Page 82 of Forever Mr Black

I squirm and wriggle, pushing my palms against his chest, but his strong hands remain gripped on my waist. Now that he’s got me in his grasp, I’m not going anywhere.

“Let me go,” I demand, but I know I’m wasting my breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

I’m caught off guard, and I stop pushing against his chest.

“She shouldn’t have said that to you. It was wrong.” He lets go of my waist and cups my face. Dark eyes hold mine. “She shouldn’t have said that to you.”

A glimmer of hope ignites in my chest. He’s not mad. He’s not disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, unable to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. “I know you didn’t want your mum to know, but I couldn’t stand there and … “

“Shhh. It’s done.”

“I just snapped. The thought of you with her …”

He silences me with a kiss and rests his forehead against mine. “I know.”

I’m not jealous or possessive. Until I met him. Maybe some of his traits are rubbing off on me.

Before I know what I’m doing, I rake my fingers through his hair and pull his mouth to mine, kissing him hard and deep. He kisses me until I’m breathless, but I don’t care. He’s my world, my oxygen, everything I need. I want all of him. I need all of him to consume me and squash the jealousy and bile from earlier. And make me forget.

My hands fall to his shirt and begin to undo the buttons, but there are too many. And I can’t wait. I impatiently tear it open, sending buttons pinging all over the black leather upholstery, revealing his damp, tanned skin.

His hands yank down the zip at the back of my dress, peeling it up over my arms and chucking it aside. My bra’s undone and off in one move. We’re in a rush. I’m desperate to have him inside me, and he’s desperate to be there. I unfasten his jeans, and he lifts up his hips, dragging them down. All the time, our lips are glued together. Like we dare not part. He reaches one hand between my legs and yanks my knickers aside while he lightly taps the other against my thigh.

“More,” he murmurs against my lips, and I spread my thighs as wide as the cramped seat will allow.

I grip the headrest with one hand and catch his bottom lip between my teeth as I settle down on his waiting cock. I release his lip, groaning into his mouth as he fills me, throbbing inside me. And I forget. About everything that went on before. Anger dissolves from my body. It’s just me and him. No one else matters.

He buries his face in my cleavage. He sighs with contentment, digging his fingers into my buttocks, telling me what to do without saying a word. I grind against him, rolling my hips, feeling the rapid build of my climax. He nips at the soft flesh in the valley between my breasts, which sends an electric charge through to my centre, and I tense around him, making him groan. I want to keep going, but I’m not going to be able to if he does stuff like this. He lifts his hips up to meet me, forcing himself deeper inside me with desperate thrusts. He needs this as much as I do. This connection. Me and him together. My hand flies up against the steamed-up window, and my muscles contract around him.

“Why does make-up sex always feel so good?” I gasp.

Artgrips my hips tight, pushing me down hard onto his cock, causing a tidal wave of pleasure to soar through me.

His burning gaze meets mine. “It’s because of you, brown eyes.”

A moan falls from my lips, and I close my eyes to steady myself. The countdown clock is ticking. I draw in a deep breath and try my best to keep control but know I’m fighting a losing battle. We’re both racing towards the finish line.

“I can’t hold on.”

He slams his head into the seat as his eyes roll back. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

He’s on the edge. And so am I. And he knows just the words to send us both hurtling over it.

“God, I fucking love you.”

And I’m gone. A warm wave of release rips through my body. I grab the headrest to keep upright as shudders rack through me. Art presses his face against my breasts as he buries himself inside me one final time, panting against my flesh as he unravels.

I rest my head in the curve of his neck and stare at the clouded window. We sit in silence, listening to the rain beat down on the car roof. His fingers glide up my spine, and his hands come to rest on my shoulders. His lips catch mine, and he kisses me for an age.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “It’s done. And I’m sorry.”

I still feel shit. I’ve ruined poor Barbara’s birthday. “Will your mum be okay?”

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