I attempt to squeeze his sides with my thighs, trying to let my body speak for me. My legs anchor around his waist, and I tighten my muscles. But that only makes him fuck me faster.
Then the burning…where his dick is sliding. The sensation is on overload. And I’m thinking—it’s not supposed to feel like this. But the tunneling won’t stop. It won’t let me stop. Its hold grips me as hard as Jesse’s hands are fastened to my hips.
My vision blurs, and now my mind is slipping. How stupid. Maybe my emotions are overwhelmed. Maybe I’m enjoying this and it’s just all too much. But the frantic beat of my heart and the skin tearing under my nails pleads differently.
He groans harshly, his body seizing, and he thrusts one last, deep time. Then he rips himself out and spills all over my belly.
His head lands on my shoulder, his breathing intense, hot puffs of breath fanning my chest. “So fucking hot.”
With a forced exhale, I finally work the words past the nauseous tumble in my stomach. “Move...I’m going to be sick.”
Melody
Purge, for your loyalty is endless
I LOSE MY STOMACH. Hunkered over, hanging out the side of the car, the door thrown open, my arm covering my chest—I let it rip.
A bubbly puddle of alcohol and chip chunks stares back at me.
Clear liquid dribbles from my chin, and I wipe at it with the back of my hand. My stomach is cold where Jesse’s come runs down my skin. Blinking a few times to center myself, I sit up, press my back into the side of the seat. Feel Jesse’s hand on my back.
“You okay?” A shirt is tugged over my head. “Here. Get dressed.”
The coke is still firing off inside me. I can’t remember ever feeling like this—it has to be cut with something harsh. Maybe. I don’t know. As soon as I’m dressed and cleaned up, I climb out of the car and wrap my arms around my waist.
“I need to grab Dar and get out of here,” I say, already walking away from Jesse.
He’s leaning against the hood of the car, his vest covering most of his bare chest. I can’t remember when he removed his tank. “Yeah, all right,” he says, sinking his hands into his pockets. “You want me to get her? You’re sketching.” He jogs up to me and snags my arm to slow me down. “Hey. You probably shouldn’t ride like this. I can take you to the motel.”
He’s right. I’m totally sketching out. That’s all it is. It’s been at least five weeks since I last IV’d. It’s just hitting me hard. What happened in the car…that was nothing. I’m just losing my shit.
I nod slowly, feeling my skin stretch and prickle with my movements. “Right. Go get Dar and let’s go.”
“She is not driving my bike!” I’m shouting, drawing attention to us in the parking lot.
At some point during my second wave, the high coming on full force, Jesse tried to talk me into letting Darla drive my bike back to the motel, and him drive me in his car. But fuck that. “She’s wasted,” I say, pointing to Darla looking at me with one eye cocked open.
“I am not. I just got cigarette smoke in my eye.” She wipes sloppily at her eye, smearing mascara down her cheek.
I look at Jesse. Raise my eyebrows. “Fuck this shit.” I snag my keys from his hand and march toward my Breakout. “You take her. I’ll ride alone.”
Jesse plants his six-foot self in front of my path. “You’re a damn good rider, Mel. But these roads are slick, and you’re fucked up.”
I glare at him. “You’re fucked up, too, Jess. What the hell?”
He tilts his head, defiant. “Look at me. Do I look fucked up? Really? I think we both know I’m good to go. Don’t pull this shit, Mel.”
Dammit. I wrap my arms around my stomach and glance back at Darla. She’d be safer with him. Compared to how much shit Jesse usually does at any given tim
e, he’s not too high.
Before I can concede though, he says, “If you’re going to be a bitch about this”—I grit my teeth, stopping myself from calling him out on the dickish shit he just pulled—“then take the car. It’s safer than the bike.”
“Stop telling me what to do! I’m not your ol’ lady, damn.”
His head jerks back like I slapped him. “Right. Yeah. I know.” Jesse looks down to zip his vest, diverting his attention away from me.
My stomach churns, and I feel like if we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll both end up saying things we can’t take back.