Page 47 of Hate It with You

“So… are we going to ride back in complete silence, or are you ready to talk?” Alex’s question from the driver’s seat pulls me out of my dissociation episode. I roll up my passenger side window so I can hear him better. He does the same, anticipating a response from me, I’m sure.

Instead, I look his direction, throwing a glare his way before pulling my attention back to the road ahead of us.

For a weekend, the roadways are fairly clear. Alex chose the scenic route back home. His dark window tint and the tall evergreen trees on either side of the road, providing shade from the evening sun, make it feel as though it’s nighttime inside the car.

The silence between us thickens and lingers as we continue down the empty road, morphing into something heavy that has me wanting to reach toward my window button again.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” Alex says, shocking me from my slumped position in my seat.

“Excuse me?” I ask, not hiding the shock in my voice and failing to hide the slight upturn of the corners of my mouth.

Alex smiles. “You heard me.” His hand grabs the shifter, shifting the car up one gear as he accelerates. We don’t go nearly as fast as we did on the track, but I grab the edge of my seat as the trees begin to whirl past us.

“Admit that you had fun today.” My heart rate ticks up at his stern tone, in much the same way it did when we were on the track today. The same way it did the other night when he was behind me…

My grip on the seat beneath me tightens as heat begins to pool in my center.

Fuck, he isn’t even touching me, and he still has this effect on me?

“I’m waiting,” Alex says when I continue to stay silent, his hand moving from the shifter to my bare thigh.

He draws languid circles with his fingers on my skin as I fail to regulate my increasingly rapid breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He spreads his hand wide on my thigh, inching up higher, short of the hemline of my skirt that’s failing to cover me appropriately, given my sitting position.

He squeezes tight enough to send a wave of pleasure through all the nerve endings in my body. “Quit being a brat and admit it, Beth.”

“Make me,” I grit out, my attention split between regulating my breathing and staring at the strong fingers digging into my muscles.

A low chuckle slips out of him as he inches his hand higher, slipping beneath the hemline of my skirt. Another glance in his direction and I can see he’s as affected by our connection as I am. The straining of his cock against the material of his jeans looks painful. When I catch it flex beneath the fabric, my nipples scrape against the lace of my bralette beneath my shirt as they begin to harden.

“Is that a challenge?” The trees continue to whirl by us as we move steadily along the road, Alex keeping full control of the Mustang. After today, I’m not sure I would trust anyone behind the wheel of a car more than Alex.

When I don’t respond, he moves his hand higher, and I shamelessly adjust in my seat, hoping to close the distance between his fingers and my core. His knuckles brush against my center for a split second before he rests his hand on my thigh again, this time gripping harder.

The movement has me clutching the car door handle in an effort not to soak his seat right then and there.

“No thong this time?” The question comes through gritted teeth as his left hand on the steering wheel tightens its grip. One look at him and his cock is begging to be set free of the prison that is his jeans.

“You told me not to.” My voice comes out hushed, my breath fragmented.

Another squeeze to my thigh and a groan slips from his throat. “Maybe you’re not such a brat after all.” He wraps his fingers around the hemline of my skirt, pushing it up so the material bunches around my waist. It didn’t have far to go considering my erratic movements got it halfway there anyway.

Now fully exposed, he steals a glance before cupping his palm over me, his fingers pointed down at the seat, blanketing my core perfectly. A small groan slips from my throat at his touch.

“Fuck, you’re stunning,” he groans, stealing another glance before turning his eyes back to the road.

My grip on the car door handle tightens, the plastic creaking under the strength of my fingers as Alex slips one finger inside me. A second finger follows with ease as my arousal pools underneath my bare ass and between my thighs.

I spread my legs as far as they can go, providing him more room to give me exactly what I need. Although he doesn’t. He holds back as he barely moves his fingers inside me, never touching me where I need him to.

“Are you always this wet, or only when you’re with me?” Alex’s controlled charm is back, and his velvety voice threatens to send me over the edge.

“I’ve been wetter,” I lie.

I’ve always thought I was happy with my sex life. Women and occasionally men, never failing to please me and me never failing to please them.

But no one has ever been able to send me over the edge like Alex did the other night. No one has ever made me so wet that I’ve been left to sit in a puddle of my own arousal.