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“Why are you even here? You said you were done following me around. You’re ruining my fucking high.”
We’re passing cars on the interstate like they’re standing still. As much as it should scare me, it doesn’t. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I stopped caring if I lived or died, but I feel weightless with that worry gone.
I’m warm, my skin feeling like I have a million ants crawling up and down my arms, but when I reach for the buttons for the air conditioner, I realize it’s already on full blast. I turn one of the vents some to get better airflow in my direction.
“Was it X?” he asks.
“I’m so hot,” I complain. “My skin feels alive.”
I run my hands over my body, hyper focused on how the attention sends a thrill up my spine.
“You need to stop,” he grumbles. “Put your fucking seatbelt back on.”
“It’s too tight. Everything is too tight.”
“Swear to God, Alani.”
I lift the hem of my shirt, angling the air from the vent onto my thighs.
“I’m hot.”
In a fit of madness, I reach across the seat and run my hand up his jeans-clad thigh, stopping when I brush over his erection.
“You seem to be hot, too.”
I press my lips to his neck, needing his mouth more than I ever have before.
He refuses me again, turning his head when I brush his cheek with my mouth.
“Why won’t you kiss me?”
“I’m fucking driving,” he snaps. “Get back in your fucking seat.”
My refusal is clear in the way I keep rubbing him over his jeans. He can act as pissed as he wants to, but it still doesn’t stop him from angling his hips up some when I pull away a few inches.
His hand comes out to grab me just as I feel the terrain under the tires change.
My eyes widen, that fear of death I thought I got rid of coming back with a vengeance as I’m jostled.
He never releases me. When he comes to a stop, I find my fingers tangled in his shirt as if he has the power to keep me safe even during a car accident.
When I look out the windshield, I realize we didn’t crash. He pulled over on the side of the road, having enough forward thinking to turn his hazard lights on.
“Get in your fucking seat,” he hisses.
I don’t know why I listen this time. Maybe it’s because of the look in his eyes. Maybe it’s the realization that as hard as I try to act, there’s always going to be some part of me that’s afraid of the reality of getting hurt or killed. I don’t think it’s death that frightens me. I think it’s the pain I’m afraid I’ll suffer getting there.
He pulls down on the gear shift, merging back on to the road, but he doesn’t speed up as fast as we were going before. The very next exit we come to, he takes, and then there are a series of turns. I don’t know what his plans are, but whatever it is he’s decided, I can see the determination in his eyes.
He doesn’t say a word as he unbuckles his belt, pulling down his zipper in the next breath.
Before I can challenge him, he’s reaching across the seat and wrapping his hand around my throat.
My head hits the passenger side window, and the wince from that combines with the pain at my hips when he rips my panties from my body.
“Donavan,” I screech, but any and all further complaints fade away.
My back is at an odd angle to the door, but that doesn’t stop him from shoving inside of me.
I’m not surprised by his aggression, but I am surprised by the slick path my body has provided his.
“Open wider,” he growls, using one hand to shove at my hip, but it’s locked against the back of the seat. “Fuck it.”
He pulls from me, and I feel like a whore when I reach for him.
Hitting the button on his door, my window rolls down and before I can question what he’s doing, he’s flipping me over and shoving my head through the open window. The bite of the door pinches the skin across my chest, but his grip in my hair lifts me from the frame just as he presses inside of me again.
Cool night air swarms around my top half while all of the heat I felt earlier settles below my belly button. His hips are brutal, every forward jab hitting something inside of me that makes me see literal stars, or at least that’s what I thought was happening until I realize his hands are around my throat.
“I fucking hate you,” he hisses, my vision narrowing.
I try to scream his name, but his grip is too tight.
The second he releases my neck and the blood starts to flow once again, I explode. My body convulses around his. I fucking love it, but also hate it because I miss his reaction.
