Backseat Confessions and Dirty Secrets

[Betty’s POV]

The second the elevator doors slid open, Marcus grabbed my hand.

Not roughly. Not forcefully. But firmly. Like he wasn’t giving me the chance to run this time.

I could still feel the heat of his lips on mine, the way his hands had explored, claimed, ruined me in the best possible way. And yet, I let him lead me out.

My heart was still racing, my legs still weak from what just happened between us in that elevator.

By the time we reached the parking lot, the cool night air did little to calm the fire still burning inside me.

And then I saw it—his car. Large. Sleek. Dark.

Marcus opened the back door, pausing just enough to look at me—really look at me. His gaze swept over my face, my lips, my still-flushed cheeks.

Like he was giving me a choice.

I should run. Should turn away from those burning eyes and hungry hands. But when he pulls me into the backseat, my resistance crumbles like sand castles in the tide.

The second the door shut behind him, we lost control. Marcus’s hands were on me before I could take another breath, gripping, pulling, consuming.

Our lips and tongues crashed together, his kiss so demanding, so unapologetic that I had no choice but to fall into it completely. I could still taste the whiskey on his tongue, his hunger mixing with mine, his hands sliding down my body, teasing, claiming.

I gasped against his mouth when he gripped my thighs, spreading them apart just enough for his hips to settle between them.

"Marcus," I whispered, my voice barely there, already breathless.

He shushed me, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Just feel, baby. Don’t think."

And then, he moved lower. Every part of me was burning, aching, unraveling under his touch. His fingers traced the edge of my dress, lifting it inch by torturous inch, until his hands found bare skin.

He groaned, the sound low and primal, as his fingers skimmed the lace of my underwear.

"Fuck, Betty," he muttered, voice thick with something dark and possessive. "You’re so wet. So fucking perfect."

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All I knew was the way my body reacted to him—how effortlessly he stole my control, my sanity, my everything.

And then he slid down even further. Settling between my thighs.

Before I could even process what was happening, he was kissing the inside of my knee, my inner thigh, inching closer, closer—

My breath hitched.

"Marcus, I—"

"You don’t have to do anything," he murmured, his voice dark, teasing. "Just lay back and take it."

And then—he did.

The first flick of his tongue sent a shockwave through me, making my back arch off the leather seat. A sharp, broken moan escaped my lips before I could stop it, my fingers gripping the hair on the back of his head, pulling desperately at him.

He groaned against me, like he could feel every reaction, like it was driving him just as crazy as it was driving me. His hands pinned my hips down, holding me in place as his mouth worked me with ruthless precision.

Every lick, every suck, every teasing flick of his tongue sent me spiraling into something uncontrollable, unbearable, completely new.

I was gone.

My head tipped back against the seat, my thighs trembling around him, my body burning with something dangerously close to euphoria when I stepped out of the edge.

And just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, just when I was about to completely break apart under him, he pulled away slightly—just enough to murmur against my skin—

"Next time," he said, his breath hot against my thigh, "you’re gonna sit on my face. And make sure to put your full weight on me."

I let out a shaky exhale, still struggling to breathe properly.

"And what makes you so sure there’ll be a next time?" I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

Marcus smirked, his tongue trailing teasingly along my thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Because you’ll never forget this," he murmured.

His lips brushed against my skin, a final, slow kiss to my already sensitive flesh.

"And every time you think about me," he added, his tone dark and knowing, "you’ll remember the way I made you feel."

My pulse skipped, my chest still rising and falling unevenly, my body still recovering from the aftershocks.

But deep down? I knew he was right.

* * *

Reality seeping back in with each mile marker. The streetlights paint shadows across his profile, highlighting the sharp edges of a face I've memorized against my will.

The drive was silent. Not uncomfortable. Not tense. Just… silent.

Marcus didn’t say much, his fingers gripping the wheel tighter than necessary.

I didn’t say much either, my mind still reeling, replaying, trying to process what the hell just happened.

By the time he pulled up outside my house, the reality of the situation settled in.

This was a mistake. It had to be. Right?

Just as I reach for the door handle, his voice stops me. "Don't tell anyone about this."

Five words. That's all it takes to shatter the illusion.

The words shouldn’t have stung. But they did. Because no matter how good he made me feel tonight—I was still just his secret.

Of course I'm something to hide, to be ashamed of. The fat girl who fell for the popular guy's trap – again. The fool who let desire override common sense.

I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat and without another word, I stepped out of the car and walked away.

Behind me, Marcus's car idles like a waiting predator. I don't look back as I walk away, but I can feel his eyes on me until I reach the front door.

The pleasure still lingers in my body, a betrayal I can't shake.

Because no matter how good it felt, no matter how he made me come undone, the truth remains unchanged: I'm his dirty little secret.

The girl worth fucking but not claiming. Worth touching but not keeping.