I was a connoisseur of bruises by now, and judging from the color of the mark, I was pretty sure his dad had hit him more than once, going for the same spot over and over. I moved to touch it lightly, but Cole caught my wrist in a tight grip, keeping me from brushing my fingers over the mark. The expression on his face was almost ashamed, as if he’d rather cut out that part of his skin than let me see the damage he carried.
Tugging my hand free of his hold, I met his gaze evenly and reached for the bunched up hem of his t-shirt instead. He let me pull it over his head, our movements awkward in the confined space of the car.
I didn’t see any other bruises, so I ran my hands over all the places he wasn’t hurt, and as I touched him, I watched Cole’s eyelids droop like he was drugged.
We were pressed so tightly together that I could feel every bit of his body’s reaction to me, feel him getting hard between my legs. A thrill of desire and fear ran through me as I claimed his mouth again and moved against that hardness, unable to stop myself.
This wasn’t the first time I had kissed Cole, but it was the first time I felt totally in control of it. There was an intensity to the attraction that bubbled between us that made every kiss feel a little like standing outside in the middle of a hurricane, daring nature to sweep me up and carry me away.
That same consuming, overwhelming need still infused the connection between our lips, but now it felt like I was riding the storm instead of being buffeted by it.
Like I was the storm.
Cole grunted, bucking his hips up against mine, and I dragged my lips away from his long enough to mutter, “Back seat.”
He nodded, helping me crawl off his body and between the seats to the back. Seeming to realize there was no fucking way he’d fit if he took the same route, Cole shoved open the driver’s side door and wrenched the back door open, ducking his head to peer down at me sprawled across the leather seat. Then he slid inside, slamming the door behind him. I blinked at him, taking in the thick, tattooed muscles of his chest and shoulders, watching them bunch and contract as he crawled up to hover his body over mine.
He was staring back at me just as intently, as if he was trying to read something in my fac
e, to find an answer to a question he hadn’t asked out loud.
His gaze stayed on me as he slipped a hand between us, sliding it down my pants and finding my clit immediately, rubbing his fingertips in fast circles. His touch was demanding, laced with the harshness that infused so much of what Cole did, and my body responded as if he’d given it a single command.
Come.
I did. So fast and so intensely that it stole my breath, made my muscles lock up, and drew a loud, plaintive cry from my lips. I grabbed onto his forearm with both hands, trying to stop the delicious, painful pleasure, trying to survive it, but his fingers kept circling, the message clear in his touch and his face.
Come again.
Like a puppet, I did. Sensation ripped through my body again, and I turned my head, biting down on the wrist of the arm that braced him above me. He let out a hiss and then a low grunt, but when my body finally stopped shaking and I turned to look up at him, I didn’t see pain on his face. Just dark satisfaction. The fingers that had been working my clit moved down to slip inside me, and when he felt how wet I was, his blue eyes glinted.
My heart was still hammering hard in my chest, and I felt flushed everywhere.
But this couldn’t be all. I needed more.
Had cars passed by us on the road since we’d stopped? If they did, would they have any idea what we were doing in here?
This felt reckless and dangerous, but there was something thrilling about it too. Like the two of us could say “fuck you” to the world and something much sweeter to each other at the same time.
When Cole slid his hand out of my pants, I scooted backward a little on the seat, reaching for my button and zipper and then working my jeans down over my hips. His ice-blue gaze tracked my movements, and I saw him glance outside, probably wondering the same thing I was.
But I didn’t want him thinking about that.
Just about me.
Only me.
I tugged my shoes off before kicking off my pants, and then I knelt on the seat, tugging on his shoulders to make him sit. He moved willingly at my urging, and I crawled back onto his lap, reaching between us to run my palm over the line of his cock through the fabric of his jeans.
He shuddered, his arms banding around me again like he couldn’t help himself.
It looked like he was struggling to keep his eyes open, like he was still high, drunk on me—and I was addicted to seeing him like this.
My fingers fumbled with his fly, and when I’d worked it down, Cole helped me push his pants down his hips, letting his dick spring free.
The only thing that separated us now was the thin fabric of my panties, but I rubbed against him anyway, rolling my hips as I felt the hardness press against my still sensitized clit.
He groaned, his fingers digging hard into the flesh of my hips as his gaze fell to the place where we were pressed together. His cock was sandwiched between us, resting against his low belly as I moved against it.