Page 2 of Inextricably Tied

“Because someone was impatient.”

“Someone’s impatient now, too.” Her clit brushes his knuckles, and the car fills with the sound of her gasp. “Color?”

Flint can’t deny her. Even if he wanted to. Even if they were in the middle of the OID, her hand on his thigh, her dangerous mouth begging to have him. The only thing that could keep Flint off of her is a threat to her life. Which there isn’t, he reminds himself. He cuts his eyes out the window to make sure —

Then Harbinger’s cunt slips against his fingers, and their groans shred through the quiet.

“Told you,” she breathes. They both focus on their hands stroking over him, dragging his cock between her thighs. “Color?” Harbinger prods again. It’s the system he instituted. Red to stop, yellow to slow, and —

“Green.” His finger flicks against her clit to make her curse. “Maybe I should fuck you like this.” Flint doesn’t give away the ache she always causes in him. The one he tries to tamp down on so she doesn’t feel it. “Make you grind that little pussy against my hand until you get what you need.” He strokes both their hands up to his head, and she’s almost close enough to sink around his cock…

But not close enough.

He covers his cockhead with their fists again. She whines her frustration, and Flint clicks his tongue as she tries fruitlessly to climb into his lap.

“Flint…”

He can’t help but laugh at the warning in her voice. Lowering his mouth, tusks brushing her chest as he pushes aside the fabric and swirls his rough tongue around one of her nipples. Finally, he releases her fingers from the cage of his. “Fine. You want to ride?”

She’s halfway in his lap before he finishes. He holds her back with a clawed hand around her waist, digging a sizable condom from one of the bags in the trunk.

Harbinger squirms in his hand. “We could leave the it off, you know.”

Flint grunts his distaste, tearing into the packet and slipping the condom over his girth. “Not for the first time in a parking lot.”

Harbinger’s gaze clings to the sight of him, no less aroused by the barrier. “That’s your hang-up, not mine. It’s not like we need it.”

She tries to slot her hips over him, but he keeps her suspended as he reaches for the bottle of lube in the center console. “It shouldn’t be just my hang-up. You feeling my emotions complicates things; you know that. That kind of skin-on-skin contact could overwhelm you.”

Disappointment flickers across her face, but she slows her movements. A hint of guilt rises in him, but they can’t be that careless. Not now. Not here. Their eyes meet before he promises, “We will do it. Soon.”

A softer smile settles onto Harbinger’s lips before she leans close, reigniting the heat in his stomach when she drags herself against his cock. “Then I’ll take what I can get for now. Please.”

Holding out is futile for both of them. Flint squeezes lube into his hand and fists over himself, those same slick fingers dragging between Harbinger’s thighs. She sinks halfway over his dick like she’s starved for it, and Flint’s head knocks back against the seat as she clenches around him.

Working her way down, taking another inch as her hand braces against the window beside her. Black and white hair unwinds from her braid, static lifting it on end. “Fuck, it never gets old.”

Flint could stay like that — halfway inside her, letting her take what she wants — but Harbinger is determined. She needs more. Catsuit slipping off her shoulder, she sinks to the hilt.

The sight is intoxicating. Distracting. Around them, the backseat is humid and sticky, feeling much smaller than it had when they were both in the front. Flint’s gaze flicks to the tinted windows, checking the perimeter of the vehicle before Harbinger’s fingers pull his chin back.

“Am I boring you?”

She punctuates the words with another lift of her hips before she buries him deep again, both their eyes rolling back. He claws against her suit. Every sound is lewd, hot and slick, sweat and desire when Flint keeps her hips pinned to him and winds deeper.

That’s his answer; Harbinger is anything but boring.

She fumbles for something to hold onto, cheek smearing against his when she pants. “Gods, more. Fucking please.”

Everything about her is frantic, taking all he gives like she’s outrunning death, and all Flint can do is try to hang on. To shield her, to slow the hectic motion of her hips, to keep his senses heightened while she does whatever she can to sever his attention.

It’s a constant battle of wills; him trying to keep her alive, and her careening out of his grasp.

He remembers the moment they first touched. The bullets pelting his rock armor. The terror on Harbinger’s face. The blood he had to spill to save her.

He had to.

He had to.