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And now we were face-to-face.
“I’m following your rules,” he said, grinding against my core. I mewled, the effort at containing myself causing our noses to touch. “I think it’s time you follow mine.”
He reached down, and I braced myself on either side of his seat. His dick released and I didn’t have to look down to remember the gorgeousness, how the size fit me perfectly and filled every empty corner I possessed.
“Yes,” I said into his ear. “Yes.”
In one heave, he was in, my cry of finally being complete again filling the car’s interior. I pushed onto his shoulders, becoming the driver this time, and rocked, rolled, swayed, until he hit every part that sang with pleasure.
Eyes up, then closed, I gave myself to this man. His hands centered on my hips, relinquishing control. Our breaths went in sync with our movements, my chin lowering, lips brushing against his temple, his cheek.
This is wrong. So very hurtful. But God, I want it. I can’t stop.
I moaned, our pace quickening, the slide of him, in and out, pounding, thickening, pumping, until sweat turned to dew on my arms and his became a sheen across his cheekbones, his mouth delectable, made for me to bite down on.
I couldn’t.
I cried out once more, this one drawn out and timbering into a whisper as I sagged against him, my face burying into the cologne on his neck.
“Scarlet…”
He rubbed my back, his caress gentle. Kind.
Dangerous.
I reared up. “Fuck.”
His hands immediately left, the warmth of him trickling away as I lifted and slammed back into my seat.
I felt around the floor until I found my shorts and shimmied into my underwear while he buttoned up his pants, but his face was unreadable.
“That was a mistake,” I said.
“Admit we both needed it,” he said, then turned on the engine. He moved into traffic as if we’d just made a minor pit stop for snacks. No hitch in his breath, no heaving of his chest, a complete absence of trembling in his fingers.
That was all coming from me.
“The amount of tension between us, it needed to be fixed in order to keep what’s important at the forefront,” he said.
“We’ve just complicated everything,” I said, close to tears, but I swallowed them back.
“You and I haven’t seen each other for years, and when we left each other, it wasn’t because of lack of sexual attraction.”
“You left,” I corrected. “You.”
“I’ve wanted you this entire time,” he admitted.
“And what? You think you left me aching, vulnerable, ready to ride you the instant I saw you?”
He flicked his attention over to me, then back to the road. “No, the instant you saw me, you slapped me in the face.”
I barked out my frustration, my shoulder blades burying into the buttery leather of the seat.
“Don’t punish yourself so much,” he said softly. “And give yourself more credit. I didn’t take you right now because I knew I could. I did it because the instant you walked within my horizon again, all of me responded. I couldn’t stand being so close to you and not knowing you again. Not touching you.”
Me, too.
I refused to answer. The rest of the drive, I said nothing, and Theo, never one to ignore hints, didn’t prod me into conversation. We’d done it. Both of us. And hell if I didn’t want to do it again. Inexplicably, I felt swollen heat between my legs as soon as he spoke, the caramel of his words melting against my body, priming me for more.
