“Get it off,” she ordered.

I whipped the jacket and shirt away, my fucking dick throbbing a mile a minute inside her as I tossed my shit I don’t know where. She reached down, reclining the seat all the way and hooking her thigh over mine, hanging it out the open door.

And she rode me hard. Her hand fisted the seat belt strap on the side of the door, while her other hand gripped my chest, and I held her hips, watching her look so beautiful it almost hurt.

“Oh, Christ,” I groaned, gripping one of her tits so hard I was probably bruising it. “Baby, your hips are like a fucking machine.”

Her head had fallen back, and I tensed every muscle in my chest and abs as I arched my head back, too. She was relentless, not breaking pace for a second.

“You don’t like it?” she asked, and I opened my eyes to see her face tilted up to the roof.

She gasped. “I’m sorry, baby,” she said breathlessly, smiling, “but love you or hate you, this is how I fuck you.”

And then she rose, coming down even harder on me, no longer rolling her hips but bouncing.

I squeezed my eyes shut, taking her attack. Shit.

Blood flooded my cock, but I didn’t want to come yet.

“Everything else may change, but never the way I love you,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.

Resuming old habits, when she wanted to come one way, and I wanted to have her another way, I found myself taking control to bring her over the edge. Arching my hips up, I thrust between her thighs, holding her hips tight and bringing her down, impaling her just as hard as she was sheathing me.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, and I leaned up closer to her, sucking on the flesh of her breast as I fucked her from the bottom. “I love when you do that.”

I smiled against her skin and lay back down, taking control, thrusting and grinding, fucking her deep, and rubbing my thumb over her clit.

“Come on,” I urged, feeling her hair and her sweat graze my fingers on her back. “I want you spread for me on the hood, so I can taste how wet you are.”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “God, I love you, Jared.”

And she rode me faster, grinding more and more when my dick found the perfect spot, massaging her until her whole body tightened up and she started moaning.

“Jared,” she cried. “Oh . . .” Her hips fucked again and again and again, and she dug her nails into my chest, throwing her head back and coming all over me.

Her muscles tightened and squeezed around my cock as her orgasm moved through her, and I gripped her breast, every muscle in my body on fire from trying not to come.

Her hips stilled, and her breathing slowed as she dipped her forehead under my chin. “Again,” she begged. “Please.”

I took her mouth, kissing her hard. I ate up the taste of sweetness and sweat and wanted to promise her a thousand things I knew, without a doubt, I’d give her. No matter what I had to do, she was worth everything. Nothing and no one was ever as perfect as us together.

I sat up, holding her by the waist in order to lift her out of the car and around the door. She wrapped her legs limply around me and held on as I placed her on the hood, my cock sliding out of her.

She lay back, bringing her knees up and closing her legs.

But I shot out, grabbing her knees and spreading her thighs wide. “You just screwed me like an animal that couldn’t get enough,” I teased, loving the sight of her plump breasts ready and waiting. “Don’t get modest now.”

My pants hung loose at my waist, and I palmed my cock, not that I needed much help staying hard.

Leaning down, I pressed my tongue onto her wet clit and moved in quick circles, massaging her, because I knew exactly what she liked but was afraid to ask for.

Tate liked my tongue. She didn’t want fingers as much as that, and even though I was doing this to her—licking and flicking and fucking her with my mouth—I was doing this for me.

It was such a simple act, but nothing we ever did together was simple. It was a moment in an ocean of moments that kept us alive from one minute to the next, and it was heaven.

I had spent my life living and feeding off pain. The neglect brought on by my mother’s alcoholism, the blood spilled by my father, and the loss and loneliness I caused myself by denying what was as simple and necessary to me as breathing.

I ignored truth and reason, because it was easier to believe that my power defined me rather than admitting I needed anyone. Rather than admitting the reality.

That I loved Tate.

That she loved me.

And that together we were invincible.

It had taken me years to learn, but I’d spend the rest of my life making up for it.

I trailed my tongue up the sides of her body and then came down, sucking her into my mouth. She cried out and grabbed my hair, pulling me back as she sat up.

“Now.” She yanked my hips in, wrapping her legs around me.

Taking her underneath her thighs, I slid her to the edge of the hood and thrust back inside of her, her moans traveling down my throat as we kissed.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, and I leaned my hand down on the hood as we stayed chest to chest.

I pumped hard and fast, two years’ worth of desire to unleash as we made love on the hood of my car. Her head fell back as her cries filled the night air, and I thrust deep, eating up her lips and neck as she struggled for breath.

“Tate,” I groaned, feeling the fire inside ready to explode. “I love you, baby.”

And I unleashed, pushing so deep and hard that she bit my lip. I came, spilling inside of her, her body holding me hot and perfect.