Rich Prick

Page 21

I leaned back in my seat, grumbling, “You made me feel squashed, and now I’m, like, loving what you’re saying? How messed up am I?”

“Huh.” That was all he said as he moved his car to the side of road. We’d just cleared the gate and turned the corner. As soon as the Wagon was in park, he grabbed the keys, tossed them to the dashboard and he was on my side. He buried his head in my neck. His hand pushed behind me, smoothing down my back, nestling between me and the seat until he could cup my ass. “Jesus,” he groaned. “Do you not get how much I want you?”

I was starting to get it, and I was shocked at the suddenness of it, but this hug felt nice.

It felt really nice.

I melted into my seat as he murmured into my neck, “You have these long legs that I daydream about winding around my waist. Your rack is honestly perfect for me, and not to mention just you.” He wasn’t doing anything except rubbing my ass, but my body was burning up. An inferno built between my legs, and he just kept talking, stoking that fire. “You’re unbelievably sweet. And pure. And chaste. And you’re smart. And you’re kickass because you do your own thing. You’re funny in a cute way, and I love how you’ll be biting your lip, and then I’ll say some smartass comment, and you burst alive—like a bomb or something—and then you’re all about putting me in my place and trying to make me a better person.”

He eased his head back, his eyes finding mine, and the seriousness in them took my breath. “Whatever the fuck this is between us, it’s not just taking you by storm.” His eyes fell to my mouth. “I called you my woman today.”

My heart pounded. “You did?” I felt the drumming in my sternum.

He nodded, his voice hoarse. “Yeah, and I never took it back. I didn’t even want to, because fuck—I want you to be my woman. Will you be my woman?”

My mouth opened and hung there. Not even a full week ago, he’d been saying he couldn’t do a relationship. I didn’t have time to voice my thoughts before he groaned and pulled away.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m all over the place. A week ago, I didn’t want to date anyone. Five days ago, I promised you I wouldn’t touch anyone—but nothing else—and I’ve spent the night with you twice, plus most of Sunday. Today, I had to force myself to stay away from you because I know once I’m in your presence, I won’t want to leave, like, ever. School is going to suck tomorrow, and now I’ve sprung this on you? I’m sorry. I really am.”




I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t think. I could only feel, and my heart and vagina were throbbing in unison. I was one giant, aching organ, needing to be touched.

I had never experienced anything like this.

This guy had just said some of the most honest—a bit crass at times—and extremely romantic things to me, and I could only gape.

Then I lunged for him. My hands found his head, and my mouth was on his.

Someone growled (that was me) and he said, “Hell yeah.”

He moved his seat backward and brought me over to straddle him. I went right to grinding on him, and his hands moved inside my shirt. His fingers found my breasts as our tongues began a dance together.

I was buzzing for him.

My vagina was singing a melody.

I just wanted him.

“Shit, babe,” he whispered against my mouth, but I soon shut him up.

He was quiet for a long time, and I was blind with emotion. It pulsated through me. Need. Want. Desire. And when I felt his fingers moving inside of me, I hissed like I’d just gotten water after seven days of thirst.

It felt so fucking good.

I rode his hand, and he groaned, moving me until his fingers were so deep that I threw my head back, my hips blindly answering that need to explode. And then I did, and I was a mess. I came apart, literally. I started crying on his lap.

“Hey. Hey.” He ran his free hand over my face, sliding my hair from my cheeks. His voice was so soft and tender, crooning to me as if I were a broken baby bird. I couldn’t handle it. A whole other burst of sobs erupted from me, and he cursed and undid his seatbelt.

Yeah. That’d all transpired with his seatbelt in place.

“Come on.” He lifted me in his arms, guiding me to the backseat.

I climbed back there and waited in a corner until he was next to me. He scooped me up, bringing me back to his lap, and he folded himself around me, kissing little kisses under my chin.

“What’s wrong?”

I kept crying, but the part of my brain that was still operating knew he hadn’t gotten off, and I reached for his jeans. I started to unzip them, but he grabbed my hand with a soft chuckle.

“If you think I’m going to let you touch me when you’re sobbing, think again. I’m not that kind of guy.” He nuzzled my neck and pushed some more of my hair back. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on. Who do I need to beat up? I’ll do it. I’ll even call Bren to help. I think she has a woman crush on you. She’s pretty fierce about you not being hurt.”

I stopped crying, his words surprising me. “What?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, his eyes darkening. “Cross warned me, said Bren only cares about five people. And if I hurt you, she’s going to slice me.”


“You didn’t know? She’s scary. Zeke’s got a hard-on for her because she’s so scary. He actually likes when people challenge him.”

Oh God. Now he was talking about his best friend! Anxiety spiked my pulse, and he felt it. He smoothed his hand up under my shirt, laying it over my heart. “What’s this about?”

I shifted on his lap, trying to slide off, but he tightened his hold.

“Tell me,” he nudged.

I opened my mouth. What was I going to say?

Then I just blurted it out. “I have self-esteem issues.”

He frowned, his head resting against the seat. “Everyone does, don’t they?”

I shook my head, focusing on his chest. I couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. I grabbed his shirt, fisting it. “Not like me. Not like… I hide from people, but it’s not because of them. It’s just easier for me to handle life that way.”

I was horrified. I’d never actually thought about why I did things. I just did things. And yet I’d just explained it out loud. With Blaise coming into my life, things weren’t making sense anymore. I couldn’t stay like this if I was going to have him in my life. It wasn’t fair for him, for anyone.

I needed to make myself better.

“I went to therapy.” I looked up, and I almost fell apart, seeing the somberness in his gaze. “When my parents sent us to Hillcrest, I had problems. I don’t really remember everything I did, but they said I was dealing with some attachment issues. Then Nate left, and those issues came back, but I didn’t tell my parents. The only person who knew was Owen.”

“How old were you when that happened?”

I was too young. “Seventh grade.”

There was more, more that I didn’t want to talk about.

I sagged on his lap, resting against his chest. I felt his fingers sliding through my hair, smoothing down my back.

I spoke into his shirt. “I have problems believing people want to be around me. And, something else happened.”

Blaise went rigid.

I didn’t like talking about this, but he had to know. He had to know to understand.

“Aspen?” His voice was so soft.

It was my undoing.

“Aspen, what happened?”

I couldn’t look at him. I kept looking at at his shirt. It was safe there, no judgement there.


“It’s nothing like what you’re thinking.” I looked up. I had to. He had to see.

His eyes grew soft, matching his voice. “I don’t think you know what I’m thinking.”

Yeah. True.

“There was a teacher once. She—uh—they told me later that she was unhinged. I don’t remember her like that, but she was my teacher.” This was hurting. Seriously hurting. “She, just, she started asking me questions about my parents, personal questions. She asked about Nate. She asked a lot, and then one day, my parents pulled me from Hillcrest. I went to a school in Europe for a while.”

His eyebrows dipped. “Why Europe?”

“They told me later that she had made threats against me. She was trying to get money from my parents. I got sent away when it started. There was a whole investigation launched, and she was fired, but she was popular with the other students. They blamed me, and when I came back, it didn’t go away for a long time.”


That hurt.

My chest felt ripped open.

Saying those words, hearing them, I was embarrassed.

“Hey.” He leaned back, tipping my head up. His eyes were fierce, his mouth set in a determined line. “The teacher thing is messed up. You know that wasn’t your fault. Right?”

I nodded. “I know.”

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