STORY 22: THROAT FUCKING (End)

Chapter 1 The car smelled like smoke, and his cologne. It was dark outside, the windows fogged from our heavy breathing. My chest rose and fell too fast, and my heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt. It wasn’t fear making it beat like that. It was the raw, sick need twisting in my stomach, the heavy pulse between my legs, the sharp knowledge of what was about to happen. He sat in the driver’s seat like he owned the whole damn world, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other resting loose on his thigh. His head was turned toward me, his eyes locked on mine, sharp and heavy. There was nothing soft about the way he looked at me. It felt like he was stripping me down without touching me. His jaw was tight, his mouth set in a hard line, and his breathing was steady, controlled, while mine was messy and fast. I couldn’t look away from him even though I wanted to. My stomach churned, my thighs pressed together, my skin prickled all over. My pulse jumped when his lips finally par