The Boy I Hate(57)

She swallowed. Hard and forcefully. Because yes, she could feel it.

He lifted her again and she spread her legs, straddling his hips like she had the night before. But he held her steady, not allowing her to move.

“What is it about you that I can’t seem to get enough of? Why do I have dreams about you when I haven’t seen you in six years?”

She shook her head, knowing she could have said the same words. There was something between them that drew them together. It was bigger than life. Bigger than anything she’d ever felt before.

He looked into her eyes, searching her face. Everything he was feeling lay out before her. “Do you want me, Samantha?” It was a question she thought she’d never hear, but one that sent every nerve in her body to stand at attention.

“You’re my best friend’s brother,” she heard herself say, even though her body was screaming for her to give in already.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her body. “I know who I am. I know who you are. But none of that should have anything to do with your answer.” He kissed her throat, causing her to loll her head back, allowing him better access.

It was wrong, so wrong to give in to this. To the Temptation of Tristan Montgomery, who was laying himself out there like a buffet of drugs to someone who had an addiction. “I want you, Tristan.” It was soft, breathy, almost inaudible, but it was all that was needed.

His lips crashed against hers, and her arms wrapped around his neck. She was at complete surrender to whatever this was.

She moved her hips again, and this time he didn’t stop her. He kissed her throat, her collarbone, then lifted her tank top over her head, leaving her bare to him. He cupped her breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth, and rolling it with his tongue.

Whatever this was, she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to. Their want for one another was like a magnetic pull, a gravity that only grew stronger with time.

She tugged at his shirt, not caring that they were on the side of the highway. She needed his skin against hers. She needed him now.

He pushed her back to her seat, and shifted his body above hers. He pulled off his shirt, his bronzed skin golden from the last bit of sun in the sky.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered softly against her neck. He moved his hips, grinding into her, and the pads of her fingertips dug into his back. His touch felt so good, so achingly sweet, that she wanted to push him away and pull him closer all at the same time. Every movement with Tristan was like this, every kiss, every touch, felt like magic. A hundred times better than chocolate, a thousand times better than anything she’d ever touched, tasted, felt, in her entire life.

He rocked into her again, his lips exploring her jawline and throat. She reached for the button of his jeans, unable to take this torture any longer. Her movements were rushed, awkward, shaky, but she finally found him, then wrapped her hand around his girth, and he groaned.

The sound was almost guttural, mixed with all the relief she felt simply by holding him in her hand. It was a sound of want, and she couldn’t help but move her hand down his shaft to hear it again.

He found her waistband, his thumbs dipping inside right before he pulled them downward. She lifted her hips, allowing him to pull them all the way to her thighs, her legs, until he discarded them to the backseat where they belonged.

He didn’t join her again right away. He just knelt there on his knees, looking at her, his eyes hungry, raking over her body, her breasts, her thighs. She didn’t turn away. It was the second time she’d seen him naked, yet this time, she wouldn’t allow herself to be embarrassed, to be scared. He was perfect. Sculpted. Muscular.

Then his fingers began to inch up her thighs. Slowly at first, softly, and she didn’t look away. She wanted to see all of it. The way his cock twitched when he reached the apex of her thighs. The way his eyes fluttered when he discovered how wet she was. One finger dipped inside her core, deep and without apology, then the other. His fingers curled inside her, his thumb cradling her on the other side, adding the perfect amount of pressure. Her head lolled back, and she let out a moan.

His body joined her once again, solid, warm, heavy. She dropped her thighs open, completely surrendering to his every move, his every touch. The tension climbed inside her, strong, fast, to the rate it was almost scary. She didn’t want to finish without him. She’d never felt this way before. With so much fire in her belly, so much delicious pressure inside every crevice.

She pushed his hands away, then grabbed his hips and pulled him closer. But he only looked at her and shook his head.

“I don’t have any protection. I won’t be able to stop.” His voice was tight, guttural, almost strangled, but she didn’t care.