“Will you stop the car a second?” she asked, as soon as I'd eased off the gas in front of a pretty green clapboard house. I'd never been in this part of town before, but I did as the lady asked and slid the emergency brake into position. We sat in silence as the city sounds pressed in around us. The clicking of the car ceded back into the anxious whirring of cicadas.
I turned to Ash, who had closed her eyes and was now rolling her head back and forth across the headrest. I smiled. She was beautiful. The best part of her beauty was how un-self conscious it was. Unlike Zora, even unlike Yvette—Ash walked around like she didn't give a fuck who was looking at her. And as a result, it could have been everybody. I was grateful, in that moment, that it was me.
“What can I do?” I whispered after a beat, half-hating how wormy I sounded. But I was in a position to worm. She had reason enough to never give me the time of day again, and yet here she was, waxing poetical in my Saab. Her eyes slid open. They were bleary and desperate and warm.
Without thinking, I lurched towards her, faster than I could even unbuckle my seatbelt. I held her face in my palms, tilted it gently up so some stray moonlight could fall on her pale cheeks. I held her for a moment like that, heart beating like a jackrabbit's, until she nodded. Very slightly, but just enough so I could feel her certainty. I tentatively slid my thumb over her warm, slightly dewy lips. Her mouth parted, as if to welcome me. Then her neck seemed to collapse forward, and we fell into one another.
I remembered kissing her, on that happier day in our past. I remembered the shape and feel of her bow-like mouth. Her tongue was anxious and grasping, it wouldn't let me go. I tilted my own face so I could wriggle deeper inside her. The car made shifting sounds as we moved together, straining against our seat-belts. I wanted to break away the strap so I could climb on top of her, but I was worried that if I pulled away—if even for a second—when I came back she'd have changed her mind.
But minutes passed, and she didn't seem interested in changing her mind. Her skinny, long fingers wormed their way toward my torso. She seemed to stutter on my muscles, and made carving gestures around them as I flexed for her benefit. I wanted to be strong for her, I wanted to be the reliable, sturdy guy. I also wanted to fuck her, good and long, soft and hard, for as long as it took. Until she quivered with pleasure. Until her beautiful mind was stripped of anything that could cause it pain.
Chapter Twenty
Ash
Even before we'd moved to the backseat, his cock was rigid in his pants. I brushed against it by accident, while tugging on the fabric of his flimsy t-shirt. I found I wanted to touch this taut expanse of a football player, this body so contra to Nate's. I wanted to sink into the arms of someone strong enough to hold me up.
He continued to kiss me, fingers moving through my hair. He was gentle. I waited for the moment to reach a natural conclusion, or for some reason to seize us both and pull us apart—but I couldn't stop. I was hungry for him. I kissed harder. When I came up for a brief lungful of air, his eyes were pinned on me with such an intensity I might have swooned right then. I directed my mouth to his neck, and began to suck. He'd liked that, before. This time, I heard him whimper with want before digging lightly into my scalp, drawing me further in.
“Doll,” he gasped, chest rising and falling fast. “Oh fuck, Doll. You're so fucking amazing. You've got me so fucking hard.” Then, as if to prove this last statement, he lifted my hand from his coiled bicep and placed it on the bulge of his jeans. I opened my eyes and read a question in his gaze, an arched interest in taking things slow. A part of me wanted to be the reasonable girl, the no-we-can't-you're-my-stepbrother-girl—but I couldn't. I nodded my head firmly: yes.
Then my eyes swiveled towards the beast between his legs. My own stomach was rising and falling with a desire I'd never experienced before. I was feeling what I'd only read about, or seen in movies. A pure, unadulterated thirst for another body.
“Wait,” Landon was saying, struggling to get the words out as I stroked his cock through his jeans. “Wait. Fuck. This... isn't right.”
But I didn't feel like talking anymore. So I leaned forward, and took his earlobe very gently between my teeth. I moved my hand from his crotch and felt him strain in my absence. Then, I unbuckled my seatbelt.
“I don't want to take advantage,” Landon continued—admirable, given his state. I was just about to lift my dizzy hips from the bucket seat when his last words seemed to reverberate in the car. Take advantage, take advantage, take advantage...I paused.
“You don't want to?” I asked him. “What about all that shit you said before? On the roof? When I fuck you, blah blah blah?” A strange silence fell. Then:
“I've seen St. Elmo's Fire. I know this whole...thing.” Landon's eyebrows scrunched together on his forehead, and for a moment he looked like an adorable basset hound puppy.
“I've never seen St. Elmo's Fire,”—I kissed him—“So, I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Right. You'd be too young.”
“Oh, can we fucking cool it with that excuse? We're four years apart, plus I'm way smarter than you.”
This seemed to slough off some of his reserve. The smile started at the corner of his mouth, just a crooked little line appearing. For a stupid, girly second, I had to look away—he was just too damn cute.
“You had a terrible day,” Landon continued. I met his gaze again. His kind, warm gaze. In that second, I didn't think about my mom, or my sister, or the Pastor, or school, or Mr. Dempsey, or the past...there was just this humid car. There was just this man, before me.
I pressed my head towards his like all the bones had been magically removed from my neck, and he met me in kind. His mouth opened wider this time, and I found no resistance—just thirst. His fingers found the back of my scalp again, and he grappled with my tangling hair. The humidity was getting to me, in more ways than one.
Our breath co-mingled, becoming a hot cloud between our faces. It got hard to breathe, but I didn't care. His hands were on the sides of my face, the damp skin of my neck, just barely grazing my breasts through my shirt—still a little tentative, but secretly gunning for further contact. I kissed him deeply. I kissed him in a way I prayed would tell him: yes, yes, a thousand times yes.
His hands had found the bottom of my shirt before long, but he moved too slow for me. I brought my sweaty fingers to my sides and tugged, sharply—so sharply that my hair was briefly caught in a web of my clothes. This made Landon laugh. But no sooner had his face broken into another endearing smile than his eyes turned rapt at the sight of my décolletage. So long un-admired, so long a burden to me—sensing his eyes on my swollen rack sent me. I leaned back, and my hair fell against my shoulders. Landon seized the opportunity and buried his lips in my skin.
It felt incredibly right, to be fulfilling a pact we'd made months and months before. He knew exactly what to do. His mouth was soft and sweet on my bare skin, finding the sensitive hollows fast. I pressed against him. He grabbed my back, nails digging into my sticky surface.
“Landon!” I cried, bringing my fingers up to root through his hair. He rolled against my touch at the contact, though his lips managed to remain focused. I felt my nipples rise, hard, against my thin bralette. I wished it were cooler. I wished it were faster. Mostly, I wished.