Page 25 of Dance With A Devil

I’m grateful. I still don’t have the spine to look at either of them.

“You’re taking her against her will! That’s kidnapping!” Josie shouts.

Karter doesn’t even flinch. “Take my keys. Start the car. I’ll be right behind you.”

I hesitate, brat instincts kicking in. There she is, welcome back. Still, I don’t move. Not until I see his jaw tick.

“Now’s not the time to be a Brat, Athens,” he grits. “Go. Please.”

I stand on tiptoe and kiss him, quick and full of unspoken things, before jogging toward the car, keys tight in my hand.

The moment I slide into the driver’s seat, the leather bites into my thighs, cool and unyielding. It doesn’t matter. Everything inside me is on fire anyway.

I glance back at the house.

What the hell is he saying to them?

Ugh. The silence is lethal. To distract myself, I pull out my phone and hop on Amazon, hoping for a hit of retail therapy.

It lasts all of thirty seconds.

Karter emerges like a storm, box of journals in hand, jogging toward me. He tosses the box into the back, climbs into the driver’s seat, and peels off without a word.

The silence between us is thick and eerie. He won’t even look at me.

I cave. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” Smooth, Athens. Real smooth.

He barks a laugh, voice a low rumble. “Panties? You know damn well I don’t wear panties. And neither do you.” His hand lands on my thigh, creeping higher.

I swat it away. “Sex won’t fix this.”

“It worked whenyouused it back there.” Touché. “So sit back, shut up, and open your legs. I need to clear my head.”

“Fingering me while you drive is your therapy?”

“Fuck yes.” He grins, and the look in his eyes is chaos wrapped in sin. I know that grin. ThatDevil’sgrin.

I do exactly what he asks.

“That’s my good little Brat.”

He taps the touchscreen. The wheel retracts, car switching to autopilot.

“This thing must’ve cost an arm, a leg… Maybe a tit too.” We both laugh, brief, breathless, before it’s devoured by heat again.

His voice drops, sharp and starved. “Listen to me. I need tofeelyou. My hand on your leg isn’t enough. I need you. Now.”

His hand dives beneath my waistband, past the useless cotton barrier, until he’s cupping my sex like he owns it.

“Karter,” But the protest dies the second his thumb finds my clit. Sweet. Fucking. Agony. “Please,” I gasp, hips arching, legs parting wider.

“Begging gets you nowhere.” Three thick fingers slide inside me, stretching me, soaking with my slick. “But damn, you’re tight. Still full of me.”

“You don’t play fair,” I groan, grinding down, chasing that edge.

“Why the hell should I?” His grin sharpens. “This is just me getting you ready, forlater.”

“Sex won’t fix everything.”