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This fucking meant something.
“Thank you so much,” she whispered, staring out at the ocean. “You don’t know how much you mean to me.”
ChapterForty-Seven
VERA
The words had slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.
I widened my eyes and tensed in Blaise’s arms, unsure if he had even heard what I said. I sure hoped that he hadn’t because I didn’t even know where that had come from. Blaise was nicer to me than he had initially been, and I maybe kinda, sorta liked him.
But what did he really mean to me?
And what on earth had compelled me to accept his gift?
All my hopes were lost when Blaise cupped my chin and forced me to look up at him. Underneath the moonlight, his eyes were a mess of browns—hazel, chocolate, and even flecks of caramel swirling around his dark pupils.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
My eyes widened, and I tensed harder, then tugged away and looked down. “Hmm?”
“What did you mean when you said, ‘You don’t know how much you mean to me’?”
“I, um …” I swallowed nervously. “You know …”
Hell, how would Blaise know? I didn’t even know what I meant. I had said whatever came naturally to me at that moment. I hadn’t known that was how I actually felt about him, like he meant more to me than someone I liked.
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
“Blaise,” I whispered, glancing around at a car behind us that had turned on their high beams. I squinted my eyes and pulled away from Blaise, deciding that it was too cold out here and too public to be having this conversation. “Can we … talk in the car?”
After Blaise cursed at the assholes behind us, he opened the passenger seat. Before I could sit, he sat in my seat, pushed it back as far as it would go in his small sports car, and pulled me onto his lap. He took the laptop from my hands, set it in the driver’s seat, and seized my hips. “Talk.”
“I … I didn’t mean like this,” I whispered.
“Tell me,” he urged, pulling my hips down so I sat flush against the front of his pants.
When I felt the slight bulge inside his jeans, I curled my fingers around his shoulders and whimpered, warmth spreading throughout my core. He slipped his hand between my legs and gently rubbed my pussy through my pants.
“What did you mean?”
“B-Blaise …”
He moved his fingers faster. “Come on, Vera.”
Slowly, I ran my fingers from his shoulders, down his muscular chest and abdomen, and to the button on his jeans. I curled my fingers around the waistband and ground my pussy against his dick, hoping he’d forget about it.
Blaise pulled his hand from my clit, unbuckled his jeans, and pulled out his stiffening dick. I furrowed my brows and clenched, heat warming my core. As I stared down at it and imagined it stuffed inside me, he wrapped his arms under my legs and somehow—some-freaking-way—turned me around, so I sat on his lap with my back against his chest. He pulled my pants to my ankles and rested my feet against the dashboard.
Inhaling sharply, I leaned back against him and hoped that nobody saw us. At least the guy with the annoying headlights had left. But there were other cars behind and in front of us, with people probably inside them, doing exactly what we were.
“I’m not going to give it to you until you explain yourself,” Blaise said, pressing the head of his cock against my entrance.
“Please,” I whimpered. “Please …”
I didn’t know if I was pleading for him to give it to me or for him not to make me say it aloud—or maybe both. Saying how I felt out loud would make it real. It let him know exactly how to hurt me, if he wanted.
With his cock still pressing against my entrance, he curled his arm around my waist and sank his hand between my legs. He cupped the folds of my pussy, his fingers lightly pressing against my aching clit, and then he dipped four of his fingers into me.
