“For what?” His voice was low and dangerous, a warning, though I didn’t know what it was warning me of.
“For coming to get me. For doing that back there.” I swallowed. “For making me look good, I guess.”
We’d reached his car—a low-slung black thing that matched his black jacket and his black t-shirt and his fuck-you attitude. He turned me so my back was against the passenger door, and then he braced his arms on the car, boxing me in. “You think that’s what that fucking was?” he said.
His eyes were dark as ink, unreadable. I didn’t know what he was thinking, whether he was angry or turned on or disgusted. Whether he thought I was a slut or a loser or just some girl he’d forget about an hour from now. We weren’t compatible, and we’d been useful to each other and nothing else, but in that moment, I wanted to know what he thought of me. I wanted to break him open and look at all of his pieces, understand them—this one man, of all people. It mattered. I cared.
I shouldn’t. But I did.
“Why did you come?” I challenged him. “It wasn’t for appearances. You didn’t know Gina was going to be there. So why? Why did you even call me tonight after you turned me down?”
“Jesus.” He leaned closer, lifting a hand and digging it into the hair at the back of my head. “You’re a fucking head trip, you know that? I don’t know why I bother.”
That stung. I could smell him, so close now. I was breathing his air, his heat, and I was taking deep breaths to take it in. “I take it back,” I said, fighting it as hard as I could with every last part of me. Fighting and losing. “I’m not thanking you. You’re an asshole, just like you said when I first met you. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You can go home now.”
“Unfuckingbelievable,” he said, the word soft under his breath as his big hand tightened in my hair. The pulse between my legs beat harder as I felt the pull on my scalp. “Are you done winding yourself up? Take a breath and come out of your head for one fucking second.”
“Nick.”
“Stop talking, Evie.”
“I think—”
“Stop talking.” He pressed against me, notching his hips between my legs as neatly as a puzzle, his jeans against my panties through my dress. I gave a little whimper of lust as I throbbed helplessly against him. He had me pinned to the car door now, his hand in my hair. I was immobilized, and instead of struggling, all I did was move my hips higher so I rubbed on him at just the right angle.
“Better,” he said, so close now that his gorgeous mouth nearly brushed mine. “Much better. Do that again.”
I hitched my hips like I was told, moving up and then down. I was so sensitized that I could feel everything—the rough denim of his jeans, the length of his hard cock behind it. He didn’t move but braced against me, letting me rub him again, a demanding gesture. Me taking what I wanted. He was letting me do that, make demands on his cock, and I reveled in it, lightheaded.
He leaned closer and I felt him moan low in his throat, his breath against my neck. “So fucking good,” he said.
“Nick,” I breathed. I’d forgotten the bar and the parking lot and the rest of the world. My whole existence was his body against mine, his hand in my hair, his hips between my legs. My panties were wet where I rubbed against him.
He hissed in a breath, and it hit me that he was turned on, so fucking turned on he was holding on as tightly as I was. The thought gave me a rush of power, and I rubbed him higher, near the head of his cock behind his jeans.
His hand gripped my hair tighter in response. “Fuck, redhead, you fight dirty,” he said against my skin. “You fight dirty, you get dirty. Is that what you want?”
Had I ever wanted anything else with him? I didn’t think so. It was a relief just to say it. “Yes,” I told him.
“Say it,” he said, pressing his hips harder into mine, torturing me.
“I want it dirty,” I said, the words a rush in my throat. “With you.”
He pulled back. “All right,” he said. “Open your mouth.” And he kissed me.
That kiss was everything. Everything I wanted. He tasted good, and his mouth was warm and soft, and his stubble was harsh, and he opened my mouth and kissed me like he owned me, like there was no part of my body he didn’t know. It was hot and somehow perfectly familiar, like the kiss he’d given me in the bar minutes ago. He kissed me like we’d already fucked. Like we fucked all the time. Like we’d just finished fucking, and were about to do it again.
And I kissed him back the same way. Like
I already knew what he felt like inside me. Like I knew what set him off, made him crazy, made him come. Because in that moment, I did know. It was me.
This was always going to happen, I thought, the realization hitting me hard. From that first second I’d seen him standing over Josh, his fist clenched, this had always been in the cards. It didn’t matter how much fighting we did.
He broke the kiss. “My place,” he said against my mouth.
“Yes,” I replied.
And just like that, we both gave in.