Chapter 1: The Backseat Confession
The music from the wedding reception was a dull, throbbing bass line in Naomi’s blood, a ghost of a rhythm that hadn’t quite left her. Here, in the backseat of Jace’s car, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the distant hum of a faulty parking lot light. The leather was cool through the thin silk of her jasmine-scented dress, a stark contrast to the heat of him pressed against her.
“Nomi,” he breathed against her mouth, the word less a name and more a vibration she felt in her bones.
This had started as a game. A performance. His hand on the small of her back as they’d danced, lingering just a second too long. His laugh in her ear, warm and private, during his best man speech. Little touches for an audience of nodding aunts and envious cousins. See? the touches were supposed to say. We’re convincing. We’re believable.
But there was no audience now.
His lips found hers again, not the tentative, staged kisses of the evening, but something hungry and deep. It tasted like champagne and recklessness. Her fingers twisted in the soft cotton of his dress shirt, pulling him closer until she could feel the frantic beat of his heart against her own.
“Jace,” she gasped, breaking away for air. Her voice was unfamiliar, shaky.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his lips tracing a searing path down the column of her throat. His hand, which had been resting on her waist, slid upward, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast. A jolt of pure, undiluted want shot through her.
She didn’t tell him to stop.
Instead, she arched into his touch, a small, desperate sound escaping her. That was all the encouragement he needed. His kiss turned possessive, swallowing her moan. The world shrank to the scent of his cologne, the weight of his body, the delicious friction of his thigh between hers. His fingers found the strap of her dress, nudging it aside.
This was Jace. Her Jace. Her best friend since he’d shared his crayons in second grade. The guy who’d seen her through bad haircuts and worse breakups. Who brought her chicken soup when she was sick and remembered she hated mayonnaise.
And he was currently making her forget her own name.
His hand slid down, palm hot through the silk, skimming up her thigh. The thin material bunched, exposing her skin to the cool, conditioned air. Reality, sharp and cold, cut through the haze.
“Wait.” The word was a whisper, but it slammed between them like a door.
He froze instantly. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his breath coming in heavy gusts against her skin. The tension in his body was a live wire.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The flickering light outside cast jumpy shadows across his profile. She could feel the rapid flutter of his pulse where her hand still clutched his shirt.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asked, his voice gravelly. He didn’t pull away, but the heat shifted, tempered by a wary stillness.
“This is… we’re…” She struggled to form a sentence. Her mind was a scrambled mess of sensation and panic. “We’re in a parking lot.”
A slow chuckle rumbled in his chest. He lifted his head, his eyes dark and unreadable in the gloom. “Not the most romantic venue, I’ll give you that.” He shifted back, just an inch, giving her space. His hand retreated from her thigh, coming to rest safely on the seat beside her hip. The loss of his warmth was immediate.
“It’s not the location,” she said, pushing a hand through her already-disheveled red hair. “It’s… the plan. The plan was fake dating. To get my mom off my back. To be your buffer with the clingy bridesmaid. The plan wasn’t…” She gestured weakly between them. “This.”
“Plans change,” he said, his gaze unwavering.
“Do they?” She drew her knees up, creating a small barricade. “What happens tomorrow, Jace? We get coffee and pretend you didn’t just… that we didn’t almost…”
“I know exactly what we almost did,” he said, his voice low. “And I wouldn’t be pretending anything.”
The air crackled with the unspoken thing, the huge, terrifying thing they’d been expertly avoiding for years. It was one thing to joke about it. To say ‘if we’re both single at forty’ with an easy laugh. It was another to feel the proof of it straining against the zipper of his tuxedo pants.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered, but it lacked conviction. Her body was still thrumming from his touch.
“Probably,” he agreed, a faint, wry smile touching his lips. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray curl from her flushed cheek. The simple touch was almost more intimate than anything before it. “But Nomi, for the last eight hours, I’ve had to watch you pretend to be into me. You’re a surprisingly good actress. It was torture.”
Her breath hitched. “Jace…”
“Just…” He sighed, the sound full of a frustration that had nothing to do with her. He straightened up, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “Just think about it. That’s all. Don’t overthink it. Just… think.”
He turned and slid back into the driver’s seat, the movement breaking the charged atmosphere in the back. The engine purred to life, smooth and normal. The dashboard lights painted his face in soft blues and greens.
Naomi slowly pulled her strap back up, her fingers trembling. She stared at the back of his head, at the familiar set of his shoulders. The ghost of his lips still burned on her skin. The entire interior of the car felt different now, charged with a new and perilous energy.
He put the car in gear but didn’t pull out. His eyes found hers in the rearview mirror. “Where to?”
Home. The word was on her tongue. Her safe, predictable apartment where he was just the guy on her couch playing video games. But that place felt like a lie now.
She looked at his reflection, at the quiet question in his eyes, and hugged her knees tighter to her chest. The leather seat was cold. Her heart was pounding.
“Just drive,” she said.
The engine’s purr filled the silence between them. For a long moment, Jace just looked at her in the mirror, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, a single decisive movement.
Instead of driving, he shifted the car back into park. The click of the gear was loud in the quiet. Naomi watched, her heart thudding, as he got out. He walked around the back of the sedan, his shadow stretching long in the flickering light. He opened her door.
The night air was cool on her skin. Wordlessly, she took his offered hand, her smaller one disappearing in his. He didn’t let go as she slid out, the silk of her dress whispering against the leather. He led her to the passenger side, opening that door too.
She climbed in, the familiar front seat feeling like new territory. He closed her door with a soft thud, walked back, and slid behind the wheel. The space between them was just the center console now, cluttered with old coffee cups and napkins. He didn’t start the car.
The silence was a living thing, thick with everything unsaid. She stared at her hands, clenched in her lap. The scent of him, of them, was everywhere.
“Jace?” Her voice was barely a whisper, rustling in the static.
“Yeah, Nomi?”
She turned to look at him. The dashboard glow softened the lines of his face, highlighting the worry in his eyes. The sheer want from before was banked, smoldering beneath a layer of care she knew was just for her. It shattered her final defense.
“I’m scared,” she whispered, the confession tearing loose. “I don’t… I don’t want to mess this up. To lose you. It was a ruse before, but now…” She swallowed, her throat tight. “Now things are vastly different.”
He didn’t move. The car’s idle was the only sound. Then he reached over, his hand finding hers in the dim light, his thumb tracing circles on her knuckles. “You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice low and certain. “You couldn’t.”
His touch, so simple, unraveled her.
“I think about you,” she whispered, the words clawing their way out. “All the time. I think about what your skin tastes like. I imagine you fucking me on my kitchen counter. I get wet watching you shrug out of your coat.” She was trembling, the confession violent in its honesty. “I’m so fucking tired of pretending I don’t.”
Jace’s breath caught. His hand tightened on hers.
“Every guy I’ve dated,” she continued, her voice breaking, “I was just comparing them to you. They never measured up. Not even close.” She turned to face him fully, tears cutting paths through the freckles on her cheeks. “I’ve been in love with you since we were nineteen, you oblivious asshole.”
A rough sound escaped him. In one fluid motion, he unbuckled his seatbelt and hers, his body twisting over the console. His hands cradled her face, his thumbs wiping her tears. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice thick.
“I love you, Jace.”
His kiss was a claiming, deep and devouring, a release of years of pent-up want. She met it with equal hunger, her fingers fumbling for his belt. The leather groaned as he shifted, pulling her across the console until she straddled his lap in the driver’s seat, her dress hiked around her thighs.
The leather groaned as he shifted, pulling her across the console until she straddled his lap in the driver’s seat, her dress hiked around her thighs. His hands were on her bare skin, gripping her hips, pulling her down against the hard ridge of his cock straining his trousers. She moaned into his mouth, grinding against him, her fingers tearing at his bow tie. He broke the kiss, his forehead pressed to hers, both of them panting, the air thick with heat and need.
“Fuck, Nomi,” he gasped, his voice shredded. “I want you. I want you so fucking badly it feels like I’m gonna die.”
She whined, rocking against him, desperate for friction. “Then have me. Right here.”
His grip tightened, stilling her movements. “No.” The word was a rough, pained scrape. “Not like this.”
“What?” Her eyes flew open, confusion and hurt flashing in them.
He cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, his own eyes dark with a hunger so intense it scared her. “I’ve waited years,” he said, each word deliberate. “Years. Dreaming of you. Jerking off to the thought of you. I am so goddamn hard for you I can’t think straight.” He took a shaky breath. “But I don’t want our first time to be in this fucking car, crammed behind a steering wheel. You deserve a bed. You deserve me being able to worship every inch of you properly.” He searched her face. “Please. Let me do this right.”
“Okay,” she breathed, the word a shaky surrender. “Your place.”
The drive was a blur of streetlights and strained silence, her hand a vise on his thigh. He didn’t speak, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every stoplight an eternity. When he finally pulled into his building’s garage and killed the engine, the quiet was deafening.
He was out of the car and opening her door before she could move, pulling her up into the cool concrete air. He didn’t let go of her hand as they walked to the elevator, his stride urgent. The elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in a sterile, fluorescent cube. He pushed her against the wall, his mouth crashing down on hers, a hard, desperate kiss that lasted all ten floors. The ding was a gunshot. He broke away, chest heaving, and hauled her down the hall.
Fumbling with his keys, he finally shoved the door open. It slammed against the wall. The apartment was dark, smelling of coffee and him. He kicked the door shut and in the sudden, total darkness, he finally stilled. She could feel the tremor in his hands where they gripped her waist. “Last chance to run,” he whispered, his voice raw.
She answered by finding his lips in the dark, her kiss a vow. A low groan tore from his chest. His hands slid from her waist to her ass, lifting her. Her legs wrapped around him as he carried her through the familiar space, down the short hall, into the deeper dark of his bedroom. He laid her on the cool duvet, following her down, his weight a delicious anchor. “Lights,” she whispered. “I want to see you.”
He reached over, a click, and the soft glow of his bedside lamp painted the room in gold. He hovered above her, his eyes drinking her in, dark with a reverence that stole her breath. “Hi,” he said, a soft, broken thing.
“Hi,” she whispered back, her fingers tracing his jaw.
Then his mouth was on hers again, slower now, deeper, a deliberate claiming. His hands, which had been frantic before, became precise. He found the zipper at the back of her dress and drew it down with a slow, rasping sound that seemed to vibrate in her bones. The silk sighed open. He peeled the fabric from her shoulders, baring her to the waist, his gaze hot and heavy on her skin. “Jesus, Nomi,” he choked out, his thumb brushing over her peaked nipple. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He dipped his head, his tongue flicking over that tight bud, and her back arched off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from her throat.
Her cry seemed to unleash something in him. His mouth grew hungrier, his tongue laving her nipple before he drew it deep, sucking hard enough to make her thighs clench around nothing. “Jace, please,” she begged, her fingers knotting in his hair.
“Please what?” he muttered against her skin, his teeth grazing the tender peak.
“Everything. Anything. I need you.”
He moved down her body, his lips and tongue mapping a burning trail over her ribs, the soft plane of her stomach. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her silk panties and drew them down her legs, his breath hot on her newly exposed skin. “Fuck, look at you,” he growled, spreading her open to the lamplight.
His gaze was unbearable, worshipful and ravenous all at once. He didn’t touch her, just stared, until she whimpered and tried to close her legs. He held them open. “Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice a dark promise. Then he lowered his head.
HE DEVOURS HER.
His tongue speared into her, licking into her with a crude, wet intensity that made her scream. He ate her like a starving man, his mouth messy and urgent, his nose grinding against her as his tongue found her clit and fucked her with it. He groaned into her, the vibration shattering her. “You taste so fucking good,” he rasped, before diving back in.
His tongue was a ruthless, wet stripe, lapping and circling until her hips bucked off the bed. He pinned her down with a firm hand on her stomach, his mouth sealing over her clit to suck hard, and she shattered with a raw cry, her climax tearing through her in relentless waves. He gentled her through it, his lips soft now, until she was just a trembling mess on the sheets.
He pulled back, breathing hard, his chin glistening. His eyes were wild as he ripped at his clothes, buttons pinging against the wall, the fabric torn in his urgency. He looked feral, poised to take her hard and fast, and she braced for it. Instead, he knelt between her legs, his cock heavy and hard in his fist, and his gaze locked with hers. “Nomi,” he breathed, the word full of awe. He guided himself to her, the broad head nudging through her slickness, and paused, his entire body shaking. “Fuck,” he groaned, a sound of pure feeling. He pushed in just an inch, a sweet, slow burn that made her whimper. He stilled, savoring the feel of her stretched around him, his eyes rolling back. “You’re so fucking tight,” he gritted out. He retreated, then sank deeper, a long, slow slide that stole the air from her lungs. He filled her completely, hilting himself with a shuddering sigh, his forehead dropping to hers. “Finally,” he whispered. He began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that was almost tender. But the feel of him, the rightness, was too much. Her nails dug into his back, and he groaned, his pace quickening. The slow grind broke into a driving rhythm, their skin slapping together, the headboard knocking the wall. “Come on my cock, Nomi,” he growled, and she did, screaming his name as her cunt clenched around him. The pulsating squeeze tipped him over, and he drove deep with a sharp cry, his release pumping into her as he shuddered against her neck.
The pulsating squeeze tipped him over, and he drove deep with a sharp cry, his release pumping into her as he shuddered against her neck.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet, slick heat between them. Then, carefully, he rolled them, his body turning so his back met the rumpled sheets, bringing her with him so she was sprawled out on top of him, a sweaty, spent weight.
His heart hammered against her ear. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her damp hair.
“I can’t go back,” he said, the words a rough scrape in the quiet room. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.” He swallowed, his chest rising and falling heavily beneath her. “You’re mine. I’ve always been yours, but after tonight I can’t let you go.”
His grip on her tightened almost painfully. “So please don’t you dare retreat, or think this was just a fling, or have regrets. You have been etched onto my heart for years. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
He shifted, trying to look at her face in the dim light. “And no, this isn’t post-fucking bliss talking. I’m crazy about you. I’m madly in love with you.”
He let out a shaky breath, his thumb stroking her cheek. “So please, will you be my girlfriend? For real? Because you’ve ruined me. I don’t want anyone else. There isn’t anyone else for me.”
“Yes.” The word was a breath against his sweat-slicked chest, a simple syllable that tore down the last wall between them.
He moved so fast she gasped. In one fluid motion, he flipped her onto her back, his body covering hers, his eyes burning with a fierce, new intensity. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice guttural.
“Yes, Jace. I’m yours.” She arched into him, feeling him harden again against her thigh. “Fuck me like you mean it. Like I’m yours.”
A predatory grin flashed across his face. He hooked his hands behind her knees, wrenching them apart, opening her up completely. He didn’t ease into her this time. He slammed home in one brutal, perfect stroke, filling the aching emptiness with a shocking suddenness that tore a scream from her lungs. “You are mine,” he growled, the words punching out of him with each thrust.
He pounded into her, the bedframe slamming against the wall in a ragged rhythm. She was just sensation—the slap of skin, the burning stretch, the sublime friction of him hitting a place deep inside that made her vision white out. She clawed at his back, her cries escalating into a continuous, shattered stream of yes and please and his name. He fucked her with a single-minded, savage ownership, every drive of his hips branding his claim.
“Watch,” he grunted, shifting his angle, and she looked down to see him pistoning in and out of her, glistening and obscene. The visual broke her. Her climax detonated, a convulsive wave of pure pleasure that locked her around him. He cursed, his rhythm faltering, then drove in deep as his own release ripped through him with a raw, ragged shout.
He collapsed on her, a heavy, spent weight, both of them slick and shuddering. In the sudden quiet, broken only by their panting, he nuzzled into her neck. “My girlfriend,” he whispered, the words a tender vow against her pulse.