Page 35 of Run

Eleven

Vincent

Ten minutesafter leaving Tony’s, and Giovanna and I were on the highway as we should have been hours ago. The only reason we’d been delayed was because she’d insisted on that stupid detour, one that had led to that unfortunate encounter, then the one after with Tony.

I couldn’t stop hearing the surprise in her voice when asking if I’d gone to Tony’s just for a conversation. It was almost like she expected me to kill and enjoy it. She wouldn’t accept that I’d done what I had to protect her.

I looked at her for a moment, stuck on my own hurt and anger before I finally pushed past it and stared at her as she looked out of the window. I saw the distance she was putting between us, something I didn’t have the strength to acknowledge or accept.

Instead, I looked past my feelings and hers, saw her bare shoulder, the brown skin of her chest, the gentle curve of her breasts hardly covered by that fucking halter top.

I cut the wheel hard to the right and exited the highway. She looked at me, surprised. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice raising with faint alarm.

“You need clothes,” I said.

She shifted in her seat, trying to pull down the miniskirt that was showing so much of her thighs. She gave up soon enough, but not before I had glanced down at her, thought about those thighs cradling me as I sank my cock inside her.

The hard-on that followed wasn’t a surprise nor was the anger that still boiled beneath the surface. That was Giovanna, pushing me to the extremes of desire and rage with so little effort.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I can make do with what I have.”

“They aren’t for your benefit,” I said.

She blinked hard and fast, but quickly covered her emotions, and I felt a twinge of guilt as I wondered if she had taken my words the wrong way. I had always told Giovanna how beautiful she was, worshipped the curves that I knew sometimes embarrassed her. But I doubted my words sank in.

She always compared herself to her sister, found herself lacking.

She was so mistaken. She didn’t have Daniela’s polish, but her raw sensuality was something to behold. So while she might have taken my words as an insult, they weren’t. I wouldn’t make it through this ride with that much of her exposed, and there was no way in hell I wanted anyone else looking at her.

“Come on,” I said. I got out and then walked to the passenger side.

She paused, but then eventually got out, still not looking at me, shoulder still set in that way that made me so guilty and so angry.

“Get some stuff but be quick,” I said.

I stayed close to her as she selected the items and then led her to the dressing rooms. The attendant looked at me quizzically, but I didn’t give it a second thought. We were probably attracting attention, but at this point I didn’t care.

I led her to the stall in the back and watched as she hung the items, taking care in a way that was unfamiliar to me. Then she turned to face me, her expression solemn.

“Vincent, I can do this alone. I really don’t need—”

I cut off whatever she had planned to say with a hard kiss.

I held her close to me, pressing her breasts against my chest as I filled my hands with her hips, stilled her so that she could feel the hardness that she so effortlessly inspired. I lingered for just a moment, just long enough to feel her body soften, feel the exact second she gave in to me.

And then I broke the kiss, began to trail my lips along the edge of her jaw as I worked my hands up her soft thighs until I reached her center.

I moaned at the feel of her wet heat against my fingers. She’d left her panties back at the hotel, a fact that I had been unaware of until this moment. Which had probably been for the best, but now that I knew, I was grateful for one less second between my fingers and her bare skin.

When I touched her lips, dewy and slick with evidence of her desire, I knew I wasn’t alone in this. She might hate me, might be disgusted by what she’d seen me do, but she still wanted me.

As if to prove that to myself I pushed my fingers between her lips, gathering the moisture that pooled against her, the wetness on my fingers leaving no doubt as to her desire.

Nor did her harsh breaths against my neck, the way she had grabbed my shoulders, and began to rock against my finger.

“Someone will see—” she whispered.

Her voice sounded strained, tortured, but it didn’t begin to reflect the uncontrollable need that was burning through me.

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