Halston

He’s a good kisser.

Too good, if I’m being honest.

I try not to think about how many girls his tongue has tasted before, how many Victoria’s Secret-covered tits and asses he’s groped and grabbed because the girls at our school seem to sacrifice themselves to him willingly and without question.

I try not to think about anything at all.

Crammed in the backseat of Thane’s BMW on a Friday night, my legs straddle his lap and my shirt is somewhere in the front seat. We’re in the middle of some barren cornfield outside of town, the moon gleaming through the sunroof above us as some California punk pop band plays from his speakers.

Aunt Tab and Uncle Vic think I’m staying the night with Emily, who just so happens to be out of town this weekend and is none the wiser. Thane’s parents think he’s staying the night with one of his friends. We were going to camp out here tonight, under the stars, talking and listening to music.

It was supposed to be innocent. Just “hanging out” as he kept calling it. But flirting at dinner turned into handholding at the movies and when he started kissing me out here twenty minutes ago, I found myself actually enjoying it, enjoying the distraction from my everyday life, and somehow, we’ve migrated to the backseat.

My hips grind against his, his hardness straining against his jeans.

I’m wet and aching, but I’m not going to fuck him.

Yet, at least.

If he wants this, he’s going to have to work for it.

I may be a lot of things, but easy isn’t one of them.

Thane’s hands are in my hair, his soft lips working mine. If I grind hard enough, fast enough, I might be able to make myself cum.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispers, his mouth grazing mine before traveling lower. He presses hot kisses into my neck, his hands traveling to my breasts, untucking them from the silky cups of my satin bra. Thane takes a nipple in his mouth, gently dragging his teeth across the swollen bud. “I can’t wait to fuck you, Halston.”

“You’re going to have to,” I whisper, smirking in the dark, my hands draped over his broad shoulders. If he’s this big and built for an eighteen-year-old, I can only imagine what he’s packing below.

“I don’t know if I can,” he moans. “You’re so sexy I can hardly stand it.” He kisses me, running his thumb across my bottom lip, our eyes meeting. “Your mouth. This bangin’ body.”

“A week ago, you didn’t know I existed,” I say, my words breathy and playful. “I think you can wait a little while longer.”

His hands grip my hips, pressing me against him as he rocks our bodies, teasing me with the promise of a rock-hard cock.

“You keep putting up walls, and I keep tearing them down. I’ll tear this one down, too. Just watch,” he says, smirking. “You like me. And you don’t want to wait any more than I do.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Thane Bennett.” I bury my face in his shoulder so he can’t see me smile. We’ve spent the better part of the week doing more flirting than chemistry assignments, and when he takes me home after school, he takes the long way so we can talk.

Every part of me has no intentions of liking him.

Yet it’s happening anyway.

And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

“I like when you say that,” he moans, gripping my ass.

“Say what?”

“My whole name,” he says, “like you just did.”

I laugh. “Thane Bennett?”

“Yeah.” He cups my chin, kissing me again. “You should practice. You’re going to be saying it a lot.”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “I don’t say anyone’s name during sex, and if I did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be their full name.”

I ponder, for a second, the possibility that Thane gets off on girls going gaga for him, on his name being synonymous with popularity and good looks. Thane Bennett is practically a household name at Rosefield. A brand with an air of exclusivity.

He’s completely lost touch with reality.

“I think you’ve let your popularity go to your head,” I say, leaning back as much as I can. His lips are still parted, his eyes half open.

“What are you talking about?”

“I couldn’t give two shits about how many girls want to date you or how many passes you caught at the last game,” I say. “If I let you fuck me, it’ll be because I like you. And I mean you. Not Thane Bennett, you.”

I expect his face to light. I expect to see some kind of sign, an acknowledgement that this is a good thing, a realization that I’m not like most girls.

Instead, he exhales, running his palms up and down his face and groaning.

“Well, shit.” Thane sighs, turning his head toward one of the back windows and refusing to look at me. His hands rest useless at his sides, like he’s done touching me.

“I’m more work than you thought I was going to be, huh?”

His hands slide down my lower back as he pulls my hips harder against his, pinning me to him. “Don’t be like this. Come on. We’re having a good time.”

My palms flatten against his chest, and I try to push myself off of him, but he’s too strong. He won’t let me go. The second his grip loosens, it travels to the straps of my bra, tugging them down my shoulders. I try to yank them from his fingers, only he won’t let go and one of them snaps and breaks.

“Oh, shit.” Thane’s eyes study mine as he waits for my reaction.

Saying nothing, I climb over his console and into the front seat, searching in the dark for my shirt. I’m leaving.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Take me home.” I’m a fucking moron. “I actually believed for four straight days that you were into me.”

“What are you talking about? I am into you.”

If he truly liked me, he’d have taken my hands in his, kissed me, and said he’d wait until I was ready. Guess the whole gentleman shtick was nothing more than a ruse.

“No. You brought me out here because you thought I was going to fuck you, and the second I said I wasn’t, you got all pissy about it. So, take me fucking home.”

“What did you think we were going to do, Halston, huh? You and me, alone, out here? You didn’t think it was going to come to this?”

“Shameless.” My arms tighten across my chest. “You’re a real fucking winner.”

“Stop overreacting.”

“I’m not overreacting. I’m over you.” I say, pulling my shirt over my head.

He’s still in the backseat, cozied up in the middle and not so much as moving an inch.

“You going to drive me home or what?” I ask.

“Your aunt and uncle think you’re staying at Emily’s,” he says. “What are you going to tell them?”

His question is rooted in nothing more than concern for his own self. He’s afraid he’ll get in trouble if I tell them the truth.

“Don’t worry,” I huff. “I won’t be telling anybody about this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rolling my eyes, I tug the hem of my shirt down. “That this was a mistake. One I’d like to forget.”

His expression is bathed in genuine shock. I’m sure I’m the only girl he’s ever “hung out” with who has so much as dared to imply that getting hot and heavy in the backseat of Thane Bennett’s BMW is something they’d sooner forget.

Yanking the door handle, I step out of the car, which sends him scrambling to get out of the backseat. Finally.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his athletic body squeezing out from behind the backseat of his coupe.

“Home.” With my bag hanging across my body and my arms folded, I trudge through a muddy cornfield, toward the twinkle of city lights in the distance. My feet sink into the soft earth with each step, and I’ll be trudging down gravel roads and through weedy thickets, but home is just a few miles from here.

I’d rather walk for the next hour than spend another minute next to Thane.