Page 82 of Merging Wright

There’s something about what he said, how he said it, and the way the word yours lingers between us that takes my brain a moment to compute and my body another half-second to react.

When my seat belt is unbuckled, Mach slides along the bench seat toward me. We meet in the middle. Suddenly, I’m straddling his lap, and his hands are in my hair. Our mouths come together, kissing hard and fierce like I can erase all the bad memories and maybe even replace a few of the good.

Mach tastes like wine and a hint of me from his mouth on my body earlier. The reminder spurs me on, rocking against the hard-on behind his zipper. His hands lower to my hips, and I reach for his belt, loosening the buckle before unfastening the button and dropping the zipper. I scoot off him to shimmy my jeans down to my ankles and remove one leg, and Mach shifts his jeans to the top of his thighs.

I’m back over him in a heartbeat, and he holds his ready, erect dick at my entrance. Then, I’m falling over him, pulling him inside me, and I gasp at the depth. He’s not nine inches, but he’s touching me in places I’ve never been tapped.

“Hold on, baby,” he warns, reaching up to flatten his palm on the ceiling. He bucks upward, hard and fast, and I yelp. My hands rest on the back of the seat, keeping me balanced as I ride the wild stallion he’s become, fucking me deep in this position.

The windows fog around us, and rain pelts the glass. Our breath is warm. Our bodies hot. The sound of us—heavy breaths, slapping skin—is music in this truck.

“I’m only thinking of you, Jane,” he says, staring down at where he’s disappearing into me. The force of us coming together coats him with my wetness. His ab muscles work double-time as his pelvis flexes and his hips jolt. He has a hand on my lower back while the other presses on the ceiling as he lifts and lowers himself. “Only. Jane.”

I nod, or maybe my head wobbles as I ride him like the bucking bronco he is. Meeting him thrust for thrust, allowing my body to match each surge from him with an eager response to draw him deeper.

He moves his hand from my hip to my lower belly and works his thumb between us to get at my clit. I push him away. In this position, that sensitive nub strikes against his pubic bone, like flint on a rock. I spark and ignite, pausing my urgent rocking. Clenching, clutching, I hold him inside me and milk him with all I have until he cries out when he comes.

“Fuck!” The word echoes around us, emphasizing what we’ve done. There was nothing romantic about our position. This was pure irritation and mad desire and a need to restore balance.

Our chests heave in tandem. Mach’s head falls back, and my hands move to the back window to prevent myself from collapsing over him.

Mach’s head snaps up after a deep exhale, and he cups my face, tugging me down to him. I expect the kiss to be harsh and quick like how we started, but he’s tender, gentle even. Then he pulls back and wraps his arms around me, resting his head on my chest.

“I’m sorry, baby.” His voice cracks as he holds me to him. What is he apologizing for? Is it me? Is it her? Is it now? Is it then?

He presses me back by my cheeks but holds my face close to his. Rubbing his nose over mine, he then kisses the tip.

“Jesus, Jane. You drive me mad.”

I don’t think he means mad as in anger, just . . . crazy. “You’re very maddening yourself, Mr. Wright.”

He chuckles and glances down where I still straddle him, and he’s still inside me.

“This is one of the best sights in the world.” He focuses on where we attach. Then he glances up at my face. “Your smile is number one.”

The compliment renews my smile, and Mach awkwardly laughs before leaning forward and kissing me soft and slow again.

37

Playlist: “Worship You” – Kane Brown

[Mach]

I’d like to say I gave Jane a rest after mad sex in the truck, but I couldn’t get enough of her. For the next week, we were sexual in the bedroom and playful outside of it.

My brother notices with envy in his eyes.

Ma comments. “She’s been good for you.”

I fight smiles. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m perfect.” Mach-nificent as Jane calls me.

Even Tucker makes a comment when I spend a morning on the phone with him. “You sound pretty happy, Mach.”

The comment sobered me a bit. Am I happy? Is happiness this feeling inside me?

As I wander into town, seeking Jane, she leans outside a building, head pressed back, eyes closed.

Rushing to her, I grip her arms, startling her. “What’s wrong?”