Page 38

I meet his eyes, begging him to not be an asshole. He forces his hands to my pussy and rubs my clit through my jeans. I suck in a breath, determined to not be affected by his touch. His eyes flick to my lips, and instead of kissing me, he slides his fingers on my bottom lip.

“You have a pretty fucking mouth,” he whispers.

I shake my head slightly. It’s not a compliment if it’s not true. “They’re basic. They’re nothing special.”

He circles my lips with his thumb, his gaze darkening. “Dove…” His eyes graze over my features as he presses against my clit. “Shut that pretty fucking mouth and kiss me.”

“Is that a demand?” I ask as he grabs my chin.

I lick my lips, watching him.

The gesture makes a cruel smile break on his face. He leans in closely, his breath on mine. “I want to show you how special they are.”

“What?” I whisper, breathless.

He gently tickles my lips with his breath. I don’t think he’s going to kiss me, not with how much he’s teasing. But I’m dead fucking wrong because his lips smash on mine and his tongue is licking mine.

I gasp, holding onto him.

His kiss is all consuming like drowning and then he starts rubbing my clit again, and I’m breathing. “Thatcher,” I moan, suddenly aware of how much I’m aching for him.

Whispering his name seems to have given him permission to press on. Sooner than I realize, my pants are unbuttoned and his fingers are curled inside of me, making me cry out into his mouth.

“What is mine…is special. What is mine is…never basic, Dove.”

I can’t even think straight, let alone comprehend what he’s trying to say. My body is reveling at his touch. He pulls back to look at me. “Are you going to come already?” he asks in a condescending tone.

I inhale, trying to control my reaction, but when I glance down, I catch myself dancing on his hand. Holy fuck, this feels too good. What the hell is he doing to me? He starts moving his hand faster and suddenly my head is hitting against the headrest and I’m grabbing onto him.

Right when I’m on the brink of explosion, he stops, pulling his hand away. The pleasure turns into a deep ache as I turn to him.

“What––”

He shakes his head, pulling his cock out. I’m taken back by the sight of his length, the girth, the softness to it. I’m throbbing so fucking bad, I want to sit on him and take care of the both of us.

“Me first,” he says, so I reach for him. When I start stroking, he shakes his head. “With that pretty mouth, Dove.”

I look around the parking lot, seeing people walk by. He grabs my chin. “Eyes only on me, Dove. Give me your best shot.”

I stare into his eyes, wondering what he would do if I denied him. Would he force me? Would he take me the chamber to punish me?

“Spit on it,” he mutters, rubbing my lips with his fingers.

I start salivating at the command, and then I drop spit onto his dick. I glance at him for approval, and his pupils are dilated, waiting for my next move.

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I rub the spit over his dick and then I suck him into my mouth. I close my throat, making it tighter for him as I force myself down. But he’s too big to fit.

He holds my neck with his hands, making a faint groan when I take him all the way to the back of my throat again.

“Just like that, Dove.” He bucks his hips, thrusting into my mouth.

I continue to suck him off and then I pull away to kiss his lips.

“Finger me again,” I ask, whispering against him. The request is simple, yet I think he’s going to deny me.

He flicks his head. “Get in the backseat.”

“What?” I ask, looking at the back and then the windshield.

“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.

“Any day now, Dove,” he murmurs, his voice lazy, green eyes glinting with amusement. “You can check me out while we order food.”

My cheeks burn instantly, and I shoot him a glare. Any words I could say die in my throat. There’s no use.

Damn him.

I drop my arms and swing my legs out of the car, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a full-blown meltdown. But I’m mad at him for not letting me orgasm and for forcing me out with his semen falling out of me as I walk. It’s a sticky fucking mess, and I’m instantly annoyed.

His eyes flick down to me, his smirk somehow managing to stretch even wider. Irritation slowly spreads throughout me. I straighten my shoulders, my glare intact.

“Are we going inside, or are you going to stand here looking insufferable all day?” I snap, making to brush past him to the diner but his hand at my wrist stops me.

“Wait,” he murmurs, his hold firm. “One last thing.”

Before I can protest, his hand lifts and I feel him tugging at my scrunchie, sliding it free.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap, twisting to glare at him as my hair tumbles down around my shoulders.

Thatcher twirls the scrunchie around his finger with a smug grin. “There,” he says, his tone maddeningly calm. “Better.”

I gape at him, my hand flying up to smooth my now-loose hair. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You look better with your hair down.” He slips my scrunchie onto his wrist and continues, “It’s easier to grab that way.” His eyes are still locked on mine as though he knows exactly what kind of effect this is having on me.

I want to retort, to snap back but I’m too annoyed. I need a fucking bathroom.

He grins and shakes his scrunchie covered wrist at me, seemingly satisfied with himself. “You’re welcome to come get it, Dove,” he drawls, a challenge in his voice. “I’m not against a little scuffle with you.”

“Get over yourself,” I demand, walking towards the entrance.

The door to the diner swings open with a soft chime as I step inside.

The diner’s interior is just as ordinary as the outside—faded checkered floors, red vinyl booths, the smell of coffee and pancakes filling the air.

It looks and feels like I’ve been transported back in time, to a cozy 90’s era cafe, the kind you might see in an old sitcom.

The worn menus on the tables, the soft hum of conversation, and the clink of silverware against plates create a kind of peaceful, nostalgic atmosphere that immediately calms me.

I try to make my way to an empty booth by the wide window, but I feel him grab at my hand and pull me back softly.

“Not there.” Thatcher’s voice is low, a deep whisper by my ear. His breath sends a vibration down to my pelvis, and I’m aching for him.