Page 78 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

“Get your ass in the back, so I can fuck you.”

We stare at each other for a moment, and everything that has led up to this point starts to make my insides melt. And maybe I shouldn’t be catching feelings for a fucking asshole, but right now, this is exhilarating. It’s exciting. And I want him deep inside of me right fucking now.

I crawl to the back as he puts a sunshade on his dashboard to block the view. He crawls to the back, hovering over me.

“I like it when you listen to me,” he says.

“Don’t get used to it.”

He grabs my top and rips it. The sound of the fabric tearing causes me to freeze.

“What the hell, Thatcher! That’s my shirt.”

He wastes no time, taking my nipple into his mouth. He sucks hard, pinching the other one.

He mutters, “You can wear my shirt for the day. Let everyone know who you belong to.”

At that, I can’t even be mad. Normally I would be putting up a fight, bickering with him, telling him he can’t treat me like that. But right now, this horny version of me will put up with anything he does as long as he makes me orgasm.

I take my pants off for him, and before I expect it, he’s slamming into me with his dick.

I hold onto his shoulders, whimpering into his car as he rubs my clit.

“Thatcher,” I moan, and he kisses me.

With his lips on mine, he bangs into me as hard as he possibly can. My entire body shakes under his touch. He releases my clit and focuses on our awkward angle in the backseat of his Tesla. He fucks me like a rabbit and then he fills me up with his come.

“I didn’t come with you,” I mutter as he pulls his pants back on.

He tugs off his shirt and puts it over my head. I’m wrapped in his scent.

“Pull your pants up,” he demands.

“Thatch,” I murmur as he climbs to the front seat. “What shirt are you going to wear?”

He answers by pulling out a shirt from under his seat and throws it on.

I button my pants and then climb to the front. He takes the sunshade down, folds it, and places it under his seat. Then he starts driving.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, buckling myself in.

“You’ll see,” he says, his tone as sharp.

I turn my gaze to the window, watching as the campus begins to fade from view, the tension curling tighter and tighter between my legs.

We pull up to a small, unassuming diner at the edge of town. I glance at the neon sign buzzing slightly.‘Jennie’s’

This place feels out of sync with Thatcher. It’s too quiet, too ordinary for him.

I shoot him a look, half incredulous, half confused. Of all the places he could’ve dragged me, this is the last one I expected. It’s almost…normal. Too normal for him.

But Thatcher, of course, looks completely at ease, like he belongs everywhere and nowhere all at once.

I watch as he steps out and rounds the car with infuriating ease. When he opens my door, I hesitate, looking up at him. He knows I have his come puddling in my underwear, right? He stares at me pointedly before raising an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and impatience. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, like he’s daring me to make a scene.

“Come on, Dove. I’m starving,” he drawls, leaning against the open door.

I finally take him in – his hair is tousled, the light strands catching the late morning sunlight as it sways with the slight breeze, the seeming halo of light around his head softens his features considerably though it does nothing to dull the smug tilt of his lips.

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