Page 85 of Necessary Cruelty

“It matters to me.”

“So if I wait five minutes and then stick a finger inside that pretty little pussy, you won’t be wet for me?”

I fight off a shiver. “Wanting something physically isn’t the same as wanting it in any other way.”

Vin makes an agreeable sound, but smirks at the empty road ahead of us.

My consent has always been an assumption with him, and I only have myself to blame for that.

Because he has been crawling into my bed at night since the end of sophomore year. Because the only thing we’ve ever had between us is anger, hatred, and sexual tension that burns hotter than a grease fire.

I’ve never taken a guy wanting to fuck me as any particular compliment. Maybe it was growing up in the Gulch and seeing how men act when they feel emboldened to ignore the rules of society, but most guys will stick their dick into almost anything. Just because a guy doesn’t want to show a girl off, doesn’t mean he won’t crawl into her bed in the middle of the night and whisper anything he thinks she might want to hear if it gets him what he wants.

Nobody should be proud of what only happens in the dark.

But this playfulness is something new. Bantering with me and flaunting us together by driving through the nicest parts of town with me in the passenger seat is something new.

Vin is acting like we have a relationship outside of the deal that needs to stay purely business. His teasing makes me feel desirable. It makes me feel normal. I’ve already said yes to this ridiculous arrangement, so he doesn’t have to offer me anything else. It almost makes it possible to convince myself he treats me this way because he likes it.

Because he likes me. Like he used to.

The small part of my heart that hasn’t already turned to dust isn’t strong enough to resist him.

And I have to resist him.

Because the moment I give him a way to hurt me, he will be compelled to use it.

“Maybe I’m not so sure I want to go through with this, after all.” Maybe I was testing him, or myself, but I suddenly felt a perverse need to show him I can’t be so easily controlled. “If you aren’t going to hold up your end of the deal by keeping your hands to yourself, then I don’t see why I should bother with mine. You won’t be touching me again.”

The car comes to a screeching stop abruptly enough it gives me a slight case of whiplash.

Without bothering to apologize, Vin throws the Maserati into reverse and flies backwards down the highway toward the exit we had just passed. The transmission grinds with a screech of metal as he peels out down the ramp in a way that has me gripping the handle of my door as I brace for what seems like an inevitable crash.

He pulls onto some random two-lane road lined with massive redwoods, going double the posted speed limit. When he finally rips off the road into a small clearing so the brush conceals us from view, my heart is in my damn throat.

“What the fuck, Vin—"

The metal buckle of his seatbelt hits the glass window from how forcefully he yanks it to the side. He moves more quickly than should be possible in the small space as he lunges for me.

I manage to get my own belt undone and reach for the door handle just in time to hear the locks go off.

The second I use to search for the latch is all it takes for him to land on top of me. One of his hands captures both of mine and presses them to my chest. He uses the other to pull my legs onto the seat so my back presses against the door and I’m completely underneath him.

His lower body straddles my legs. The thick length of him presses against my thigh — even through his pants I can tell he is rock hard.

“Say that again,” he growls.

The sound resonates through my body and goes straight to the aching part of me that is just as wet as he said it would be.

I glare up at him, ignoring the storm brewing in those toxic blue eyes. “What. The. Fuck. Vin.”

“Nope, not that.” He bends his head and nuzzles my neck, his voice practically a purr. “Back up just a step.”

But I refuse to answer, not when he is so ready to turn my words against me.

His mouth is close enough to kiss, but that isn’t what he does. He bites my lip hard enough that I taste the tang of blood.

I swallow it down and try to remind myself that pleasure from him always comes with pain. That should turn me off, should make me want to shove him away and insist that he drive me back home.

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