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Our faces are dangerously close, I feel her breath against my lips.
“Hey, lovebirds. You two ready to go?” Brin shouts from behind me. My forehead falls against Stassie’s, the regret of not seizing the moment hanging in the air.
She releases my shirt, stepping backward, fingers tapping against her lips. “Yeah, let’s go.”
If feeling Anastasia’s body grinding against mine in a nightclub was my reward, having her sitting in my lap in the Uber on the way home is my punishment.
I slipped our driver an extra fifty bucks to let the girls get in with us. Otherwise, we would have had to get another ride for only two people. Henry and Bobby are on the front bench with the driver; JJ, Kris, and Robbie are in the middle row, with Sabrina across them; I’m in the backseat with Stas on my knee.
She wanted to sit on Henry’s knee, but he politely said no. So now, she’s wiggling about, leaning forward to talk to Sabrina in the row in front of us, and I’m stuck looking at the way her waist slopes in from her ass, trying not to think about how well my hands would fit there if I was p—never mind.
“Stassie, you need to lean back. You need to let me put this seat belt around you,” I say softly, pulling her shoulders back slowly.
She doesn’t fight me; she leans back against my chest and lets me pull the seat belt across her. I don’t know where to put my hands, so they’re gripping the seat in an attempt not to make this more challenging than it already is.
“What are you doing?” she asks, head tilting upward until her nose is brushing the underside of my jaw.
“What do you mean?” Even though the car is full of the others shouting and laughing, for some reason, we’re whispering.
She nudges me again with her nose. “You’re not touching me…” Her hands grip my forearms and travel down to where my fingers are digging into the seat, pulling them away and wrapping them around her body instead. An evil giggle slips from her lips. “You’re hard.”
I can’t even stop the embarrassing groan that seeps out. “Yeah, my dick’s having a hard time realizing the wriggling around you’re doing isn’t for our benefit.”
If it’s even possible, she relaxes her body farther into mine and intertwines our hands, placing them both in a comfortable position on her thighs. This feels manageable. No wiggling or squirming; I can get back to Maple Hills like this. Hand-holding and relaxed bodies. Nice, nothing to stress about.
“If it makes you feel any less embarrassed,” she whispers, moving our right hands along her inner thigh until I can feel the heat radiating from between her legs. “I’m so fucking wet.” Widening her knees, she moves our joined hands closer. “And I’m not wearing any panties.”
THIRTEEN | ANASTASIA
The darknessin the back of this Uber is giving me more confidence than it should.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the post-qualifying high, maybe it’s the way Nathan’s body responds to mine, and how he’s practically dicking down my ego by telling me I’m the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.
His hand is about an inch away from making this journey home more interesting, but I tried to avoid this, in my defense. I tried to sit with Henry, whom I knew would go entirely out of his way to ensure our bodies touched as little as possible.
Shit, he probably would have forced me to sit on the floor of the passenger seat, and I’d have been good with it. But now, I find myself dealing with the consequences of my actions, with no one to blame for my aching, wet vagina but myself.
My traitorous hips are moving of their own accord, a desperate whimper slipping from my parted lips as Nate slowly and deliberately rolls his hips forward, hand still interlocked with mine between my legs.
His other hand leaves my thigh, and my arm instinctively raises to sink my fingers into his thick, dark hair. My breathing slows as he presses his palm flat to my body and travels across my stomach, over the curve of my breast, circling my nipple but not quite adding enough pressure for me to be satisfied.
“Nathan…” I whimper impatiently. His chuckle is dark and devious, telling me with no words that he does not give one fuck about doing what I want. His hand moves across to my other breast, the same frustrating light touch that has me arching into his hand just to feel more. “Nathan, please…”
I tug with the hand still gripping his hair, trying to ignore the goose bumps spreading across my skin every time his hot breath dances across my neck.
His fingers finally pinch my taut nipples, nose nudging my head to the side, the stubble covering his jaw scraping over my hammering pulse, teeth nipping the lobe of my ear. “You only like me when you’re drunk and horny.”
“Not true.” I finally let go of the hand settled between my legs, leaving his there as he strokes against the inside of my thigh gently. I twist to watch him over my shoulder, his eyes dark and heavy as they meet mine. “I don’t like you at any time.”
Lips crash into mine and his hand moves to grip the front of my throat. It’s rough and passionate, overwhelming and heated, and a whole host of other words my brain can’t even process right now. He squeezes my throat as his tongue explores my mouth, moaning when my teeth sink into his lip.
It’s not enough; I want him closer, need him closer. He loosens his grip, trailing his mouth across my jaw, kissing and sucking my neck, voice rough as I roll my hips against him. “Don’t tell me you don’t like me when I can feel how wet you are all over your thighs, Anastasia.”
“It’d be all over your hand instead if you didsomething.”
I’m incredibly close to taking matters into my own hands, although I’m unsure where masturbating in his lap would put us on the frenemy-ship scale. A normal person would be worried about their audience, but I could scream until the windows shattered and our exceptionally drunk friends wouldn’t notice. Drunkenness aside, Taylor Swift’s “Cruel Summer” came on the radio, and Kris turned it to full volume.
We’re in our own little world back here; the temperature is hotter, the air thicker, tension stealing every last bit of oxygen from my lungs.
