Page 113 of Pack Me Up
Her lips part, surprised.
I reach for her hand, and when our fingers tangle, it feels like we’ve always done this.
She squeezes my hand, hard. “I love you, too.”
I don’t know who moves first, maybe it’s both of us at once, but suddenly her mouth is on mine, soft and urgent, the taste of toffee and chocolate. We kiss like we’re trying to memorize each other, like we’ll never get another chance. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer, and she climbs across the console, straddling my lap without even a hint of hesitation.
She grinds down, slow at first, her thighs pinning me to the seat. I can feel the heat of her even through our jeans, a perfect pressure that makes me want to howl. Her hands are everywhere. They’re in my hair, my jaw, then digging into the worn shoulder of my hoodie. She’s not shy about what she wants, and I fucking love that.
I tug her shirt up, exposing the band of her bra and the pale skin beneath. She shivers for me. My mouth finds her throat, trailing kisses up to her ear, and the sound she makes is almost a growl.
She yanks my hoodie over my head, tossing it into the footwell, then runs her fingers down my chest like she’s checking for injuries. I kiss her harder, messier, and she responds with teeth biting my lip, nipping at my jaw, until we’re both breathless and shaky.
I slide my hands up under her shirt, fingers skating over her ribs, and when I cup her breast through the thin cotton, she gasps, arching into me. She’s warm and alive and right here, and all I want is more.
I unsnap her bra, the motion practiced, but this time it feels sacred. She shrugs out of it, baring herself to me, and I stare, dumbstruck, for a second too long.
“Do you need to take a picture?” she whispers, grinning.
“Don’t need to,” I say. “Your sexy, perfect body is already burned into my brain.”
She laughs again, the sound wild, and then pulls my mouth to her nipple. I suck, gentle at first, then harder as she presses my head closer, her fingers tangled in my hair. She rocks against me, grinding slow and steady, and my cock is straining so hard it almost hurts.
I pop the button on her jeans, sliding my hand down the front, and she moans. The sound is soft, desperate, and barely contained. She’s already slick, wet enough that my fingers glide inside with no resistance. She grabs my wrist, holding me there, her hips pumping in time with my touch.
“Oh, fuck,” she says, voice gone ragged. “Hunter! Please!”
I pull my hand free, bring my fingers to my lips, and taste her. She watches, eyes gone huge, then kisses me again, greedy and hungry.
We fumble with the zipper, both of us laughing at how impossible it is in the cramped space. She finally wriggles out of her jeans, kicking them into the back seat, then tugs at mine until I’m exposed, hard and throbbing.
She sinks down on me in one motion, the heat of her enveloping me so fast I have to grab the headrest to keep from losing it right there. She sets the rhythm, slow at first, then faster, riding me with a purpose that makes my whole body sing.
Her breasts bounce with every movement, nipples flushed and perfect, and I can’t stop touching her. I run my hands down her back, her ass, then the curve of her neck where her pulse hammers. I want to devour her, to make her come so hard she forgets her own name.
“Hazel,” I gasp, “you’re fucking incredible.”
She kisses me, all tongue and teeth, then clamps down around me, shuddering as the first orgasm hits. She throws her head back, eyes closed, hands digging into my shoulders, and I lose it. I thrust up into her, wild and desperate, and when I come, it’s like every nerve in my body lights up at once. My knot swells inside her, making me feel like I was made just for her with how perfect the fit is.
We ride it out together, gasping and laughing and clinging to each other like idiots. The windows are fogged, the car smells like sex and sweat, and I’ve never felt so stupid-happy in my life.
She collapses against me, cheek to my chest, breathing hard.
“Wow,” she says, voice muffled. “That was…”
“Yeah,” I say, not even trying to finish the sentence.
We stay like that, tangled and sticky, for a long time. Outside, the twins’ are keeping watch and making sure we are safe. They will have known what happened the second it started through their bond with Brittney.
Brittney runs her finger down my chest, tracing the line of my muscles. “You really meant it?” she asks, voice small. “About loving me?”
I tip her chin up, make her look me in the eye. “I’ve never meant anything more.”
She smiles, soft and real, and in that moment I know I’d kill for her. Or die. Whatever she needed.
We clean up, awkward and giggling, pulling our clothes back on as best we can. I kiss her one more time, slow and lingering, before we head home.
As I start the car, she reaches over and laces her fingers with mine.
