He didn’t get naked. Just pushed his pants down – oh, how easy men have it! Meanwhile I got the shitty end of the stick. He threw my shorts and underwear off before pushing into me. Jaxon’s lucky he’s sexy, otherwise I would not have enjoyed being fucked while my ass was chafing against the hard earth.

It was still beyond hot, but being outdoors and in the open air made it sufferable. It was outlandishly erotic for me feeling the slippery feel of our bodies rubbing against each other. Combine that with our hot, frantic breathing, groans in the open air, and the way he carelessly licked my neck, not minding the sweat… It was the sweetest way to spend an hour in the summer heat. Two lovebirds curled in discomfort, seeking each other’s pleasure, and driving out the need in one another. How else could I feel more connected?

It was still so new to me. Sure, the feeling of an orgasm is special – the kind of thing that drives you to the pinnacle of insanity if it’s been deprived of you. But an orgasm is something you can achieve on your own. I know I’d experimented enough growing up to know how my own pleasure could be derived. This wasn’t what was new to me.

No, what was new to me was being with a man that you watched gain satisfaction out of using your body. Seeing the way the feel of me drove him to heights of ecstasy was like an orgasm of the mind; so satisfying and longer lasting, the image alone could satiate you forever. All you needed to do was burn it into your memory forever and remember. Just remember and maybe, for even the briefest moment, it can be as real as it once was.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, digging his fingers into my thighs as he moved frantically. His wet forehead pressed against my own. With one hand, he pushed the sweaty strands my hair away from my cheeks and kissed the shit out of me.

I pressed my hand into his lower back, urging him to move. “Faster.”

“Say please,” he demanded. He knew he could make me do anything when I was approaching my peak, and while I hated it afterwards, in the moment I was goo in his hands.

“Please, please, please,” I relented.

He pressed his tongue against mine and I moaned loudly as he moved faster. Every thrust was deep, kissing my walls in ways that made me whimper. The heat no longer mattered, the discomfort was long forgotten, and nothing existed outside of this savage need to be pleased.

I cried out and he followed with his own moans of assent and then… then we were both finally gloriously fulfilled. Sticky too. He looked down at me with a mischievous grin, and I smiled right back at him. Those fucking eyes. That beautiful smile of his. All sexual tension ebbed away, but even I knew I could go again in a matter of minutes—

A car horn honked several times and loud whooping erupted from somewhere nearby. Jaxon looked up at the road, his mouth breaking into an even wider grin.

Oh, no. Oh fuck, no.

I shut my eyes tightly. I didn’t want to see our audience. If I closed my eyes and pretended they weren’t there—

“Score, bro! Air fist-pumping you!” screamed an overly excited man.

To my dismay, Jaxon air fist-pumped back. More whooping and hollering. Then the sound of wheels screeching down the road, fading into the distance.

“Fuck my life,” I whispered. “Shoot me now. How many guys were in that car?”

“Tiny, don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to.” I felt his hands on my heated face, and then he kissed me slowly and lightly this time.

“Seriously, how many?” I asked between kisses.

“Bus full of ‘em. They had cameras too. I think they were filming.”

“WHAT?”

Jaxon laughed hard against me, his chest vibrating as he collapsed his weight into me, pushing my ass further into the ground. Scratch that shit about wanting it again.

“You’re such an asshole, Jaxon Barlow.” I smacked him hard on the back and then tried pushing him off of me.

“Yeah, but you love it, Tiny.”

*****

The memory had me in tears, and thank God they’d started running down my face at the end of the movie we were watching, otherwise Remy would have known something was up.

“Sad movie,” I mumbled, wiping my face quickly before he could see the full waterworks on display.

“Yeah…” was Remy’s noncommittal reply.

I looked at him and would have laughed if it hadn’t been for that memory. He had a “what the fuck did I just watch” look on his face. Obviously not his cup of tea.

He popped in another movie and opened a bag of chips. He settled it between us and we munched away. I could tell he was hardly paying attention to the storyline, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. I desperately tried to focus on the movie, but the weight in my chest was too heavy to ignore.

I just wanted him. What was he doing right now? Was he feeling it in his heart – the deep emptiness that burned so badly?

“Hey, Remy?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think I can use your phone? I’d like to call a friend of mine.” If he’d actually given it to me, I’d have called Lexi. Mostly, I’d asked because I wanted to know how imprisoned I really was.

“No reception here, Birdy.”

Huh. So much for being at the clubhouse.

Four

She was crying. Like fully fucking crying. Over the most cliché piece of shit movie he’d ever seen. Meanwhile he’d wanted to shoot the hero in the head for being such a pussy-whipped fool, taking back the most wishy-washy bitch he’d ever seen in his life. How the fuck did movies like this make it big?

Then again, wasn’t he being a pussy-whipped moron? He’d loaded his truck up with girl essentials to make Sara’s stay at his bunker comfortable and easy. Then he watched her like a lovesick puppy, at one point barging into the bathroom while she was in the shower because she hadn’t responded two seconds after he’d called her name. Full blown panic had erupted in his chest at her silence… Talk about an overreaction.

He didn’t understand the feelings in his chest. They weren’t like before when his desire for her was purely based on something he didn’t even understand himself. Now he was feeling warm and… fuzzy. She was burning him slowly just by being around him. He’d never felt so drawn before… Then he had to bring up that douche’s name only to see her face contort to a sadness that churned his insides with anger. She loved that douche.