“I do,” I insist. “I can’t help myself. I’m sorry. I know we can’t be together, but I fucking need you, Devlin. I just…”
“Don’t cry,” he says, his thumb smoothing across my cheek, skimming my wet lashes. I’m not crying yet, but I’m about to. “Tell me what you need, baby. Tell me what to do.”
“I need you to fuck me,” I whisper. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
He tenses, and I don’t blame him. I made him fuck me until he cared about me, and then I ripped his heart out like some heartless bitch who needed it to fill the void where her own should be. Maybe that’s exactly what I am, but I can’t stop myself. I hold onto him, not letting him go this time. There’s something wrong with me, something missing, and only he can make me feel whole.
“I don’t know if I’m capable of that,” Devlin says quietly, his hands falling to my waist. “And even if I was, I don’t think I could be capable of it with you.”
I remember what Lacey told me on my first day at Willow Heights, that Devlin didn’t sleep around. I hate myself for asking him for this, but not enough to change my mind. I need closure, need to know that I can move on, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that with the way we left things.
“Just this once,” I say, a tear sliding down my cheek. “Please. For me. I can’t have our last time be that time in the locker room. Just let me have this, just one time. Let me feel every moment like it’s the first time, for the last time. And we’ll pretend the rest of it never happened.”
Devlin’s jaw tightens, and he just stares at me like I’m some kind of stranger to him, and it breaks my fucking heart.
“I can feel how much you want me,” I whisper. “Feel how much I want you.” I take his hand and slide it down from my hip, around my waist, and down, burying it between my thighs.
Devlin draws a sharp breath.
I tug up my skirt, pulling it around my hips, and press his fingers to my soaked cotton underpants.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his head dropping back against the seat. He closes his eyes, his breathing labored, but he doesn’t move a muscle.
I pull aside the fabric and press his fingers to my bare, wet flesh. “Just one more time,” I beg. “Let me remember you like this. Just us.”
Without a word, Devlin slides his hand down and buries a finger deep inside me. He groans and pushes deeper, lifting his hips to push his cock against my ass. I tilt my hips and grind into his palm, spreading my thighs for him, desperate for him to obliterate me.
His head snaps up, and he grabs my chin and turns my head toward him, his mouth smashing into mine and his finger pumping into me. I moan into his mouth helplessly, rocking against his hand as I bury both hands in his hair and my tongue in his mouth, tasting him and drinking him in like it’s the only thing keeping me alive. He slides his hand over my hair, yanking out my hair tie and running his hands through it, mussing it until all the work I did to polish and smooth my long dark mane is erased, and it tumbles around my shoulders in wild disarray.
I don’t care. I don’t care what I look like. I lift my face and close my eyes, letting the sun bathe me in warmth while I ride his hand. Devlin stretches me open, working another finger past my tight entrance and forcing it deep, pulsing them against my walls while his palm massages my clit until I’m gasping for breath. All at once, I break apart for him, throwing my head back and crying his name as I slip over the edge.
When I open my eyes, Devlin’s watching me. My first instinct is to be self-conscious, but he’s looking at me like I’m some exotic treasure he’s never seen before, and suddenly, I forget why I wanted to hide. He’s breathing as hard as I am, his eyes blazing with lust. For me. No one else. No audience, no pretense. It’s all for me.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growls. “If you’re not on your back in thirty seconds I’m going to cum right here against your ass.”
I’m still coming down from my orgasm, but I don’t want it to be over. I know this is how it ends, and I’m not ready.
I grab his collar and tug him back as I climb into the back seat. He stays with me, grabbing me before I can get situated and throwing me down on the leather seat. “God, I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he says, kneeling up and yanking his belt undone. I barely wriggle out of my underwear before he’s on me, plowing into me. I cry out and arch up, my knees tightening on his hips because it’s too much, too fast.
“Wait,” I gasp. “We need a condom.”
“You said you wanted it like the first time,” he says, driving into me quick and hard. “Shut up and take it raw.”
And god, I do want it like this. I don’t want anything between us, ever. I want him driving his thick, bare cock deeper with each thrust, breaching the tightening of my muscles and forcing me to take every agonizing inch of him.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he rasps, gripping the top of the door with one hand as he draws back and slams his cock to the hilt inside me. I cry out when he hits my depth and a throb of pain goes through me, but I don’t pull back. I cling to him, gripping his thick shoulders and lifting my hips to receive each punishing thrust, shaking like a junkie finally getting a desperately needed fix. He goes faster, fucking me like a frenzied animal, like an attack.
I open myself for him, letting him take everything, strip away all the fakeness and drama until it’s just us, just our bodies that knew what we wanted and where we belonged long before our minds caught up. I welcome his punishment, relish the pain, take everything he gives me. I don’t want him to stop. I only want more.
Suddenly, his hand grips my throat. “I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “Don’t scream.”
“Not yet,” I say. “Slow down. I don’t want it to be over.”
“I tell you when it’s over,” he snaps.
He slams into me again, grinding his pelvic bone against my clit, his fingers tightening around my throat until my panting breaths are only gasps. “Okay,” I manage through my restricted throat.
“Should I pull out?” he asks, his breath coming quick.