Page 17 of V for Vindictive

The glass inside the car developed a thick layer of steam during our depraved activity, and it distracted me for a second when my hand swept a frantic line across its surface.

The air was humid and thick—a punishment on lungs that didn’t need to breathe. My face was insanely hot. And with how prone my skin was to showing color, I’d be stupid to think I didn’t look wholly debauched whenI finally pulled away and tried, then subsequently failed, to get a firm hold on my sanity.

Not that I believed I ever had a stable hold on my sanity to begin with.

Sloan’s fingers gripped my thighs, and his lust-lidded eyes flicked up to mine, the burning desire to have me right there on the side of the road clear in his stare.

He’d do it. He wouldn’t stop or wait, and my pulse raced knowing it was up to me to say yes or no. And I wanted to say yes. Fuck, I wanted Sloan so bad that I’d spent hours planning how I’d bring it up and take what was mine. Have the sexy Brit again. Taste the pleasure only he could give me.

But it didn’t feel right here out in the open, on the side of the road for all to see. I might be desperate, but I wasn’t that desperate—at least that was what I kept telling myself as I struggled to put a stop to everything. When I straightened, tossing back messy red hair, the horn of the car erupted. Sloan’s eyes widened, his entire body stiffened, and I went into an awkward crouch in surprise.

“V?” he asked.

But it was too late.

My overactive brain kicked into high gear, and the previous shame and confusion came rushing back in. It was that powerful, crashing wave of guilt that inevitably forced me back into my seat. Not that I was ashamed of climbing onto the lap of a sickly hot and amazingly kind older Hunter, but I was a little concerned about how quickly I did it considering it wasn’t the time, place, or mood to have done anything even remotely sexual.

“Sorry,” I whispered, wiping my mouth and fixing my shirt. “This isn’t really the right situation for this.”

Sloan gripped the steering wheel, then brushed through his chaotic hair. Hair I’d destroyed with eager fingers and grasping hands. His shirt bore signs of my desire to remove it, several buttons undone and his lapels no longer crisply laying against his collar. His belt was left open, the zip and button undone, brazenly exposing how hard he was for me.

My gaze dropped to his waist before I turned my head and closed my eyes tightly. The sound of shifting movement as the other Hunter put himself together assaulted my perfect hearing, but I did what I could to ignore it. I calmed the inner ho-ho. My head tried to convince me this was the right thing to do when my body screamed for me to get right back on that handsome Brit’s lap and finish what we started.

Unfortunately, the memory of the silky texture of his gorgeous dark hair sliding along my skin encouraged another barrage of shivers to take hold of my body. It was an attack I didn’t have a whole lot of experience tempering. Every sensation I shared with Sloan lived inside my head and body—a muscle memory of the most illicit nature—as if stored there for whenever my eyes caught sight of him. The same way it did with Phillip.

I’m definitely an addict.

I worked quickly to dispel the physical assault my own memory started, but it wasn’t easy when the object of my desire was so close, his heat still practically stroking mine.

“If anyone should apologize, it’s me,” Sloan finally murmured, his tone entreating and sincere.

I laughed, a little entertained by our joint awkwardness. “Can we just pretend this didn’t happen and get back to what we were doing?”

Sloan’s eyes tracked back to where I sat, the light of day hitting them just right to give the pale color an almost iridescent glow. “One of these days, we’re going to have to discuss what this is.”

My hands clenched, and the subtle pound of my heart was in my ears. “But not today, right?”

His husky laughter was quite literally the most attractive sound I’d ever heard outside a few choice moans and groans. So when it filled the car, it was all I could do to contain my internal fan-girl scream.

I should be ashamed of how into Sloan I was, but it wasn’t new or surprising. I’d been mesmerized by the man from the moment we met. It would be weirder if I wasn’t spellbound by the gentle Casanova. Or maybe that was just an excuse I used to give myself the freedom to do what I wanted with him.

Shit, I don’t know anymore.

The more I thought about it, the worse my confusion got. Nothing made sense anymore. Not me. Not Phillip or Sloan. Not my future. Not a goddamn thing. Honestly, I was better off not thinking anymore. So far, all thinking ever got me was more questions and less clarity. Maybe I should give into my body and desire on this one. Or maybe I should vow a life of celibacy so I was never given the chance to fuck it all up.

Says the sex addict.

Yeah, there wasn’t any way I’d succeed in a life of celibacy. I’d sooner go weeks without running into a villain bent on my demise than go sexless, surrounded by all these beyond beautiful types.

“Fair enough, love. I know when to surrender, and something tells me you’re not ready to hear what I have to say on the subject.”

That was the understatement of the century.

Kris fingered purple curls away from her eyes, and her smile was absolutely bewitching when she finally came into view. Next to her was a man I didn’t recognize. He struck an imposing silhouette in daylight, large arms sculpted with strong muscle and chest cutting a powerful shape in a thin top. His raven-black hair was short and neatly combed over, perfectly framing a strong and stoic face. It accentuated a mouth that was fully plump and a magnet for the eyes.

Spontaneous thoughts and fantasies of what it’d be like to kiss him popped into my head before I was able to expel them with the strength of my shame.

Despite it being maybe forty degrees, the dude barely wore anything at all. Which meant he likely ran hot—and I meant his body, not his looks.

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