The question in his voice isn’t really a question. I’m ready for him when he lunges for me across the gearstick. What is it with men in cars?
He tastes of booze and mouthwash as his mouth latches on. I kiss him back. He yanks at my t-shirt making the neck tear wider. This time I’m wearing a bra. But that was my favorite fucking shirt. My hand reaches for his cock which is rigid in his pants. He groans. I jam the end of my knife into his groin and the effect is immediate. He jerks away, practically hissing like a tomcat doused in water. I keep the knife raised at him. It satisfies me to see a little bit of blood on his jeans where the tip went in.
“You fucking bitch, you stabbed me.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
His eyes are dark, practically black in this light. My heart is beating out of my chest. I flick my wrist making the knife spin in my hand. A party trick that never fails to impress. His eyes dart to the knife and then back to my face.
On the outside, I’m calm. Inside I’m a mess.
“You’re begging to be fucked, you know that,” he says, thickly.
“I’m not one of your groupies.”
He grins. “But you’d like to be. I’ve seen the way you ogle me.”
“I’ve seen better.”
“One day, when you don’t have that fucking knife, I’m going to own you.”
I stare him down.
“I bet you’re wet just thinking about it.” His eyes are huge and dark. He’s totally fucked.
“I bet you couldn’t get it up if you tried,” I counter. He’s too fucking wasted.
“Don’t worry about me,” he smirks.
I lick my lips. “I never do.”
And then his sneer becomes a harsh laugh, flashing white teeth at me. He runs his hand through his blond hair and leans in. This time the kiss is softer, less frantic. He reaches up to wrap his hand around my mine holding the knife and, against my better judgment, I let him wrestle it behind my back. His other hand is stroking my thigh, and then tugging at my jeans. He can’t get them off so he settles for unbuttoning my waistband and shoving his hand down the front.
His fingers barely slip inside my wet folds, teasing a raw moan from my own lips.
“Fuck, you are soaking,” he breathes out as he pulls back from mouth fucking me with his tongue.
In the time he’s been distracted, I angled my body in a way that allowed me to arch my back, and knee him in the groin at the same time.
He doesn’t see it coming.
“You…fucking…bitch!” he pants, hissing in pain.
“Baby, I don’t need a knife to own you,” I say sweetly, fixing my ripped shirt. “Now, get out and give me the keys. There’s no way you’re driving us home.”