Page 39 of Wrong Score

I feel Bex's hand reach for mine, intertwining our fingers together. My whole body tingers just from the warmth of his hand in mine. There’s something so reassuring about Bex’s touch.

I work up the courage to look at him. Hoping not to find the sad puppy eyes that I get so often. Just as I hoped, Bex is sturdy, solid, unyielding to silly emotions like pity or empathy… good. Still, there's a softness in his eyes towards me. Something that makes me want to turn into him and be wrapped up against his chest–to be held in the safety of his hold, under his protection like I was tonight, though I didn’t ask for it.

“He was wrong,” he says softly, his thumb grazing over my knuckles. “You’re worth so much more than that.”

I don't know what comes over me but before I can second guess myself, I push up out of my seat and wrap my hands around his neck, his damp hair under my fingers as I press my mouth against his.

Bex doesn’t hesitate. He reaches for me, his strong arms pulling me into his chest. I don’t resist—I can’t. His warmth seeps into me, his solid presence anchoring me as he deepens the kiss, biting at my bottom lip and then soothing it with his tongue. He murmurs soft words against my mouth.

"Beautiful"

"Brilliant"

"Sexy as fuck"

"He's wrong Rowan, so fucking wrong."

Bex’s hands slide under his jacket coat still engulfing me His fingers brush against my bare skin, tender and reassuring, sending a ripple of warmth through me. The heat radiating from his body, the hard, defined muscles beneath his damp clothes, grounding me in the moment

I feel his hands slide down to my hips, and then pull me over his thighs to straddle his lap. My dress stops me from widening my legs, it’s too form-fitting, and with the heavy beading, it has no stretch to it. Bex tries to pull my dress further up my hips but it doesn’t work, it’s too tight. I can see the bulge through his tuxedo pants below me, waiting for me to grind down on and I'm getting as anxious as him.

"Hurry," I tell him, sliding his jacket off my arms and discarding it onto the limo floor behind me.

He tries again but the dress doesn't budge.

Finally, I feel his hands reach around the back of the dress, his fingers curling into the slit at the back and I gasp the second Bex rips the dress from the bottom of the slit all the way to the top zipper, beads pinging and ricocheting off every surface inside the limo.

"Oh my God" I say, my eyes widening.

I can’t believe he just tore my dress off my body.

"You begged, Rowan. Now you know what the sound of you begging does to me."

The notion that I have any effect on him sends a thrill through me.

"That dress was expensive." But my objection is only half hearted.

Seeing him rip my dress in half to get to me has me wetter than I've ever been in my entire life.

"Then send me the bill," he says, offering a devilish grin.

Now, with the dress no longer attached in the back, the thin spaghetti straps slide over my shoulders and down my arms, gaping the dress open for him, and without a bra, my breasts are on full display. He groans at the sight of me, pulling what's left of the dress out of our way and pulls my hips down against his lap.

I let out a moan the minute my soaked panties land on top of his thick bulge, his eyes darken with arousal, as they stare into mine.

"Last chance to change your mind," he warns, his voice strained with desire. "Tell me to stop, Rowan. Because if I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to."

I shake my head, my breath coming in shallow. “Don’t stop. I want this. I wantyou.”

With a groan, Bex cups my breasts, his fingers brushing against my hardening nipples before his mouth follows. I whimper at the feeling of his mouth on me, my head falling back as he sucks hard on my sensitive nub, flicking it with his tongue, the sensation shooting straight to the ache between my legs.

I moan out loud as he grinds himself against me through our damp clothes. Sparks shoot up my spine, desire warming low in my belly.

I’m aware that we’re still in a moving car, but the world outside no longer exists. There’s only Bex and the way he’s making me feel—wanted–special–protected.

I know this can't last. Sex won't make him trust that I don’t have some secret story I plan to drop. But just for tonight, we can have this.

He reaches down between us, his middle finger running over my drenched silk panties.

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