s too much. I know I should be stronger. I should walk away. But right now, with his breath hot against my neck and his fingers rubbing me into oblivion, I don’twanttobe strong. I want to behis. I want him to make me come.
Even if it’s just for this stolen moment in the back of his car, with the world outside forgotten and the consequences waiting like a shadow at the edge of my mind. I want him so badly ithurts. "Do…" God, I can barely speak. "Do… you have a condom?" I ask, breathless.
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as he pulls one from his wallet. “Just in case...”
I swallow hard, then quietly open the car door. The interior light flickers on, casting everything in a soft glow. "Get in."
He slides across the backseat, his eyes never leaving mine. I follow, straddling his lap, my dress riding up around my hips. The second my body melts into his, a wave of heat crashes over me, starting where his hands grip my waist and spreading outward like wildfire.
Every point of contact—his rough palms against my bare thighs, the hard planes of his chest beneath my fingertips, the way his breath ghosts hot against my collarbone—sends electric sparks skittering across my skin. My pulse thrums in my throat, my breath coming in shallow little gasps as I arch into him, chasing that delicious friction.
The car’s leather seats creak beneath us, the air thick with the scent of his cologne and something darker, muskier—the unmistakable scent of need.
My dress is a tangled mess around my hips, the cool night air brushing against my exposed skin, but all I can focus on is the way his touch burns me, brands me, like he’s searing himself into my very nerves.
I should be cold. I should be ashamed. But I’m neither—because the second his hands slide up to undo the zipper of my dress, and he cups my breasts through the flimsy lace of my bra, all I can think ismore. More of his mouth, more of his skin, more of this reckless, consuming fire that licks through my veins every time he so much as looks at me.
My fingers fumble with his belt, then his zipper. When I wrap my hand around him, he lets out a sharp breath. "Fuck, Jenna—"
"I need you," I whisper, guiding him toward me. "Now."
The foil packet tears between his teeth with a sharp, animalistic sound—something so primal, souncontrolled, that it sends a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly. My breath hitches as I watch him, this man who’s always so composed, so effortlessly in command, now reduced to this—jaw clenched, eyes dark with hunger, his usual precision replaced by something raw and untamed. The way his fingers tremble just slightly as he rolls the latex down his length makes my thighs clench together, my body aching with anticipation.
Something is intoxicating about seeing him like this,about knowingIdid this to him—that I unravelled him so completely he can’t even bother with finesse anymore.
