Adison’s POV
The silence stretched. Jake's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His jaw doing that clenching thing that meant he was fighting himself harder than he'd ever fought anyone else.
Fuck waiting. Fuck his guilt.
Fuck all the reasons this was complicated.
I reached for my shirt buttons. Started working them open one by one. Slow. Deliberate. Watching his face in the dim light from the dashboard.
"Adison," His voice cracked. "What are you—"
"Showing you what I want." Third button. Fourth. "Since apparently words aren't working."
The shirt fell open. Burgundy lace underneath—that bra I'd packed thinking I'd never have reason to wear it. Guess I'd been wrong about that.
His eyes went dark. Pupils blown wide. Breath coming faster.
I trailed my fingers down my stomach. Slid them under the hem of my skirt, and watched his control fracture in real-time.
I let my nails scrape lightly over my skin, teasing, like I was just stretching—but we both knew better. My skirt was already bunched up around my thighs, and I caught the exact moment Jake’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.
His veins popping like he was trying to strangle the damn thing instead of driving it.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice rough like gravel scraped raw. His jaw clenched, eyes darting to me for a split second before focusing back on the road. “You’re killing me…”
“Good,” I purred, sliding my hand lower, between my legs. “Maybe you deserve it.”
My thighs parted just enough to give him a glimpse, the barest flash of my lace panties, damp and clinging to me. He groaned, a sound so fucking primal it sent a shiver down my spine.
I let my thighs fall open completely and my fingers dipped beneath the lace, brushing against my slick folds. I gasped softly, just loud enough for him to hear, and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.
“Princess…” he hissed, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.
I smirked, my fingers tracing lazy circles around my clit.
“Keep driving, Jake,” I said, my voice a sultry whisper. “Don’t want to crash, do you?”
My fingers dipped lower, sinking into my wetness, and I moaned, loud and exaggerated, just to fuck with him. His cock was straining against his jeans, and I could see the outline of it.
Thick and hard, begging for attention.
“How’s it feels,” I teased, my voice dripping with mock sympathy, “knowing I’m getting off while you’re stuck driving?”
He didn’t answer, just grunted, his knuckles tightening even more on the wheel. I slid my finger inside myself, pumping it slowly, the wet sound obscenely loud in the quiet car.
My head fell back against the seat, my hips lifting to meet my hand. Fucking myself with deliberate slowness, drawing it out just to torture him.
“God, you should see me,” I whispered, my voice breathy, ragged. “So wet. So fucking ready…”
“Stop,” he growled, but it was half-hearted, desperate.
“Make me,” I shot back, my finger moving faster now, hitting that sweet spot inside me.
My moans filled the car, filthy and unrestrained. I could see him unraveling, his control hanging by a thread.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice choked.
“That’s the idea,” I purred, my other hand reaching over to brush against his thigh, just grazing the bulge in his jeans.
He jerked like I’d electrocuted him, and I laughed, low and wicked.
That did it. Whatever thread he'd been clinging to—gone.
He killed the engine, hit the door locks with enough force to make them click loudly. Then he was moving, climbing between the seats into the back with zero grace and maximum determination.
"C'mere." Rough. Commanding. Not asking.
I followed him. Crawled into the backseat where he was already reaching for me. His hands found my waist, pulled me onto his lap so I was straddling him.
The position put us eye to eye. Intimate. Inescapable.
"Last chance to change your mind." His voice was wrecked. "Last chance to tell me this is a bad idea and we should go home and pretend—"
Oh, shut up, hot old man.
I kissed him, hard and desperate. Poured every ounce of frustration and want into it. He groaned into my mouth. Hands sliding up my sides, pushing my shirt off my shoulders.
It fell somewhere into the footwell. Didn't care. Too busy memorizing the taste of him, the feel of his tongue against mine, the way he kissed like he was starving.
His mouth moved to my neck. Teeth scraping. Tongue soothing. Building that map of marks he'd started in the barn.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured against my skin. "So perfect. Can't believe I get to touch you, my princess."
"Then touch me." Arched into him. "Stop fucking talking and touch me."
His hands found my bra clasp. When it was gone too and I was bare to him in the cramped backseat of his truck, he looked at me like I was something sacred and devastating. "Fuck, Adison."
Then his mouth was on my breast. Hot and wet and absolutely wrecking me.
He sucked my nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling, making me gasp and arch. His hand covered the other breast, squeezing, thumb circling until I was squirming in his lap.
My hands found his hair. Gripping hard, holding him there even though he showed zero signs of stopping. This was so much better than the barn—less desperate, more deliberate. Him taking his time to learn exactly what made me fall apart.
"Jake…" Barely got his name out. "I need—"
"Tell me what you need, baby." Switched breasts. Same devastating attention. "Use your pretty mouth."
"You." Simple. Honest. "I need you. All of you. Not just this. Not just—"
He pulled back. Looked at me with those dark eyes.
"This isn't just sex for me." His voice was rough. Raw. "I need you to know that. This isn't casual. This isn't… Fuck." Stopped. Started again. "I'm falling for you, Adison. And I'm terrified of what that means but I can't… I can't keep pretending I'm not."
Oh. Oh fuck.
"I'm falling for you too." The confession came out whispered. Vulnerable. "Have been for weeks. And yeah, I'm terrified too but I'm more terrified of leaving here without knowing what this could be."
He kissed me. Soft this time, tender. Like I was something precious instead of something to be conquered.
We stripped each other slowly after that. His shirt. My skirt. His jeans required acrobatics in the limited space but we managed. My underwear joined the growing pile of clothes.
Then we were naked. Skin against skin. Learning each other without the desperate urgency of the barn. His hands mapping my curves. My fingers tracing his scars.
The one on his shoulder from a horse, the one on his ribs from barbed wire. Each mark telling stories of the life he'd lived before me.
"Once we do this, there's no going back." His hand cupped my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone. "No pretending it didn't happen."
"I don't want to go back." Kissed him softly. "I want to go forward. With you."