Page 56 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

He held his ground. I closed the last of the space myself and set my hand flat against his chest. His heart was already hammering under my palm.

“Harper.” His voice came out low and strained. “I’m trying to be good here.”

I didn’t move my hand.

“I didn’t bring you here for this,” he said, almost like a warning aimed at himself.

I didn’t look away. He was giving me an out. I could take it. Walk back to the truck. Keep everything simple. I already knew I wasn’t going to.

“Don’t be good,” I said instead.

I grabbed the front of his jacket with both fists and pulled him down. The kiss was mine. Hungry. Demanding. For a heartbeat he held still, then his control snapped. One hand fisted in my hair, the other gripped my waist, and he kissed me back like he’d been dying for it.

A low, guttural sound tore from his chest, more wolf than man. My cat answered with a low purr I couldn’t stop.

He backed me up until my back hit the side of the car. His mouth moved down my jaw to my throat, then he bit down at the curve of my neck and shoulder — hard enough to make me gasp, not hard enough to break skin.

I shuddered.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my skin, licking over the bite before sucking hard.

His hand slid under my dress, hot against my inner thigh, moving higher. He pressed against my panties and groaned when he found me soaked. “Jesus, Harper.”

“Back seat,” I said against his mouth.

He yanked the door open. I climbed in, shoved my dress up around my hips, and kicked my panties aside in one motion. By the time I turned, his jacket was gone and his eyes were fixed on me, dark and hungry. With a rough growl he grabbed me and yanked me onto his lap. I braced my knees on either side of him as his hands shoved my dress higher, locked onto my bare ass, and pulled me down hard. I kept the rhythm, rolling my hips over the thick line of his cock through his jeans. His head dropped back against the seat, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

I tore his shirt open. Buttons scattered across the seat.

His eyes flew open. A deep, feral growl ripped from his chest as I shoved the shirt down his arms and ran my hands over the hot skin underneath. When I bent and bit down on his pectoral, his whole body jolted.

“Fuck—Harper,” he rasped, voice ragged. One hand fisted tight in my hair, the other digging into my ass hard enough to bruise. He pulled me down harder against him, grinding up into me with a sharp roll of his hips.

I couldn’t wait anymore. I shoved my hand between us and ripped his jeans open. When I pulled his cock free and wrapped my hand around the thick length of him, the sound he made was raw.

“You sure?” he asked, voice strained, catching my wrist.

“Yes.”

His forehead dropped to mine, breath turning ragged. “Harper. No going back after this.”

“I said yes.”

He let go of my wrist.

I gave him one slow, tight stroke, then rose up and lined him up. I dragged the thick head of his cock through my wetness, back and forth, letting him feel every inch of how ready I was.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Mm.”

“You’re killing me.”

On the next downward glide his hands clamped hard on my hips and pulled me down. I sank onto the thick head of him, just an inch, and we both went still. The same hard shudder hit us at the same time.

Then reality cut in.

“Condom,” I gasped.