The only sound was the rain hammering against the car and bursts of thunder. Tabitha pressed her hand to the window as the water fell in sheets. I crumpled up my wet shirt and tossed it in the front. Pressed my bare back to the corner, where the door met the seat. The only light coming in was from whatever the streetlamp was throwing off through the rain.

Tabitha ran a hand through her hair, eyes heavy-lidded. I could see her nipples through her wet shirt, all that pale, freckled skin exposed, clothing wrinkled and falling off.

I’d done that.

“To be clear, I thought we’d run the Rocky steps and then get some ice cream. Not make out with you in public during a thunderstorm and rip your shirt off like some kind of…” Her lips quirked up. “Sex monster.”

It was impossible for my cock to get any harder. Impossible for me to feel any less feral than I already did. Those critics had been wrong about me this entire time—I wasn’t some intense robot with circuitry instead of veins. I wasn’t cold or precise. I was disheveled. Debauched. Lacking any semblance of control.

I held out my hand. Crooked my finger. “Come here, Tabitha.”

Her eyebrow arched elegantly. She slid close. I didn’t move. Couldn’t, yet.

“Would you look at that,” she said softly. “I’m in the back seat of your car, Dean Knox-Morelli. What do you plan on doing with me?”

I stroked the tip of my finger up her throat. Lifted her chin and ghosted my lips over hers. “I plan on taking what I want.”

22. Tabitha

Twenty-Two

Tabitha

Dean crashed his mouth down on mine and hauled me into his lap at the same exact time. I straddled him as he reached beneath the seat and lowered it, tilting us backward. If I thought what happened between us on the art museum steps was passionate—and it was—this was some next-level need I’d never experienced before.

One big palm of his curved down my back while the other gripped my hair, holding my face still. Dean kissed me like he’d been waiting his entire life to do it. He sank into it, gave me everything he had. We’d part for a few shaky breaths, but then that same perfect, firm mouth would descend to my neck, my shoulder, the hollow in my throat.

I was grinding my body, rolling my hips, desperate for friction. His cock was steel between my legs, his fingers on my skin confident. He shoved his hand under my sports bra, palming my breasts. I licked a single drop of rain from his jaw and tasted salt. The sound of his strangled groans and our heavy breathing filled the small space, steamed the windows as curtains of rain cloaked us in a forbidden darkness.