Halfway Girl (Girl 2.5)

“You don’t seem to be.” My brow knits. “Why is that? I’m probably going to have a panic attack when I meet your parents.”

He glances over with an alarmed expression.

“Not an actual panic attack,” I say softly. “I’ll just be nervous.”

His big body relaxes. “I’ll admit to being kind of worried. That your brother won’t be on board with us moving in together. You’ve only been at school for a month and…” He expels a breath and shoots his reflection a glance in the rearview mirror. “I’m not exactly Prince Charming.”

“Prince Charming was a chump. Wreck-It Ralph is more my type.”

Jerimiah’s laugh makes me sigh like a lovesick fool. “Lucky for me.”

“I’m the lucky one,” I murmur, reaching over to rest a hand on his thigh, my body tingling over the way his muscles shift beneath my palm.

“Birdie.”

I shiver over the way he rumbles my name. “Yes?”

“What do you need from me?”

This is what I love most about Jerimiah. His directness. I never have to guess with him. He doesn’t play games, he doesn’t lie, he doesn’t procrastinate. Not when it comes to me, anyway. He decides what needs to be said or done and goes to town. I’ve always played my emotions close to the vest, but direct is the only way I know how to communicate with him, too. As if we’ve stumbled upon the only other person in the world that speaks this one language. “I don’t need anything.” Noticing the way his huge thighs shift on the seat, my tongue escapes to wet my lips. “Not right this second, anyway,” I amend. “I was just wondering why you decided today was the day. To meet Jason and Naomi.”

“You miss them. Yesterday you couldn’t say either of their names without slumping afterward. ‘Naomi loves that book’.” Jerimiah lets out a big sigh and his shoulders droop. “Like that.”

My lips tug at one corner. “I didn’t notice I was doing it.”

Jerimiah grunts.

“Is my Eeyore impression the only reason?”

“You know it’s not, Birdie.” He slides me another one of those forever looks. “When you go home at night, it feels like I’m being separated from my heart. It’s hard to sleep empty.”

My breath rushes out, my fingers curling into the leather seat. “I hate it, too.”

“I know. That’s the worst part. Knowing it’s hard for you.”

I close my eyes and focus on the sound of my breathing. Sometimes the love between us is so intense, it’s an effort to keep my belly from flying away in the basket of a hot-air balloon.

“Was that too much?”

“No,” I say right away, my eyes popping open. “No matter what you say or do, it’ll always be the right amount.”

His throat muscles shift, fingers stretching on the wheel. “Do you want to pull over?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

The word is barely out of my mouth when Jerimiah turns off onto a rest stop. He drives around back of the public bathrooms, easing the truck into an empty spot and cutting the engine. We unclick our safety belts at the same time he reaches for me, but when I normally would have straddled his hips and buried my face in his neck or kissed him…I find myself shaking my head. Crossing over the console and sitting in his lap, facing the steering wheel, my thighs open and draped over his larger ones.

My back molds to his front automatically, his groan shifting the ends of my ponytail. That heavy, male part of him grows thick under my butt and I circle around on it, enjoying the feelings of being trapped between his big, strong body and the steering wheel.

“I doubt we’ll be allowed to sleep in the same room tonight,” I whisper, drawing my skirt up to my waist, leaving one less barrier between my bottom and Jerimiah’s erection. His hands slide under the hem of my shirt to find my breasts and I gasp, loving the confident way he touches me now. Playing with my nipples, pinching them lightly. “Maybe we should be together now. While we can.”

His hips lift and my mound presses against the bottom of the steering wheel, right there. Right over my clit. Zowie. “You know that won’t make me ache any less later.” He grinds me against the hard leather and I whimper, grabbing on to the wheel, hips tilting and flexing. “It might even make it worse, because I’ll still be fresh from your pussy. From feeling it, touching it, smelling it.”

My neck muscles slacken and I moan. “Does that mean you want to stop?”

Not even bothering to answer that stupid question, he reaches under my writhing backside and tugs down his zipper. “Push your panties to one side and work yourself down on me, beautiful,” Jerimiah rasps into my hair. “Until I can’t get any deeper. Give me what little room you’ve got.”