“Right.” My smirk’s front and center as I glance at her. “I apologize for misinterpreting your body language.”
She swipes an anxious hand across her flushed cheek. “Oh my God.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“What?” she clips. “That’s what who says?”
“The women who’ve experienced the fine architecture of my huge . . . building.”
Her mouth drops right the fuck open. Considering I’m as hard as they come, can barely focus on the road, and she started the torment that’s driving us both crazy, I have no intention of stopping. She’s making it too easy, and payback’s my bitch.
“Actually, they pant or scream it,” I say. “That usually depends on what I’m doing to them, though. I’m a pussy kind of guy. I can lick it from the second the sun rises to the second it sets. So if I’m indulging in that, that’s usually when they’re panting.”
I pitch her a wink as she presses her lips into a hard line, her eyes bugging out of her head.
I flick my cigarette out the window. “Now, if I’m in the middle of fucking, it’s not until I get them to the very edge, slow down just enough to make them feel like they’re about to lose it, and then really hammer the message home so that they begin screaming out for both me and the good Lord above.” I stop the car in front of the student dorms, a slow smile curling my mouth as I kill the engine. “Again, it all depends on what my hands, tongue, and building are doing that determines how they sound.”
Amber stares at me, her knee furiously ticking up and down while I wait for her to acknowledge the picture I’ve painted for her. Nothing. She’s mute, her eyes boring into mine.
I feel compelled to say something, so I go with the first thing that pops into my mind. “What color panties are you wearing?”
“Pink,” she answers through a shaky whisper, her breathing sporadic.
“Matching bra?”
She nods, her teeth attacking her bottom lip.
Jesus. I have no clue where I’m going with this, but I’m not about to stop. “Have you thought about our kiss?”
Another nod.
“The way I tasted?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” My hand goes to the nape of her neck, and I gently guide her beautiful face within inches of mine. “How many times have you thought about it?”
“Why are you doing this to me, Ryder?”
“You started it, and not for nothing, I couldn’t stop if I wanted.” My rough breathing mirrors hers, my self-control slipping with each silent minute passing by. “Now answer the fucking question, Amber. How many times have you thought about it?”
She trembles, confusion and want glazing her eyes. “I . . . I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
“Then kiss me,” I whisper gruffly, unwilling to take it from her this time. I’ve already pulled the asshole card. I can’t do it again. Besides, I want it to come from her. Need it. “If you haven’t stopped thinking about it, then kiss me like you know you want to.”
“Go to hell,” she half hisses, half moans as I fist her hair.
My lips graze her soft cheek, my head dizzy from her sweet raspberry scent.
“You’re not even thinking about Brock.”
I pull back a fraction, my gaze digging into hers. “Are you? ’Cause that’s not what I’m getting here. Nah, I’m not getting that at all.”
She swallows. “What do you want me to say, Ryder? You want me to tell you that I want you? That I’ve pictured fucking you?”
I manage a smirk. “Yeah, we can start with that.”
“Fine! I’ve pictured fucking you a million different ways. I’ve pictured what it’d be like to ride your cock until neither of us could take it anymore. Pictured what it’d feel like to suck on it until my cheeks hurt.” Her eyes narrow. “But you wanna know something else?”
I’m positive I’ve never been this fucking hard, and I want her to kiss me now more than I did before, but I’m not sure I want to know what she’s about to say.
“I think you’re spitting game,” she continues, not waiting for my response, “and I’m sick enough that I kind of like it. I like being dirty. Real dirty. But not dirty enough to screw over your friend, because I actually like him. He has something to offer me, and you don’t. You’re nowhere close to relationship material.” Rebellion’s bold in her tone, but her eyes kill the delivery by showing a flash of remorse.
Fuck not pulling the asshole card. It’s officially pulled.
I crash my lips to Amber’s, and our tongues collide, exploding into a kiss charged with lust and anger. She moans, pulls her knees onto the seat, and all but crawls over the console. Furiously matching my strokes, her body hums as she sinks her fingers into my hair, gripping it tighter than I am hers.
“You think I have nothing to offer you?” I growl, growing harder by the second. I nip and suck every exposed piece of skin—her collarbone, shoulder, neck, jaw, ear. Shit, if her tits were out, they’d be in my mouth. She moans again, her breathing clipped, her heart pounding as she unleashes her pent-up sexual anguish.
“Is that what you think, Amber? I have nothing to offer you?”
“Yes,” she answers through a pant, digging her nails into my skull as she straddles my lap.
God help us both. I’m about to take her right here in my car. Lips still plastered to mine, she reaches to the side and yanks up on the seat recliner, sending us flying back. She dives in for more, her kiss frantic, nearly begging me to pound the ever-loving shit out of her. Hard and fast, I lick into her mouth, my cock twitching as I rough my hands under her tank top, squeezing her ribs.