Page 9 of Drive Her Wild

JACKSON

Her words end me, and as much as I try to hold back to enjoy the feel of her cunt around me just a little while longer, I can’t.

I drive into her like a fucking freight train. Buried to the hilt, my groans echo throughout the garage as my cum paints the walls of her cunt.

Fuck…

My body nearly collapses on top of her as the twitching of my cock inside of her finally subsides.

Never in my life have I come like that.

“I guess you don’t hate me as much as you thought,” I smirk.

She grimaces when I pull my cock from her, and guilt pangs me for taking her so hard.

“Did I hurt you?” I question softly as I lean against her soft body. I am about to pepper kisses on her bare shoulder when she abruptly stands and shoves her skirt back over her hips.

“And who said I don’t still hate you.” Her words are snide as she crosses the garage. Pulling the sweater over her head, she put on her coat and zips it, leaving with her bra in her hand. “I have to go.”

“Amaya,” I call after her, still tucking my cock back into my pants, as she walks out the door. Taking a second to pull my coveralls on, I step out of the garage into the blistery winter air.

I hastily look up and down the street and spot her car just in time to watch her quickly pull from the curb.

She can’t get away from me fast enough.

“What the fuck?” I shout the words. I throw my hands into the air as I watch her round the corner at the end of the block.

Did she just ‘wham, bam, thank you…sir’ me?

I want to hop in my truck and chase her through town to wherever she is running off to. Instead, I storm back into the garage and pace among the cars as I try to figure out what the fuck happened between her begging me to lose control and me coming inside her.

My eyes are continuously drawn to the silver hood of my ’69 Shelby.

She looked fucking gorgeous spread across it.

Maybe I’m a fucking idiot.

Was she not into it?

Did I fuck up?

Grabbing my phone, I pull up her number.

Amaya, if I did something wrong…or something you didn’t want…there are no words to describe how sorry I am.

Staring at my phone, I impatiently wait for a response.

Five minutes…

Ten…

Twenty…

Coal’s Lake isn’t that big. Unless she’s driving back to Calgary, she’s made it to wherever it is she was going.

Can you just let me know that you’re okay?

I wait another fifteen minutes, and as much as I dread each pad of my fingers over the keyboard, I send another text.

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