POV: Nick I don’t look at her when she slams the passenger door shut. She doesn’t buckle her seatbelt. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even breathe normal, judging by the sharp rise and fall of her chest. She’s pissed. And still worked up. I can feel it rolling off her like steam from a kettle — pressure, frustration, need. Her leggings are stretched and twisted, wet where my hand left its mark. Her cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen. And those thighs? Fucking hell. I grip the steering wheel tighter. My knuckles go white. “I should leave you out here,” she mutters, arms folded tight under her tits, voice sharp and shaking. “Let you jerk off into a pine tree.” I flick a glance sideways. “You think I need a tree when you’re the one soaked through?” Her gasp is immediate. Sharp. Righteous. “I hate you.” “Do you?” I shift into drive, jaw tight. “Because your pussy didn’t seem to get that memo.” She lets out a strangled, murderous sound. “You fingerfuck me like you’re starving, get me right
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