The car comes to a screeching stop abruptly enough it gives me a slight case of whiplash.
Without bothering to apologize, Vin throws the Maserati into reverse and flies backwards down the highway toward the exit we had just passed. The transmission grinds with a screech of metal as he peels out down the ramp in a way that has me gripping the handle of my door as I brace for what seems like an inevitable crash.
He pulls onto some random two-lane road lined with massive redwoods, going double the posted speed limit. When he finally rips off the road into a small clearing so the brush conceals us from view, my heart is in my damn throat.
“What the fuck, Vin—"
The metal buckle of his seatbelt hits the glass window from how forcefully he yanks it to the side. He moves more quickly than should be possible in the small space as he lunges for me.
I manage to get my own belt undone and reach for the door handle just in time to hear the locks go off.
The second I use to search for the latch is all it takes for him to land on top of me. One of his hands captures both of mine and presses them to my chest. He uses the other to pull my legs onto the seat so my back presses against the door and I’m completely underneath him.
His lower body straddles my legs. The thick length of him presses against my thigh — even through his pants I can tell he is rock hard.
“Say that again,” he growls.
The sound resonates through my body and goes straight to the aching part of me that is just as wet as he said it would be.
I glare up at him, ignoring the storm brewing in those toxic blue eyes. “What. The. Fuck. Vin.”
“Nope, not that.” He bends his head and nuzzles my neck, his voice practically a purr. “Back up just a step.”
But I refuse to answer, not when he is so ready to turn my words against me.
His mouth is close enough to kiss, but that isn’t what he does. He bites my lip hard enough that I taste the tang of blood.
I swallow it down and try to remind myself that pleasure from him always comes with pain. That should turn me off, should make me want to shove him away and insist that he drive me back home.
Instead, my traitorous legs fall open enough that he can press himself more firmly against me.
He slams his hips against me, squeezing my ass with his bare hand and forcing the abrasive fabric of his jeans against my sensitive skin that only has a loose strip of cotton shielding it from the world.
“Fuck, I love these shorts,” Vin says on a groan, practically talking to himself. His attention returns to my face. I recognize that look in his eye. It’s the one he wears when he is willing to do anything to prove a point, even if it degrades us both. “I think you said something about me not touching you again.”
He has always relished his ability to turn my own body against me. And I let him, not because I have a problem denying him what he wants, but because I haven’t figured out how to deny myself.
He has always had that power over me and has never hesitated to use it.
His jean-clad hips ride me through our clothes. I feel the roughness everywhere: on my thighs, my belly and the sensitive bud of my clit.
Which seems to be entirely the point.
Blood streaks across my lip as his mouth shifts across my chin and down the line of my jaw, kissing and biting so hard I should be concerned he’ll leave marks. Then my tongue dips out to lick the blood clean, abrading the cut he left there, and I no longer care.
With his face still buried in my throat, Vin blindly frees himself from the confines of his jeans, seeming heedless of the dangers of a zipper undone too quickly. I feel the soft skin at the head of his cock rub against my thigh, even though I can’t see it.
“No fucking without condoms.” I strengthen my voice enough that he’ll know I’m drawing a line in the sand. After a year, I can walk away from this, but not if I’m saddled with a baby. “That’s non-negotiable. I can’t get pregnant.”
His head shifts to rise above mine, close enough that I feel the rush of air against my mouth as he speaks. We were practically kissing, but just short enough for it not to count.
Vin and I never kiss.
This is the first time I can remember thinking that I wish we did.
I want to kiss him hard enough to make him bleed.
“No fucking without condoms,” he repeats, as if reciting a lesson from his favorite teacher. But he doesn’t stop rubbing himself against me. He has pushed my shorts aside so my soaked panties are the only barrier between us. “Anything else? This is your last chance to negotiate before you say I do. We’re signing a prenup before the ceremony.”
He punctuates his words by pressing his thumb down on my aching clit, leaving me lightheaded.
I can’t think past the ache, and he knows it. My mind whirls for something else to demand from him, but all my mind can process is how much I need to come. Now isn’t the time to discuss the finer details of our contractual obligations to each other. He knows it, and that’s precisely why it’s only coming up right now.
I just shake my head, barely able to form
