POV Owen
Father in heaven, the devil sits on my lap.
Please get her off.
That’s the only prayer I can manage while Noelle grinds her hips down onto me like sin came wrapped in glitter and lip gloss. I grit my teeth and stare straight ahead on the road, jaw locked so tight it aches, when she nuzzles her face in my neck.
My hands grip the steering wheel, white-knuckled, but she keeps moving. Slow, deliberate rolls of her hips that press her heat against my body.
I can feel her wetness through my jeans. I can feel everything. Every shift of her hips, every breathy little moan she tries to smother behind a drunken grin.
Her bare thigh brushes my wrist where it rests on the gearshift, and I feel the heat of her body through the tiny scrap of fabric she dares to call a dress. I swallow hard, trying to focus on anything but the way her breath hitches every time her body grinds over mine.
“Noelle,” I growl, my voice raw with restraint I barely have left. “Don’t do something you’ll regret when you’re drunk.”
She leans in, arms looped around my neck, her lips brushing the shell of my ear like a goddamn temptation wrapped in silk.
“I’m not regretting anything. In fact…” She presses closer, her fingers curl behind my neck, nails lightly dragging along my skin, “...I’m doing exactly what I want.”
I slam on the brakes.
The tires screech, the car jerks, and she gasps as her chest slams into mine. The car halts in the middle of a deserted road, dark and humid, the air thick with things we shouldn’t want.
We’re alone on a quiet stretch of road, dark and humid, the only light from the dash casting a glow across her flushed skin.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” I snap, even though my hand is already fisting the fabric of her dress at the shoulder.
Her breath hitches. I don’t know if it’s fear or arousal—or both.
God help me, I hope it’s both.
She tilts her head, lashes fluttering as she whispers, “A drunken heart speaks a sober mind.”
That’s it. My restraint shatters.
I grab her jaw with one hand, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make her look me in the eye.
“You’re playing with fire, Angel,” I hiss, voice low and shaking. “And you don’t even know how fast it’ll burn you.”
She smirks, pupils blown wide. “I want to burn,” came breathless, and that’s it.
That’s the moment I stop pretending.
I drag her toward my mouth by the neck, lips crashing into hers with all the fury I’ve buried for weeks. She tastes like Red Bull and recklessness, her kiss messy and all tongue and teeth and ‘fuck me now.’
Her body melts into mine like she was made to ride me, hands tangled in my hair, hips rocking against my cock like she knows I’m about to lose it.
She whimpers, hips rolling against mine, and I curse under my breath.
“Fuck, this is wrong…” I growl against her lips, my hands already trailing up under her dress, finding hot skin and curves I’ve imagined a thousand times in the dark. “You’re drunk, spoiled, and completely off-limits.”
“And I want you,” she whispers, and those two words send me spiraling.
I pull back just enough to see her face—flushed, pupils blown, lips swollen from how hard we’ve been devouring each other.
There’s nothing innocent in that look. No hesitation. Just heat and hunger and something that looks dangerously close to need.
My hand slides down, slow, deliberate, until my fingers brush between her thighs. The dress is useless. A whisper of fabric.
I press into her slick folds, feel the heat there.
She jerks in my lap, head falling back with a gasping moan.
“Fuck, Noelle,” I bite out. “You’re soaked for me.”
She bites her bottom lip, and I slip one finger in—just the tip, just enough to feel how hot and ready she is.
Her breath catches, and then she moans—raw, breathy, helpless.
I press my forehead to hers, closing my eyes.
Everything about her—her smell, her taste, the way her walls flutter around my finger… Is driving me toward the edge of something I won’t come back from.
“You act like a brat,” I murmur into her neck, dragging my lips over the flushed skin, “but your body begs like a good girl. So needy. So ready. You can’t even keep your legs closed for me.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders like she’s trying to hold on to anything. My finger slides deeper, knuckle-deep, curling upward until I feel her jerk in my lap, a sob of pleasure slipping past her lips.
“Owen—”
“I know,” I rasp, twisting my wrist just right.
She gasps, grinding against my hand now, chasing every stroke like she needs it. I slide in another finger, stretch her untouched pussy slowly and carefully, watching her unravel with every curl.
“This could get me fired,” I growl into her ear. “Or worse.”
I kiss her throat, sucking hard just beneath her jaw as I thrust my fingers in again, slow and punishing.
“Your father would fucking kill me, Noelle. For touching his precious girl like this.”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She doesn’t have to say it. I can see it in her face—she doesn’t care.
Neither do I.
I press my lips to every inch of burning skin I can reach, whispering filth between every kiss. “You’ve been teasing me. Torturing me. Acting like a spoiled little brat.”
I curl my fingers just right, and she gasps—body arching, thighs clamping around me.
“But this pussy? This dripping little cunt? It’s mine now. You understand me?”
Her whimper is answer enough.
“Look at me,” I commanded, voice low and rough. “Eyes on me when you fall apart.”
She obeys, just barely holding on, her gaze locked on me as her body trembles, walls fluttering around my fingers.
Her lips part, a broken sob of pleasure escaping as her body tightens and pulses around my fingers.
“Now cum for me, Angel,” I whisper.