is against hers, but instead of pushing me away, she grabs back, hand fisted tightly into my sleeve.
I break away to suck at her neck, only just barely cognizant enough to not leave any marks. She tastes so sweet here, this little patch of skin under her jaw, and I can feel the thrum of her pulse beneath it, frenetic and alive. She gulps in these big inhales, and there’s a soft, unspoken approval in the way her fingers wind into my hair, holding me there.
When I plunge back in for a kiss, she meets me readily, like she’d been expecting it, hoping for it, and I can’t help myself. I want everything right now, all at once. I want to mark and have and consume, so badly that I’m shaking with it.
I push my hand up her skirt, wedging it between her thighs.
She gasps into my mouth, and the sound is so gentle—such a stark contrast to the way I’m kissing and groping her—that it shakes something loose inside of me.
I pull away, crashing back into my seat. Hands at ten-and-two. Eyes closed. Chest heaving. Deep breaths.
Fuck.
After a long moment of our harsh breathing, Vandy’s reluctant voice breaks the silence. “Reyn?”
I suck in a long inhale. “I just need a minute.”
She answers with a soft, “Okay,” and my eyes are still closed, but I can practically feel her chewing on that lip, and it’s not helping my situation much.
I say my ABCs backward in my head, and it takes more than a minute, but eventually I can let go of the steering wheel and rake a hand through my hair. “Sorry, that got a little out of hand.”
Her mouth is red when she smiles, but her eyes are soft. “Yeah, I was about three seconds away from coming over that gear shift.”
A rough chuckle escapes my chest. “I won’t even say what I was three seconds from doing.” She laughs in response, and her eyes look so bright—so calm—that I almost feel dumb for asking, “Are you okay? Did I freak you out?” With my massive, throbbing libido.
Some of that radiance dims a bit. “Of course. I’m not made of spun glass, Reyn.”
I want to tell her that I know she’s never done this before, that I don’t want to be the scary front-seat groping-guy she tells her friends about at some college sharing circle in four years. I want to be that other guy, the kind of guy who takes her out and treats her right and doesn’t push his hand up her skirt in an abandoned K-Mart parking lot, even though I am apparently totally that fucking guy.
Instead, I drive.
Like most nights, The Nerd is packed. Familiar cars with Preston Prep stickers on the back windows line the parking lot. Emory’s truck is, unfortunately, right by the door. I grip the wheel, staring at the neon sign. She sits quietly for a minute, her forehead creased in thought.
“Maybe we should get takeout,” she suggests, shifting in her seat. Her skirt rises, giving me a view of the edge of her tattoo, kick-starting my heart. I tamp it down, not wanting another demonic boner possession situation on my hands.
“Yeah, I think that’s a better idea.”
The food doesn’t take long, Vandy waiting in the car while I dip inside to order it. When I return to the Jeep and get back on the road, we’re both quiet. I know from the drive to Thistle Cove that she doesn’t like for the windows to be rolled down. She knows from the same trip that I don’t like music playing when I’m driving. In other words, by the time I park at the clearing overlooking the lake, the silence has grown into something charged and uncertain.
“Reyn?” she asks quietly, eyes looking over the lake. “What is this?”
I turn to look at her, the way the lights play against the soft curves of her face, the delicate bow of her lip, the fan of her lashes. I reach across the center of the car and gently cup my hand behind her neck. “That kiss wasn’t just to distract you,” I admit. “I want this.” Quieter, I add, “I want you.”
She swallows and eases the bag of greasy food onto the floorboard. “Wanting what isn’t yours is kind of your thing, Reynolds McAllister.” Her voice is soft. “Just promise you won’t toss me into a drawer or leave me on the side of the road when you’re done.”