Page 87 of Hell Bent
I had no idea what we were doing here. I put the car in Park and asked, “Are we getting out?”
“What?” she said. “No. Of course we’re not getting out. It’s the middle of the night, it’s freezing, and it’s a golf course!” She was unfastening her seatbelt, though, and saying, “Turn off the car and turn on some music.”
I said, “You realize there’s a morals clause in my contract.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, “because kissing your girlfriend in a car is totally shocking. Take off—oh, wait. Don’t.” She turned in her seat, shoved a hand into her mass of dark hair, and smiled at me out of those big brown eyes. A princess with an old-fashioned face, putting her hand on my cheek, leaning over the console, and pressing her lips to mine. Hungrily, because she had her tongue in my mouth right away.
I had a hand in her hair myself, was holding her head, kissing her better. Her lips. Her neck. Except that I had to stop, because she hadbothhands in my hair now and was kissingmyneck, then licking her way up to my ear and whispering, “Music.”
“Uh …” I managed to say.
“Sebastian. Music.” Pulling back to look at me sternly, even as her hand found the edge of my T-shirt and shoved her way up, and I was already breathing harder, even as I was gasping and saying, “Wow, that’s cold.” Picking up my phone, managing the music somehow as her hands were all over my chest, and her mouth was on me. Not messing around. Going right to one of my nipples and sucking it, and that was it. I was all the way hard, and I was breathing that way, too. I tried to move and realized my seatbelt was still fastened. My hand went to the button, and she?—
She took hold of my hand and said, “No.”
“What?” I was trying to think, but it wasn’t easy.
“No,” she said. “I can’t wait until we get home. I can’t be quiet. I can’t haveyoube quiet. I’m going to tease you right here. Fastened into your seatbelt.”
I said, “I’m not—” Trying to explain that this wasn’t how I rolled, but she wasn’t listening. Her hand was outside my jeans now, and I was shifting. Not much, because of that seatbelt, but she’d leaned all the way down now, wasbreathingon me, right through my jeans. The warmth hit me, my hand was in her hair, pulling a little, and I was thinking,Shit. Shit. I can’t.
Her hand on my belt, pulling the leather tongue loose, than yanking it hard so the fastening released, and I was sucking in a breath. Her fingers on the metal snap, and thepopas it let go. My zipper being lowered. Too slowly. I shifted again, my hands around her head, urging her, and she wasn’t saying anything you might think. About her limits. How far she was willing to go. What kind of care she needed from me. She was just …
Oh, God. My legs out in front of me, straightening exactly as much as I could do it. Lying back in the seat, starting to breathe hard. And her hands and mouth all over me, as far asshe could get them without taking my clothes off. I was twisting under her, held too tight by the belt, as Bruce Springsteen sang in his dark voice about what he’d like to do to that girl.
My head was swimming, and this was happening too fast. I said, gasping the words out, “Alix. Stop.” And pulled her hair to make it happen.
Her head came up, but her hand was still on me, and that was … that was … “What?” she asked. “You know you need this.”
“I … can’t …” I had no idea what I was trying to say. “It’s too?—”
She stilled completely. All of her hanging there, trembling. “Sebastian. What? What doesn’t work?” Her hand on my face now, stroking. Her mouth kissing my cheek, my forehead, my lips. “Tell me what you want,” she whispered in my ear. “If you want it different—tell me, and I’ll do it.”
I said, “Back seat.” I was crazy. This was such a bad idea. This was— But somehow, I was pulling that seatbelt off, sliding the seat forward. Saying, “I’ll come around.” And doing it, opening her door, pulling her out, then pulling her into the back. Saying, “Wait,” and hitting the door locks again. Realizing that despite the cold, she’d come out tonight in a skirt. One I hadn’t seen before. It was black leather.
Blackleather.
How had I missed that? And her low boots? And her barelegs?I had her ankles in my hands, was swinging her feet up into my lap, and I was unzipping those boots and pulling them off. Then running my greedy hands up her calves, to the deliciously smooth, soft place that was her thighs, pulling her up by her ankles until she was on her back.
Oh, yeah.
The leather skirt was on the tighter side, though, and that wasn’t going to work. I said, “Turn over,” and she did. Thatwas a hard rush all its own, because I was finding the zipper. Not at the top. This skirt zipped from thebottom.Holyshit.I was pulling it up, feeling it catch against the tongue at the top, then working that open.
She was naked under there.
Holy, holy, holyshit.She said, still sprawled half on her stomach, her legs still across my lap, “Sebastian. I can’t be … I can’t benaked.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, hearing the hoarseness in my voice. “You can.” My hands under her outer sweater now, pulling it off, then yanking up the thinner one underneath, the wine-colored one, pulling it right over her head.
Naked here, too. I said, “Oh, baby.” Helplessly. “Oh, damn. I need to … I need …” My hand on her bottom, smoothing over it, then doing it again. “Thisassof yours.” Both hands there now, and I had one knee on the carpeted floor, was halfway over her, pulling her hair away from her neck so I could kiss her there. And she was shuddering in that way she did. Shuddering and, I was sure, cold. Which wasn’t good at all.
I said, “How flexible are you?”
“Pretty … flexible,” she said. On a gasp, because my hand was gripping that ass now, doing my best not to bruise but wanting to have, and take, andown.
“Right,” I managed to say. “Right. Come up here. Over me.” I was fully dressed, and she was completely naked. Probably unfair, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like the only way this could be. She scooted around and so did I, until I was lying along the back seat, one knee bent and the other foot on the floor. And then I pulled her over me. “Nose to tail,” I said, “because that’s where I need you to be. And if you want to get busy while you’re down there, go for it.”
“This was supposed to be …” she started to say, then gasped, because I had her hips in my hands and had pulled her straight down over my mouth. One of her feet on the floor, too, and the rest of us jammed so awkwardly in here. And I didn’t care, because she was rocking over me, calling out already. Then saying, “Oh. Oh, I’m supposed to …” And going right back, yes, what she was supposed to do.
