Page 49 of Unmarked
But they’re circling, I’m burning, and we’re not even there yet.
My hips twitch before I can stop them, grinding the smallest bit - barely anything, just a brush of pressure against the thick ridge of Theo’s cock beneath his pants.
But it’s enough.
The heat’s got me now. The ache. Thecraving. It’s in my spine, in my blood, in mybones.
And this friction, this closeness… it’s the only thing that even remotely helps.
The motion of the car bumps me forward again - a slow roll of pressure against that pulsing, throbbing place between my thighs - and I press my face into the hollow of his throat, panting. I breathe him in like it’ll save me, like it’ll stop the ache tearing me apart from the inside.
The heat is inside me, coiling tighter with every shift of the tires, every breath of his scent, every accidental grind of my body against his.
Only, it's not accidental anymore.
I rock my hips forward again, slower this time, testing the edge of it.
Theo's gone incredibly still and stiff, as though he’s trying not to move, not to react, but I feel him, hard and thick andready.
My clit throbs, my slick soaking through lace and onto the material of his pants.
I’m making a mess. A filthy, humiliating mess.
I do it again anyway. Harder, this time. Slower. Moreintentional.
My clit drags over the ridge of his cock through two layers of fabric - my soaked panties, the wet press of my dress, and the thick, unyielding material of his pants beneath me.
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice ragged, “you have to stop.”
“I can’t,” I gasp. “I can’t stop. Ineed it.”
Each bump, each turn, each subtle shift of friction between my thighs as I press harder into his lap feeds the fire building inside me. I move again, grinding down with purpose, my hips rolling in slow, desperate circles.
And I canfeel it- the squelch of moisture spreading across the thick bulge beneath me.
My body is pleading - not for a bond, not for a claim, just forrelief.
I roll my hips again, the friction delicious. I feel the tremor ripple through his chest when he swears under his breath, his fingers bruising against my hips now, fighting the urge to grip and thrust.
His voice is barely a breath. “Rhea…”
I grind against him again, and his forehead drops to my shoulder.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’resoakingme.”
I moan, loud and wrecked, dragging my body over his in a slow, filthy rhythm. My nipples ache through the thin fabric of my dress, and the sensation of them brushing against his shirt-covered muscular chest makes meshudder.
“I can’t,” I tell him as I lift my head, eyes glassy and dark. “I can’t hold it anymore.”
He looks at me, jaw clenched, gaze burning.
“You don’t have to.”
That’s all it takes.
I move again - deeper this time, needier, my body pressing into his, searching for anything to dull the pressure.
His cock is thick and hard beneath me, and the contact is blissful agony.
