toes the slightest bit, and that’s all it takes. His hand fists my hair and his tongue licks the seal of my lips, seeking entrance. I let him in, feeling his tongue slide against mine, and a moan slips free. He’s kissing me. After all this time, he’s kissing me, and I almost forgot how it felt. My hands find his hoodie, clenching the material in my fists to stay upright.
Thayer’s hands wrap around my waist and he jerks me onto the hood, not breaking the kiss. He plants himself between my thighs, and I lie back onto the cool metal, yanking on the front of his sweatshirt to bring him with me. Planting my feet flat on the hood and bending my knees, I flick my tongue across his piercing, earning a growl from him. Then he’s sliding a hand down my stomach, stopping between my thighs. My head falls back onto the hood with a thud as his fingers rub me through my shorts. This is crazy. We shouldn’t be doing this, especially out in the open like this. But I’ve never been able to see reason where Thayer is concerned.
His lips find my neck, sucking and biting as brings me closer to the edge, but in the worst timing, visions of the girl in his room cut through the fog of lust. When he pulls away and the tips of his fingers dip into the waistband of my shorts, I grab his wrist, stopping him.
“You were with another girl the other night.” The words seem so juvenile out loud, but I’m not a homewrecker.
Thayer laughs darkly against my neck, sending a chill down my spine. “You think this makes you my girlfriend or something?” he asks, then scrapes his teeth across my neck.
“I hate you.” Even as I say the words, I’m arching into him, needing more.
“Tell me another lie.” His hand flattens against my stomach and slides beneath my shorts and underwear. My grip on his wrist is loose, hardly a protest. “Tell me more pretty little lies from these pretty little lips.” His fingers part me and I gasp, squeezing his wrist, and he groans appreciatively. “This doesn’t feel like hate.”
My knees fall open, some sick part of me getting off on his taunts, and he pushes a finger inside. It doesn’t escape me that I had a game earlier and I could use a shower. I don’t even want to know what I look like, messy hair, still in my uniform—knee pads and all—getting finger fucked on the hood of a car. Any hope of keeping my pride intact flies out the window when I urge him to speed up his movements by guiding his wrist to move faster.
“Fuck,” Thayer groans, his free hand jerking my shorts down to give him better access. He pumps his hand faster, and I tug at the hem of his sweatshirt, wanting to feel his skin, but he stops me. I give a frustrated growl and he answers by pushing my shirt up my chest and scraping his teeth over my piercing through my white sports bra. The orgasm I don’t see coming hits me hard and fast, and I clench around his fingers, mouth falling open in a silent scream.
When I come back down to Earth, I open my eyes to find Thayer’s attention locked onto where he slowly slides his fingers in and out of me, seeming dazed. I lick my lips that are dry from the cool air, still shuddering with aftershocks. Thayer pulls his fingers from me, giving my pussy two pats, and I flinch, still sensitive.
“Welcome home, Shayne.”
Shayne
I hate Thayer Ames.
At least that’s what I tell myself every time my thoughts drift back to him and how he left me on the hood of his car with my shorts still around my thighs. Reaching an entirely unprecedented level of asshole, he walked away, got into his car, started the engine, and held my forgotten backpack from his window, dangling it from two fingers, while he waited for me to pull myself together. I pulled my shorts back into place and peeled myself—along with my dignity—off the hood before storming into the house without a backwards glance.
Just when I think he’s finally showing me a glimpse of something real, he has to ruin it by being an asshole. And I’m the idiot who fell for it. Again.
To make matters worse, I still don’t know what I’m going to tell my mom about my car.