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Preston returns with a wicked grin of his own as he pushes himself between her thighs. Grabbing the waist of her jean-shorts, he yanks once, twice, and then shimmies them off. Her legs are pulled up and around at odd angles before the shorts are tossed aside, and he hits her thighs apart.
So rarely gentle with her. Just how they like it. How theyneedit.
Billie snatches out for his shirt and pulls him down to meet her.
He falls with the tug.
His hand slams down on the edge of the door, just to the side of her head, and she arches up—up to meet his full lips.
“El,” she whispers against his mouth, then bites out, a nip to his bottom lip, hard enough to make him wince. “Fuck me like you miss me.”
His hand glides over her neck for a beat, fingertips soft and barely there. He grips, firm.
He knows what she wants, that she’s stirring up the rough side of him, provoking him with the bite and a hated nickname.
‘Fuck me like you miss me…’
Something she once spat at him in a breakup.
Something she’ll use against him when she wants to be fucked into the ground.
An all-too-easy way to piss him off.
Slowly, with his hand on her neck, he pushes her back down—and pins her in place.
His smile fades, fades away to darkness that steals his face. Shadows cast from the trees around them stretch over his olive-skinned face, darkening his already black eyes.
Suddenly Billie feels smaller than ever beneath him. A thrill runs through her. She swallows, hard.
One hand on her throat, he reaches down with his other to slip her panties to the side.
She’s ready. And he grazes his fingertips over the evidence of that, sending a shiver down her leg.
Grabbing the thickness of his smooth shaft, he pushes against her heat—and the instant the head of his cock touches the warmth of her core, a raspy groan escapes him.
Impatient, he thrusts inside of her in one swift move.
Her back arches in protest, but he shoves her back down in an instant. Preston brings his body down to curve over hers, his weight balanced on the hand he smacks down on the door’s edge.
Slowly, he slides out of her to the tip.
Smouldering eyes look down at her, they watch her, devour her.
Billie’s swallowed by the darkness of those eyes and the shadows stretching over her. It feeds the thrill exciting every nerve in her body.
He thrusts his way back inside of her.
She jerks with the impact, but doesn’t get a moment to collect herself before Preston is pistoning in and out of her heat.
Without the laughter and giggling from back then, it feels to her like they’re teenagers again. Hungry and desperate, hands grabbing at the other, twisting and scratching at skin. Like they’re back to when they were just teens who snuck out to Lover’s Lookout in the early mornings when it was least busy so they could fumble around with each other in his Cadillac.
Back then, it was the only way they could fuck without their moms stopping them.
Their history is etched all over the inside of the car. It’s in the scratches down the glovebox, the shoe-scuff marks that she’s kicked over the steering wheel, the black permanent smudges on the white leather.
And this is why he lets her clamour all over his car like no one else. Only she can leave her mark in here.
And he leaves his mark on her.
