OBSESSED Series

Chapter 23

He stops in the center of the courtyard, holds up the paper. “I got an A.”

Utter pandemonium breaks out. Deafening cheers, screams of joy. Male students chest bump as they watch their hero stride toward me. Somewhere in the distance, a marching band begins to play, but my heartbeat drowns out the noise almost immediately. Because my boyfriend very clearly does not care about the fanfare whatsoever. And if I had any doubt about that fact, he rids me of it a second later when I’m thrown over his shoulder and carried out of the courtyard.

My smile is so huge that it actually hurts my face.

“Gage.” My laughter is watery—and delivered to the muscular swells of his butt. “You did it. You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

He keeps walking. Faster. He doesn’t slow down until we’re at the parking lot.

The next time I glimpse his face, there is a fine layer of sweat on his forehead. His breath rattles in and out, the Western Civilization test crushed and forgotten in his hand. He wrenches open the passenger side of his truck and tosses the stapled papers into the footwell, then sets me down on the seat, buckling me in with shaking hands. It’s impossible to miss the growing ridge behind the fly of his jeans. Or the way his restless touch scrubs up and down my thighs, higher to my breasts, which he squeezes once with a strangled groan.

“T-Gage? Are you okay?”

No answer.

He slams the door closed and circles around the front bumper, never taking his eyes off me. They pin me through the windshield like a hundred-mile-per-hour wind. My legs scoot together on the seat in an attempt to suppress the spreading ache there. I’m growing hotter by the second, muscles tightening like the cogs of an engine. And the wetness. It comes on so fast, it’s almost embarrassing. By the time he climbs into the driver’s side of the truck and starts the engine with a violent twist of his wrist, my nails are clawing the seat on either side of my hips.

“Don’t say another word. Your innocent voice is too much when I’m this hard,” he rasps, gunning the truck in reverse and peeling out of the parking lot. We travel down the street leading off campus and once we’re past the gates, he opts for the backroad, instead of the interstate. “Get those little fucking panties off.” His fingers flex around the steering wheel, green scenery flying by on either side of us. “I’m not going to make it home.”

“We’re only five minutes away,” I whisper.

“Too long,” he clips. “Pull them down or I’ll tear them straight off, so help me God.”

My underwear is in limited supply and I can’t afford to lose a pair, plus I want to follow his orders. Some undiscovered part of me is thrilled by the fact that I’ve pushed him to the edge, even if his intensity concerns me. Makes me fearful that he won’t go slow like he promised. I barely recognize him right now, he’s in such…heat.

Biting my lip, I reach up beneath my skirt and work the panties down my thighs, his groan rending the air in two when I lift up my hips. “Jesus Christ,” he growls, swerving off the road into the forest. We go bouncing across uneven terrain before he skids to a stop in a shaded clearing, the sound of wind and the nearby ocean filling the cab of the truck, along with his harsh panting. I twist the panties in my hands nervously, but he takes them from me, shoving them up against his nose, inhaling, groaning. Keeping them pressed there as he exits the truck and prowls around the rear bumper.

I squeak when my door is yanked open. There he stands, eyes on fire, muscles seething. I’m freed of the seatbelt and pulled into his arms, carried around to the rear bed of the truck. He settles me on the lowered grate, returning briefly for the blanket in the rear cab, spreading it out behind me in the truck bed.

“Gage?”

He doesn’t answer me.

No, he drags me closer to the blanket and pushes me down, so I’m looking up at his strained features and the towering trees above us. “Don’t,” he pleads, stripping off his shirt and starting on the button and zipper of his jeans. “Don’t say my name like that.”