“Mmm, you’re so thick,” she moans, grabbing my head, holding me against her.

I release her nipple and press my thumb to her lips. “Open. Get it wet.”

Her lips wrap around my thumb, sucking me, and when she adds her tongue, the slow burn in my groin begins to spread up my spine. I thrust my hips off the seat, and the second her lips open with cry, I drag my thumb down her body and press it against her clit.

Her head falls back as she softly chants my name, desperately, like she needs me as much as what I’m giving her. I feel her body tense, the familiar pulse of her around me.

“Coming,” she whispers.

I ride it out as long as I can before my spine feels as if it’s about to snap. I lift her hips, shifting her back on my thighs, and watch as she takes over rubbing her clit, her eyes focused on my cock as I stroke it against her fingers.

“Fuckkkk,” I grunt, coming on both our hands, seeing the sated look in her eyes grow hungry as she stares, transfixed, between us. I clean us both off with my T-shirt before she shifts off my lap, falling limp in the seat next to me. Pulling up my jeans, I resituate myself before looking over at her.

Her eyes are on me, wide and unsure.

I reach over and grab the towel, wrapping it around her shoulders, feeling her stare as I cover her up completely.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She waits until I look up at her to elaborate, her face tense with guilt. “Last summer…I only thought I was pregnant for a couple of days, but you still had every right to know.”

“Yeah, I did,” I reply, sounding more resentful than I feel right now.

She nods at my words, dropping her gaze to her lap. “I think about that day a lot. What I would’ve done different. What I would’ve said. It’s crazy; I couldn’t tell you what that asshole was wearing last night, but I remember everything about that day.” Her eyes lift to mine, and I break the contact, shifting over in my seat and starting up my truck. “Do you think about it?”

My eyes pinch shut as I grip the back of my neck, debating how honest I want to be right now. I could tell her I think about it all the time, and the longer I go in between seeing her, the more I think about it. I could say I replay every second I had with her that weekend in my head; when I’d fucked her all night and into the morning—how we couldn’t get enough of each other, as if we both knew that it would be the last time. How I’d felt having her in my arms, calm and settled for the first time in my life, and how I’d felt the second she pulled away from me. Like I’d repulsed her; like what we’d had was something I’d made up. The tears in her eyes when she’d told me she hated me, and the ones in mine when I’d sat there, alone, wondering what the hell had happened. Feeling like I was just told I’d never be able to take another breath.

What the fuck good would that much honestly do? For either one of us?

I turn to her, one hand on the wheel, the other on my gear shift, and give her the only answer I can.

“I’m thinking about it right now.”

She looks at me with understanding before facing forward in her seat.

Christ. Even that admission seems to rattle something loose in me. I shake my head, clearing out the bullshit I don’t want to think about, and pull out onto the road, driving in the direction I was headed before I stopped.

“Why were you walking on the side of the road? Where’s your car?” I ask, breaking the silence.

She sighs heavily, and I catch the annoyed look on her face before I focus on the road, squinting through the sheets of rain.

“Some asshole ran me off the road up here. I called for a tow but they said it could be a few hours, and I decided walking was safer than sitting in my car.”

I shake my head. “That was stupid. You could’ve gotten hit.”

“I could’ve gotten hit in my car, too. I’m barely pulled off.”

Okay, true, but I’m not agreeing to that. I almost took another way home and would’ve missed her, so her ass should’ve stayed in her car. She would’ve at least had something to protect her.

“See,” she says, pointing at the window in front of us. “There’s my car. Look how much of it is still on the road.”

I drive past it, turning up the speed on my windshield wipers when the rain starts to pick up again.

“Um, aren’t you going to tow me out?”

“I don’t have my rope in here. I took it out this morning when I had to drop Max off at the vet. His dumbass chews on it if it’s in the back.”

She laughs, soft and perfect. “Of course he does. Anything to annoy you, right?”

I ignore that truthful statement, turning off the side road and onto the main strip. “Call the tow company. Tell them to take your car to my house.” I turn my head after she doesn’t respond, not with words or some muffled sound of disapproval.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Why am I going to your house?”

I look back at the road. “Because that’s where I’m taking you.”

“Why?”

“Because I am.”

“Okay, but why?”

I scratch the side of my face, thinking back to my words when I brought my duffle to her apartment last night. How I didn’t want to take her to my house and the reason behind it, which seems obsolete right now.

I open my mouth to give her some vague answer, most likely bullshit, but she interrupts me with a heavy sigh.