God, yes.

I arch up, holding on for dear life, thrusting back mindlessly, and soon, it’s all just a blur of skin and sweat and desperate moans as we move together, bodies slamming as the friction grinds and the sweetness rises, and fuck, I’m chanting his name, over and over, needing him there—“Right there, don’t stop!”

Dash drives into me again, reaching between us to rub my clit with swift strokes, and fuck, it’s too much to take. I come with a scream, my body breaking apart in what has to be the most spectacular orgasm of my life, pleasure crashing through my body as Dash thrusts once more, twice, and then comes with a desperate groan, shuddering his release as he fucks me through my climax.

We collapse, breathless.

Oh my god.

“Not God,” Dash says with a supremely satisfied grin, and I realize I must have said it out loud. “That was all me.”

“All us,” I correct him gleefully, my heart racing double-time in my chest. “Unless you’re telling me it’s like that when you’re all alone.”

“Fuck no.” Dash gives a strangled laugh. “You nearly killed me.”

I lean over, and kiss him slowly, savoring the delicious afterglow. “I’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Perfect,” Dash says, sounding cheerful. “Sign me up. What a way to go.”

He brings me against him, to nestle in the crook of his arm, and I happily relax against him, feeling my body’s delicious ache, and the endorphins surging in my bloodstream.

I could stay here forever.

I catch the thought just in time, and try to push it away, but I can’t. Because what just happened here—letting go, and giving in to the moment, letting myself go wild? It wasn’t only about hormones and chemistry and Dash’s advanced skills in the bedroom.

I trust him. I like him. And no matter how up in the air everything is, I can’t deny I’m developing real feelings for the guy.

I sneak a look over, wondering if Dash is maybe thinking the same things, only to find…

He’s passed out, snoring lightly.

I smile, despite myself, and snuggle closer. I don’t need answers this minute. We’ll figure it out, together.

Right?

14

Callie

There’s nothing like spending eighteen hours trapped in a car together to learn all about someone’s little travel idiosyncrasies. The good, the bad, the ridiculous. For instance, Dash insists on buying me a souvenir from every single mini-mart or truck stop we walk into. I am now the proud owner of a t-shirt that says Straight Outta Chucktown, a refrigerator magnet shaped like a giant peach, and a lime green koozie featuring a colorful map of all the major North Carolina cities.

I’ve also learned that he thinks it’s sacrilegious to only choose one flavor of Slurpee, shaking his head at my cherry-filled cup in disappointment while he adds a third flavor to his. He has an appalling soft spot for bad party rap and turns the air-conditioning up so high, I’m forced to burrow under two sweatshirts.