The Deal(119)

I shrug. “Of course. What if I’m driving along one day and come across Kate Upton stranded on the side of the road?”

Hannah snorts. “I see. Is that your type then? Busty blondes with curves to spare?”

I cover her body with mine and prop my elbows on either side of her. “Naah, I prefer busty brunettes.” I bury my face in her neck and nuzzle her skin. “One in particular. Who, by the way, also has curves to spare.” My hands slide down to her waist. “And tiny hips.” I glide my palms underneath her and squeeze her round bottom. “And a grabbable ass.” I move one hand between her legs. “And the tightest * on the planet.”

She shivers. “You have the dirtiest mouth.”

“Yeah, but you still love me.”

Her breath hitches. “Yeah. I do.” Her green eyes shine up at me. “I love you.”

My heart damn near explodes as those three sweet words hang between us. Other girls have said that to me before, but this time it’s different. Because it’s Hannah saying it, and she’s not just any girl. And because I know that when she says she loves me, she actually means me—Garrett—and not Briar’s hockey star, or Mr. Popularity, or Phil Graham’s son. She loves me.

It’s difficult to speak past the enormous lump in my throat. “I love you, too.” It’s the first time I’ve told a woman I love her, and it feels so damn right.

Hannah smiles. Then she pulls my head down and kisses me, and suddenly we’re not talking anymore. I push her dress up and yank my trousers down. I don’t even take off her panties, I just shove the crotch aside, roll on a condom with one hand, and guide my cock to her opening.

She moans the instant I enter her. And I wasn’t kidding about how tight she is. Her * clutches me like a vise and I see stars, so close to losing it I have to will the climax away.

I’ve f*cked girls in my car before.

I’ve never made love to one.

“You’re so beautiful,” I mumble, unable to take my eyes off her.

I start to move, dying to go slow and make it last, but I’m painfully aware of our surroundings. A Good Samaritan—or worse, a cop—might spot the Jeep and think we need roadside assistance, and if they decide to approach us, they’ll get an eyeful of my bare ass, see my hips pumping and Hannah’s arms clutching my back.

Besides, in this position, it’s hard to maneuver. All I can manage is fast, shallow strokes, but Hannah doesn’t seem to mind. She makes the sexiest noises as I move inside her, breathy sighs and shaky whimpers, and when I hit this one certain spot inside her, she moans so loudly I have to clench my ass cheeks to stop from coming. I can feel the orgasm hurtling toward me, but I want her to come, too. I want to hear her cry out and milk me dry as her * spasms around me.

I reach between us and press my thumb on her clit, rubbing it gently. “Give it to me, baby,” I rasp in her ear. “Come for me. Let me feel you coming around my cock.”

Her eyes squeeze shut, hips rising to meet my hurried thrusts, and then she cries out in pleasure, and I come so hard my vision wavers and my mind fragments into a million pieces.

When the mind-shattering pleasure finally abates, I register what song is playing in the car.

My eyes fly open. “Did you re-download One Direction?”

Her mouth twitches. “No…”

“Uh-huh. So why is “Story of my Life” playing?” I demand.

She pauses, then lets out a big sigh. “Because I like One Direction. There. I said it.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” I warn her. “Because I wouldn’t stand for it otherwise.”

Hannah grins. “You’re lucky I love you. Because you’re a total * and there aren’t a lot of girls who’d put up with it.”

She’s probably right about the * thing.

She’s definitely right about the lucky part.





37




Hannah


“I don’t like this,” I declare. “I mean it, babe, my legs are starting to hurt. I told you, I’m not flexible.”

Garrett’s laughter vibrates through my body. My naked body, I should add, because we’re in the middle of having sex. Which I just confessed to not liking.

Maybe I am a mood killer.

But you know what, I don’t care. I’m still vetoing this position. Garrett kneels in front of me, and my ankles are up on his shoulders. And maybe if he wasn’t a big strapping hockey player, my legs wouldn’t feel like they’re resting on top of the frickin’ Empire State building and be cramping the living hell out of me.