“Sorry...” I never actually slapped a man out of frustration. I didn’t know what to say, and he looked ready to strangle me. “My hand slipped.”
His jaw ticked and time stood still, the energy of the car tightening like a slingshot about to spring. He dove across the interior and jerked back when his seatbelt stopped him. I laughed because it was funny, but he didn’t appear to think so.
The buckle clicked and flung toward the door. He was free. The strap of my seatbelt whisked off my chest, and he grabbed my wrist, tugging me over the center console.
“Hey!” I yanked back, but he had a tight grip. “Get off of me!”
He tugged my arms over his lap, and my hand shot out to protect my face from hitting the steering wheel. The back of his arm weighed me down, and I squirmed to get back to my seat.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I nearly swallowed my tongue as heat exploded through my jeans, and the sound of his hand smacking down on my jeans reverberated in the car. It took me a minute to process that he just spanked me.
My heavy breathing challenged the sound of heat pumping from the vents. The moment I processed his actions, I committed to a reflexive reaction.
“You fucker!” I went for his nipples.
Twisting to my side, my back hit the wheel, and the horn honked. I went for his nipples, twisting hard enough to change the color of his face.
“No!”
I pinched as hard as I could through the layers of his clothes.
“You fucking bitch!” He shoved me aside and walloped my ass again.
“Stop!”
“You stop!”
“No! You started it!”
“You slapped me!”
“It was an accident!” I scrabbled away as his palm peppered my ass.
He was going to leave bruises! My jeans did nothing to spare me pain.
“Stupid dick!”
I twisted and tried to punch him in the crotch, but there wasn’t enough room with me wedged between his chest and the wheel. The horn blared as I squirmed to save my butt another smack.
His palm landed on my hip. “Enough!”
I jerked free and panted, my hair falling in my face and my coat slipping off my shoulders. My throbbing butt sent a pulse through my veins. Furious, I glared, gritting my teeth.
“Jesus, you’re fucking sexy.”
Sexy? I wanted to kill him, and he was thinking about sex? “There’s something seriously wrong with you—”
His lips smashed to mine, his fingers locking in my hair and holding me still as his tongue plunged into my mouth. Something unraveled inside of me, and before I turned into a puddle of brainless hormones, I slapped the thigh of his jeans.
A satisfying smack filled the car.
Our mouths broke apart, and his arm flung out with surprising speed, and pain exploded in my boob.
Cradling my chest, I gaped at him. “Did you just tit-slap me?”
“You hit me first.”
I lost it. My hand swatted at his face, shoulders, arms, anywhere I could reach. He wasn’t holding back either. My ass was burning hot, and when his seat slid back, I panicked and reached for the door handle.
“No, you don’t.” Strong hands wrenched me back, my fingernails scraping on the metal handle as it slipped out of my grip.
“No!” There was no way he was spanking me again.
I squirmed and struggled, but he was faster and stronger. My hand shot out to the door, the scent of pristine leather filling my nose as his palm landed on my upturned ass with a sharp sting sending fire into my veins.
This wasn’t happening!
I bit his side, tasting the cotton of his shirt and not letting up until he let go of me. Jerking my body off his lap, I made a fist and aimed for his dick.
“Avery, no!” He caught my hands and glared. “You don’t hit a man in the crotch!”
I struggled to break out of his hold, but he was too damn strong. “You. Spanked. Me.”
“You slapped me in the face.”
Damn it! He had a death grip on my fists. “Let go of me.”
“No.”
The warm interior of the tiny hardtop convertible spiked toward a hundred degrees and my knee was jammed between the gearshift and the console. I met his glare and narrowed my eyes. His nostrils flared. Those sharp blue eyes held me prisoner as much as his hands. Such Nordic beauty stripped away my resolve.
As far as physical strength went, I would never be stronger than him. I jerked my arms and slid into my seat. “I hate you.”
He finally let go. “No, you don’t.”
No. I didn’t. That was the problem. My shoulders sagged. If I hated him, it would be so much easier to stay mad at him. But even now, ass burning and one sore boob, I couldn’t bring myself to dislike him.
What was wrong with me? This was not how people our age were supposed to act.