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She’s disheveled above me, her pants down around her ankles and her shirt pushed off her shoulders and bunched around her elbows. Her otherwise naked body presses against mine, ready for me to use. Her auburn hair is a wild mass spilling over her shoulder. There are scrapes on her arms from last night. From just now.
Not safe yet. Not until I’m inside her and around her, everything she sees and smells and feels and knows.
“Thomas,” Clara whimpers, burying her face in my hair. “Thomas.”
Now, now, now.
I pull my fingers out of her and bury myself inside her warm pussy with one stroke. Clara arches against me, gasping as she accepts as much of me as she can. She’s so fucking tight and wet and hot. My hands squeeze her hips like they did in the dark hours this morning. How was I not thinking of fucking her senseless then?
I demand more of her body with every thrust, but Clara takes me with little cries that light my blood on fire. I don’t waste focus on kisses or tender touches. I’m not making love to her. I’m claiming her. I’m taking her back from all the people who’ve dared suggest today that they have a single right to her. That right is mine alone, and I prove it every time I fill her up.
Clara agrees. Her fingers grip my hair. Her teeth graze my ear as she pants, “More- more!” I increase my pace, slamming our bodies together until she shrieks her satisfaction against my skin. Her body bucks against mine, her fists pulling at my scalp. With one last thrust, I spill myself inside her, my pleasure chasing hers.
I stay inside her until our rough breaths even out and our bodies finally stop trembling. Time doesn’t feel real inside this car anymore. I can’t imagine lifting her off of me and pulling my clothes back on. The pleasure clinging stickily to my thoughts makes me want to recline my chair back and pull her down with me into lazier fucking. Then we can fall asleep naked and wake up and do it all over again. This might be her first time after all. Surely I should make it last a bit longer.
Adrenaline, my drunk brain reminds me, and I realize what I’m feeling is the aftermath, not just of sex, but of the rush that led me here in the first place. I lift Clara off of me, and she lets out a whine at the sudden loss of me. I almost rethink everything right then, almost decide that a day of wild car sex is a totally reasonable thing to have after an especially shitty morning.
Instead, I manage to deposit her in the passenger seat and say with a steadiness I don’t feel, “Get dressed.” I’d rather wash up, but that’s not an option right now. I pull my own clothes back on and get out of the car.
The three dead men on the sidewalk are a jarring reminder of what the hell I’m actually doing here. I search them for wallets and their car for paperwork and weapons, anything to tell me who they are and who they work for. When I’m satisfied I’ve found everything to find, I drag the bodies into the car and set the whole thing on fire with a spare lighter from my pocket.
There’s a discarded daypack on the ground by the bus stop bench, and when I snatch it up, a sketchbook slips out. The cover is faded and edgeworn, and when I flip it open, I’m not entirely surprised to see that the dates go back ten years. I know very little about art, but I imagine the graphite sketches are good for a teenager’s work. The rest of the bag is full of toiletries Raleigh definitely scrounged from the house, as well as a suspicious stack of bills.
By the time I get back to my car, Clara is still sex-rumpled, but she’s dressed. Her cheeks are a brilliant shade of red, and her brown eyes are wide, but she’s having trouble looking at me. Fair enough. That was an incredibly stupid mistake on both our parts.
I almost say that aloud, almost tell her it was the adrenaline, just the adrenaline, and to forget about it sooner rather than later.
But I don’t.
Without a word, I hand her the daypack and sketchbook to hold. She hugs it to her chest as I turn the car around and drive us back toward the estate, leaving a burning car and burning bodies in our wake.
CHAPTER 12
Clara
If someone put a gun to my head and ordered me to, I don’t think I could bring myself to look at Thomas during the car ride back to the estate. My body is inhabiting another dimension right now, one that’s warm and gravity-less. My mind feels like it’s soaked in ice water, too awake and too aware.
Thomas and I just had sex in his car. Thomas killed three men, and then he picked me up, pulled me into his car, tore off my clothes, and fucked me until I wanted to cry with pleasure. And I let him. I helped him. I begged him to go harder. He came inside me, and something carnal and chemical and- god, spiritual- inside me screamed yes, yes, this is the experience you’ve been waiting your adult life for.
Only in my wildest and most secret teenage dreams did Thomas Warwick give me my very first time.
Oh my god. How am I supposed to look Raleigh in the face? She tried to help me escape, and not only am I back, but I- with her brother-
Focus Clara, I beg myself. This is the second time in two days that you’ve tried to escape and you’ve been caught. Did those men work for Uncle Morgan? How did they find me?
I let those chilling thoughts wash over me, desperately trying to drown out panting breaths and hot hands and the sensation of Thomas filling me up, up, up. It’s… difficult.
Because if I’m being totally honest with myself, despite my chaotic thoughts, I feel safe in this car with Thomas. It’s not just a chemical side effect of the sex. He killed three men to get to me. And while part of me should be- is- horrified by that, the part of me that grew up in two different mafia families understands that if he hadn’t done it, something worse would have happened to me.
Thomas has saved my life twice in the last twenty-four hours, and one of those times he did it even while suspecting me of trying to burn down his sister’s house.
And then he… we…
I feel a rush of relief and trepidation when I see the estate’s gate come into view, and I squeeze the daypack in my lap a little harder. I’d meant to leave this place behind less than an hour ago. But the memory of three men grabbing me, trying to force me into a car, have quickly changed my perspective. It’s now painfully obvious that I didn’t make the clean break from my uncle that I hoped for. Something else is going on here. Until I find out what that is, being Thomas’s captive is, shockingly, the safest thing for me to be.
A choked squeak escapes me, an aborted hysterical laugh that makes Thomas glance my way. His golden hair is still slightly mussed from the work of my own fingers. I refuse to meet his eyes, and he pulls into the garage without comment.
My legs feel like jelly when I climb out of the car. I’m still rumpled, my hair is still a mess, my cheeks are still cherry red. Oh my god, everyone who sees us will know that I was just fucked within an inch of my life. I can’t wait to get back to my room- to my cell- so I can get my shit together.
