by Ashley Gee
He finally speaks for the first time since we got in the car.
“What will you give me if I tell you?”
I strive to keep my voice flat, uninterested, even as it feels like I’m locked in a cage with a wild animal that also has the key hanging from its neck. “I don’t do road head. It’s the best way I can think of to die in a fiery car crash.”
“Why does your mind always go to something sexual?” he drawls, voice faintly mocking. “And you could at least give me a chance to act like a gentleman. I would take care of you first.”
One of his hands teases at the hem of my shirt until I slap it away.
“Yeah, that sounds much safer.”
His eyebrow raises in obvious challenge. “Is that the only problem? Say the word, and I’ll pull this car over right now.”
“We have a deal.” I clamp my thighs together to keep them from shaking. “You wouldn’t let me take sex off the table, but we agreed it won’t happen again until after the wedding.”
His tone is mild, but I hear the touch of mockery in his voice. “What does a few hours really matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“So if I wait five minutes and then stick a finger inside that pretty little pussy, you won’t be wet for me?”
I fight off a shiver. “Wanting something physically isn’t the same as wanting it in any other way.”
Vin makes an agreeable sound, but smirks at the empty road ahead of us.
My consent has always been an assumption with him, and I only have myself to blame for that.
Because he has been crawling into my bed at night since the end of sophomore year. Because the only thing we’ve ever had between us is anger, hatred, and sexual tension that burns hotter than a grease fire.
I’ve never taken a guy wanting to fuck me as any particular compliment. Maybe it was growing up in the Gulch and seeing how men act when they feel emboldened to ignore the rules of society, but most guys will stick their dick into almost anything. Just because a guy doesn’t want to show a girl off, doesn’t mean he won’t crawl into her bed in the middle of the night and whisper anything he thinks she might want to hear if it gets him what he wants.
Nobody should be proud of what only happens in the dark.
But this playfulness is something new. Bantering with me and flaunting us together by driving through the nicest parts of town with me in the passenger seat is something new.
Vin is acting like we have a relationship outside of the deal that needs to stay purely business. His teasing makes me feel desirable. It makes me feel normal. I’ve already said yes to this ridiculous arrangement, so he doesn’t have to offer me anything else. It almost makes it possible to convince myself he treats me this way because he likes it.
Because he likes me. Like he used to.
The small part of my heart that hasn’t already turned to dust isn’t strong enough to resist him.
And I have to resist him.
Because the moment I give him a way to hurt me, he will be compelled to use it.
“Maybe I’m not so sure I want to go through with this, after all.” Maybe I was testing him, or myself, but I suddenly felt a perverse need to show him I can’t be so easily controlled. “If you aren’t going to hold up your end of the deal by keeping your hands to yourself, then I don’t see why I should bother with mine. You won’t be touching me again.”
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 words. Negotiating isn’t an option, much less reasoning through anything more profound than how good it would feel if the hard cock rubbing against my thigh pushed all the way inside of me.
“I guess that means we have a deal.” His voice is almost conversational. The only hint that we aren’t just having a civil discussion about a contract is the slightly breathless quality of his voice. Otherwise, he acts like he isn’t holding me down in the front seat of his Maserati while cars trundle by on the road that is only a few yards away. “Now, about that touching I’m not supposed to do.”
My shirt has hiked up in our brief struggle until the hem of it floats around my ribcage. His free hand shoves the hem higher until my chest is exposed. I don’t typically where a bra when I sleep, and it hadn’t occurred to me to put one on before we left, though it probably should have.
When he pushes the shirt up so it bunches around my neck, my entire chest is exposed.
“So perfect…” he murmurs, before his head lowers and licks across one taut nipple.
Using his hips as leverage, Vin pushes at one of my legs until it spreads wide enough that he can get up on his knees. My thighs drape over his hips, so obscenely wide that anyone walking by would see everything that wasn’t hidden by the thin strip of my underwear.
Even though his cock is free in all its glory, he doesn’t try to move my underwear aside. Instead, he grinds against me through the sopping cotton, creating a channel for himself that forces the fabric taut against me.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
A lick on my neck leaves a trail of heat. “Fucking you without a condom.”
He shifts his hips so the head of him enters me through my panties, creating a burning pressure. I buck off the leather seat. My hips thrust against his, even as I beg him with the frantic sounds that escape my throat to put an end to the torture.
The pressure from the hand he has wrapped around both of mine and pushing against my chest keeps me still. That still doesn’t stop me from thrashing frantically beneath him, chasing the sensations to oblivion and beyond.
Dry humping hadn’t been cool even at kissing parties in middle school, but today it’s more than enough to make me feel wound up tighter than a spinning top.
All he has to do is let me go, and I’ll spin off into outer space.
Fingers move up my chest. He doesn’t hold back with his nails, digging into the skin as they trace a sharp pattern around one breast. When he squeezes one nipple hard between his thumb and index finger, twisting it harder than should feel good, fireworks shoot off inside of my head.
“If I can make you come like this, then I’m shoving my dick down your throat next chance I get. No condoms required for that.” He doesn’t wait for me to agree. Which is good, because I’m not sure what I would say if forced to respond.
Because I am about to come just like this. I’m going to come on the sleek cock grinding over my clit, and there isn’t anything that can stop it.
“I don’t have to be inside you to fuck you. Because I am always inside you. We crawled inside each other’s skin ten years ago, and we’ll never tear ourselves apart again, even when all we feel is hate.” He punctuates the last word with another harsh thrust of his hips. The tip of his dick pushes past my entrance again through the fabric of my panties. “Don’t come, or you’ll prove me right.” His voice is mocking, even as he grinds down harder. “Don’t come. Don’t come.”
The angry words are meant for both of us.
Vin leans so close that the tip of his nose pushes against mine. The brilliant blue of his eyes fills my vision, drowning me. His eyes alone almost take me over the edge.
For a brief and shining moment, I forget all about who we are and all the history that makes peace impossible.
I have the insane thought that I can float away on that deep blue sea of his gaze.
But then his hand pushes underneath the curve of my ass and slips past the edge of my underwear. I only have a millisecond to wonder if he will really do it before a single finger pushes past the tight ring of muscle at my rear entrance.
The intrusion hurts, but in a way that feels like the preface to something more. I just don’t know yet if that more is a good thing or a bad one. His first stroke is tentative, hesitant. But the moment he feels my spasming hole relax the smallest bit, he forces that finger inside until it disappears to the second knuckle.
My orgasm explodes out of me with a pained cry. The aftermath of it leaves me shivering underneath him. It only takes a few more strokes against my slit for him to let out a groan of his own.
Vin gives a low groan above me. Jets of warm liquid shoot onto my bare belly, just missing the fabric of my shirt and pooling into the divot of my belly button.
It’s only when I finally catch my breath enough to wipe myself off with a handful of napkins from the glove compartment, straighten my clothes, and sit upright on the clammy leather seat that I realize how thoroughly he managed to distract me from getting an answer to my question.
I still have no idea where we’re going.
Twenty-Seven
When we finally reach the vineyard, I see in her eyes an understanding of why I’ve been so cagey.
I need her not to get the wrong idea about this, because it isn’t what she thinks.
But I see the question in those limpid brown eyes. Why would I bring her all the way out here?
The picturesque seaside vineyard looks like something out of a Hallmark movie. A gorgeous lodge is nestled at the center of acres of wine country. It’s beautiful, and not the sort of place you come for anything short of luxury. A quick hop over the Nevada border to some dingy chapel would have served the exact same purpose, but here we are.
Explaining myself to her would require having an explanation in the first place. If I can’t make myself understand the wild urges driving me, then I’d like to avoid making myself look like a fool. Especially in front of the girl who has always seen a little bit too much of the truth I prefer to hide.
I’d love to find the pieces of her that grow like a cancer inside me so I can finally cut them out for good.
I’m still trying to figure out how the hell to do that.
Zaya’s eyes stay glued on the view out of her window, probably so I don’t see the blush still staining her cheeks or the orgasm-blasted haze in her eyes. Our little encounter hadn’t done anything to ease the tension growing between us. If anything, it was like smelling something mouthwatering in anticipation of a feast.
All we managed to do was whet our appetites.
When we pull off the highway and onto a winding road that leads to a long gravel driveway, I watch out of the corner of my eye as some of the tension leaves her body.
There are special places in the world where it’s almost impossible not to feel at peace. Anna’s Vineyard is one of those places, and that plays a huge role in me dragging us out here on a whim. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t want my wedding — despite it being the quickie kind with only a legally mandated witnesses and no fanfare — to be something embarrassing.
Even if everything else comes crashing and burning around me, at least I won’t have to feel grossed out when I think back to my wedding day.
It doesn’t really matter that this union is faker than the peace between us.
I remind myself that this is all about getting what I want. The happier I can make Zaya in the short term, the more likely I am to keep enough of my inheritance to avoid living in the Gulch in the
house right next to her.
The look she casts me now is exactly why I didn’t warn her about this beforehand. She looks at me like I’m something different than the monster she always thought I was.
She’s wrong.
“We have to hurry.” I mean to sound brusque, but the words come out too softly to be anything by cajoling. I’m losing my edge. “Iain is already waiting for us so he can get back to Deception before baseball practice.”
“Iain is here?”
She sounds wary, and I can’t exactly blame her. Iain is my best friend, but sometimes he even scares me a little.
“We need a witness.”
For our damn wedding ceremony.
Zaya just stares at me as we drive slowly past trellises heavy with grapes, rolling hills, and clear blue skies on the horizon. This place offers tours, but we’re the only visitors right now. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, which is a deliberate choice on my part. The whole point of this is to avoid a crowd.
“Are we actually getting married today? If this is some sort of trick, I really don’t have any more energy left for it.”
“I told you what the fuck we’re doing. No need for tricks when you’re going to do whatever I want anyway.”
That makes her angry, which is precisely the point. When she’s pissed off and calling me an asshole, which she proceeds to do for the rest of the way through the vineyard, it’s easier for me to remember who she is and who I am.
We aren’t in love, we aren’t even friends. No matter how much I enjoy screwing her, it won’t ever be more than that. Whether she has a ring on her finger or not.
I thought getting off would temper the edge of tension tightening every muscle in my body. But jerking myself off against her hot little body has only made things worse. My skin is so tight it feels like it belongs to someone else. I should be loose and relaxed after coming in my fucking jeans like a middle schooler who just discovered porn for the first time, but I’m tenser than if I just spent the last week at a monastery. We need to get this over with so I can be inside of her. For real, this time.