Page 86 of Necessary Cruelty

Instead, my traitorous legs fall open enough that he can press himself more firmly against me.

He slams his hips against me, squeezing my ass with his bare hand and forcing the abrasive fabric of his jeans against my sensitive skin that only has a loose strip of cotton shielding it from the world.

“Fuck, I love these shorts,” Vin says on a groan, practically talking to himself. His attention returns to my face. I recognize that look in his eye. It’s the one he wears when he is willing to do anything to prove a point, even if it degrades us both. “I think you said something about me not touching you again.”

He has always relished his ability to turn my own body against me. And I let him, not because I have a problem denying him what he wants, but because I haven’t figured out how to deny myself.

He has always had that power over me and has never hesitated to use it.

His jean-clad hips ride me through our clothes. I feel the roughness everywhere: on my thighs, my belly and the sensitive bud of my clit.

Which seems to be entirely the point.

Blood streaks across my lip as his mouth shifts across my chin and down the line of my jaw, kissing and biting so hard I should be concerned he’ll leave marks. Then my tongue dips out to lick the blood clean, abrading the cut he left there, and I no longer care.

With his face still buried in my throat, Vin blindly frees himself from the confines of his jeans, seeming heedless of the dangers of a zipper undone too quickly. I feel the soft skin at the head of his cock rub against my thigh, even though I can’t see it.

“No fucking without condoms.” I strengthen my voice enough that he’ll know I’m drawing a line in the sand. After a year, I can walk away from this, but not if I’m saddled with a baby. “That’s non-negotiable. I can’t get pregnant.”

His head shifts to rise above mine, close enough that I feel the rush of air against my mouth as he speaks. We were practically kissing, but just short enough for it not to count.

Vin and I never kiss.

This is the first time I can remember thinking that I wish we did.

I want to kiss him hard enough to make him bleed.

“No fucking without condoms,” he repeats, as if reciting a lesson from his favorite teacher. But he doesn’t stop rubbing himself against me. He has pushed my shorts aside so my soaked panties are the only barrier between us. “Anything else? This is your last chance to negotiate before you say I do. We’re signing a prenup before the ceremony.”

He punctuates his words by pressing his thumb down on my aching clit, leaving me lightheaded.

I can’t think past the ache, and he knows it. My mind whirls for something else to demand from him, but all my mind can process is how much I need to come. Now isn’t the time to discuss the finer details of our contractual obligations to each other. He knows it, and that’s precisely why it’s only coming up right now.

I just shake my head, barely able to form words. Negotiating isn’t an option, much less reasoning through anything more profound than how good it would feel if the hard cock rubbing against my thigh pushed all the way inside of me.

“I guess that means we have a deal.” His voice is almost conversational. The only hint that we aren’t just having a civil discussion about a contract is the slightly breathless quality of his voice. Otherwise, he acts like he isn’t holding me down in the front seat of his Maserati while cars trundle by on the road that is only a few yards away. “Now, about that touching I’m not supposed to do.”

My shirt has hiked up in our brief struggle until the hem of it floats around my ribcage. His free hand shoves the hem higher until my chest is exposed. I don’t typically where a bra when I sleep, and it hadn’t occurred to me to put one on before we left, though it probably should have.

When he pushes the shirt up so it bunches around my neck, my entire chest is exposed.

“So perfect…” he murmurs, before his head lowers and licks across one taut nipple.

Using his hips as leverage, Vin pushes at one of my legs until it spreads wide enough that he can get up on his knees. My thighs drape over his hips, so obscenely wide that anyone walking by would see everything that wasn’t hidden by the thin strip of my underwear.

Even though his cock is free in all its glory, he doesn’t try to move my underwear aside. Instead, he grinds against me through the sopping cotton, creating a channel for himself that forces the fabric taut against me.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.

A lick on my neck leaves a trail of heat. “Fucking you without a condom.”

He shifts his hips so the head of him enters me through my panties, creating a burning pressure. I buck off the leather seat. My hips thrust against his, even as I beg him with the frantic sounds that escape my throat to put an end to the torture.

The pressure from the hand he has wrapped around both of mine and pushing against my chest keeps me still. That still doesn’t stop me from thrashing frantically beneath him, chasing the sensations to oblivion and beyond.

Dry humping hadn’t been cool even at kissing parties in middle school, but today it’s more than enough to make me feel wound up tighter than a spinning top.

All he has to do is let me go, and I’ll spin off into outer space.

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