Page 81 of Whistle

Not expecting that, I turned to look at him in the dim interior of the car. “What?”

“Tell me you don’t want to go in the house. That you don’t want to be alone with me.”

I stared at him, my heart beating so hard it robbed me of the ability to speak.

“I won’t force you if you don’t want to be here.”

My stomach burned. There was a forest fire inside me, and soon, I would be nothing but char.

Firm hands grabbed my chin, his eyes boring intently into mine. The air in the Mustang grew thick, so humid his next words clung to my skin. “I will never force you, but if you want this… I will make you.”

A whimper escaped me, the desire for him to make me stay so strong, so wanted, that I literally trembled.

“Do you want me to make you, Goldilocks?”

I nodded.

“Say it,” he commanded.

A shiver worked its way up my spine. “Make me. Please, make me.”

A switch flipped in his eyes, and my body instantly responded, anticipation humming beneath my skin. Swift and confident, he got out of the car and stalked around the hood where the headlights illuminated his lower body. The door was wrenched open, cool evening air kissing my overheated skin.

He reached in with both arms, pulling me out of the seat and once more over his shoulder. I hung there, gasping for breath, as his body was confident and relaxed beneath mine. Tension built up in me so fast that I quivered, focused solely on the possessive hand firm on my ass.

I wondered if he could feel my heart pound as he carried me through the garage and into the house. My dick was so hard I squirmed against him, and he spanked his palm against my ass. I gasped, skin stinging beneath my jeans, the punishment doing nothing at all to stop the throbbing of my dick.

The interior of the house was dark and quiet, the air undisturbed. He put me on my feet and backed me against the wall as if he knew I would need the support.

He pulled away, putting maybe one arm’s distance between us, and stared lasciviously as he peeled the windbreaker down his arms and let it fall at his feet.

I leaned heavily against the wall, my body tingling as I anticipated the first look I would have of him without clothes. My fingers itched with the urge to touch him everywhere. My tongue craved the flavor of his skin.

“Show me.” The gruff directive was met with confusion, my brain incapable of understanding or obeying any kind of command.

I looked at him for help, hoping he’d understand.

His eyes dropped to the front of my jeans. “Show me what you’re afraid to say.”

Realization slammed into me, and I started to shake my head. I couldn’t. I didn’t want him to see because, if disgust replaced desire, I might not survive.

He reached for his pants, and I sucked in a breath, feeling the heavy beat of my heart in my temple. The back of my neck was flushed, strands of my hair already sticking to the beads of sweat.

When he pulled his phone out of his pocket, I frowned.

Maybe he wouldn’t make me after all. Maybe he wasn’t?—

“Is this you?” His voice cut off my thoughts as he extended his arm to show me an image filling the screen. A naked torso with a pierced navel, hot-pink straps of a thong cutting across the hips.

Shocked, my eyes fired to his. “How do you have that?”

“Is. It. You?” He was gruff. Unrelenting.

“Yes.”

Unholy words slipped off his tongue, bathing the room with filthy intentions. The phone hit the ground when he tossed it aside, but I didn’t see if it cracked because the intensity of his stare held me hostage.

“Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve stared at that godforsaken photo? How many times I’ve tried to get off but couldn’t unless it was that image in my sight? The way I fist my dick while picturing what’s just below the frame, what those tiny pink straps are touching?”

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