Page 16 of The Crush
I turn my head to catch his mouth with mine, andGod, I love kissing him. Weeks of stolen afternoons and midnight meet-ups doing nothing to dull the need.
“How long can you stay?” he murmurs, tugging off my frilly blouse and letting out a low sound that tells me he likes what he sees underneath, even if the simple white bra I have on always makes me wish I had something prettier. Only, where would I get it? With my luck the woman at the counter at the department store in town would call my mother.
“I only have an hour,” I tell him, my blood heating under his gaze as I go for the buttons on his plaid shirt.
“Why not longer?” He drags down the cups of my bra, pushing me up and into his mouth.
“Because I—because—I can’t think with you doing that.”
“Good.” He shows no remorse as he kisses a path across my chest and begins to ruck up fistfuls of my skirt.
“Youknowwhat today is,” I remind him, shoving his shirt from his broad shoulders. “I have to get back to help make the house look like no one lives there. I barely managed to leave at all. I had to say I was—” The end of my sentence is cut off by my moan as he slips his right hand down the front of my underwear, undoubtedly finding me wet for him just from thinking about this on the drive over.
“Fuck,” he groans, slowly circling my clit before he pushes a finger inside. When I moan and rock my hips for more, he grins, keeping his mouth barely out of reach from mine so he can ask, “You had to say you were what,bonita?”
“I had to—I had—mm, I had to say I was going to church group,” I finally get out, and I feel very proud of myself until the moment his fingers go still. “No, why’d you stop?”
“I’m thinking about how turned on I am that you said you were going tochurch groupwhen you were actually sneaking out to get fucked in the cab of my truck.” He stares out the window as the fingers of his other hand dig into my hip. “Why is that doing things to me?”
“Well, I’m actually onlytryingto get fucked since you’re not really doing anything to—” I laugh as that same hand comes up to frame my face instead, gently squeezing my cheeks so my lips pout as he looks me in the eyes again.
“This smartmouth.”
Between my legs, he resumes working me up until I push his hand away and go for the button of his jeans instead.
“Now who’s impatient?” he mutters, helping me pull down the denim while I lift myself up. “One of these days, I’m going to get to take my fucking time with you.” His hand reaches for the glove box, yanking it open with more force than necessary and quickly finding a condom. “Going to makeyoube patient, Isabel.”
He leans back, ripping the foil with his teeth before taking himself in hand and rolling it on. Then he’s grabbing my hips, guiding me to sink down on him in slow increments. Trying to make sure not to push me too far as I take him without much prep.
“Fuck, good girl.” His voice is strained, his hand back on my jaw to encourage the sounds coming out of my mouth. Always liking to hear me whenever we’re really alone. “You need me to stop?”
I shake my head, shift to take more of him, not caring that my thighs burn from holding myself up when I’m spread so wide. Butwhen I can’t get him where I want him fast enough, he holds onto me and turns, laying me out on his bench seat, sun-warmed leather at my back and him above me.
He thrusts deep, holds as I moan at full volume now, my hand against the door behind my head to brace myself when he finally starts to move.
“Always take it so well, don’t you, Isabel?” He thrusts again, again, again. “You like feeling full of me?”
I nod, wrapping my legs around his waist and trying to roll my hips in time with his movements. “Yes, yes, I like it.”
“Good.” He grins. “Want to feel you come on it. Come on, let me feel you.”
His thumb is back on my clit, his head dipping so he can put his mouth back on my chest. Pushing me over the edge rather than letting me fall.
I do like it, I think.I like feeling like he needs it, too. Like he needs me. Don’t stop needing me.“Don’t stop.”
“I won’t, bonita,” he murmurs back, hiking my left leg higher so he can get even deeper. “I won’t.”
I tell myself I believe him.
Fourteen
Daniel
“Danny, I’m heading out.”
“Give me a minute.”
There’s a pause, not wholly unexpected, before I hear my dad’s footsteps come down the hall and stop outside my open door. As he stands there, I can feel him studying me, which is why I keep my eyes on my reflection in the mirror over my dresser.
