“He’ll likely go straight to Mother and tell her what happened,” I say.
“Fucking good. He can tell whoever he wants. He was out of line and deserved worse than I gave him,” Dash says defiantly.
My adrenalin is high. A fierce heat of desire melts between my legs and fear courses through me. It’s the strangest high I’ve ever experienced, and it scares me that I react so strongly to Dashiell. I’m afraid of the man he’s become, a man who seems to want to punish me for what he’s suffered, and I also fear that he has the power to make or break me according to his whim.
“What if you get kicked out of the program, the Studio Company?” I ask him.
“Fuck it,’ he says and presses on the gas pedal.
“It’s your dream. You earned your success. Don’t let someone like Lance ruin all you’ve worked for.”
“Sam, I think you’re forgetting I spent years on the streets. Years fighting for my survival, tooth and nail. I’ve crushed more Lance’s than I can count. That pussy-ass bitch doesn’t scare me. He called you a whore. Don’t take that sitting down.”
I sob unexpectedly and cover my mouth. I hate Lance and I’m so damn tired of tiptoeing around Mother. Of bending backward to please her and her always wanting more. Of sacrificing my desires to fulfill hers. Of sharing my time with an asshole like Lance because she demanded it. I feel like a whore, so maybe his insult wasn’t too far off.
I look out at the city streaming by in the night and hide my tears from Dash. My problems would seem trivial to him.
The tires squeal and I’m thrown to the side as he takes the corner into our underground parking garage. I feel like I’m cruising Gotham with Batman.
“Dash, you’re scaring me,” I protest.
He keeps driving like a maniac until he pulls into the designated penthouse spot. He shuts off the car and looks at me pointedly. “You don’t value yourself enough, Sam. Why do I always end up being the one to point out your worth? Your parents abused you. The sooner you realize that the sooner you can let go.”
“I wasn’t abused,’ I say defiantly.
“Psychological abuse is abuse, Sam. They fucked you up, and every day you deal with the fallout. I’m not fucking scared of Lance, Katerina, the trustees at Crestview, or the Studio Company. Fuck all that shit. My life is my own and I’m going to live it exactly how I want to. I suggest you do the same!”
He’s yelling at me, but I can’t stop staring at his angry lips, his steely eyes flashing with anger and his muscular forearms as he grips the wheel. His developed quads flex through his sweats as he scolds me, and I lick my lips, my heart pounding and my pussy so sensitive that I grind into the leather seat.
“The box you grew up in is unlocked, but it’s up to you to step out of it!”
Halfway through his diatribe, Dashiell seems to notice my arousal.
“What are you doing, Sam?” He looks down through smoky hooded eyelids at my subtle gyrating into the bucket seat of his luxury car. “You look like a cat in heat, Sammy. You fucking minx. I’m telling you how to live your life, and all you can think about is getting fucked.” His tone has softened and he looks like he’s enjoying the effect his passion has on me.
“Everyone tells me how to live my life. At this point, my ears shut off,” I tell him.
“But not your cunt?” Dash is cocky, and it heightens my attraction.
“Did you leave me the peanut granola bars?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Of course, I left them for you. Did you fucking eat them like a good girl?”
“Yes,” I say softly, not breaking the intense eye contact with him.
He reaches across the divide and grabs my face, pulling down my chin with his thumb until my bottom lip separates from the top. “You need to take care of you, Sam. Tell everyone else to fuck off, me included. Cause if you’re neglecting yourself, it’s you who loses out. Nourish yourself. We all die alone. Go to your grave satisfied with what you did, not what you did for someone else.”
Dash traces his finger along my lower lip. My breathing accelerates and my eyelids lower as I’m consumed by the fireball of lust filling the car.
He leans in and captures my mouth in a kiss. Taking what we’ve both wanted from the second our eyes locked again in the school commons. I moan into his mouth and he nudges mine open with his tongue. His fingers lace through my hair, pulling me closer, crushing me to his form. It’s as if we can’t get enough, like our kiss is the oxygen we need to breathe.