Drive (One Night Series Book 1)

by Megyn Ward

  Without answering, I down the rest of my champagne and toss the empty flute onto the leather seat beside me.

  Scooting across the seat, I ignore his hand, climbing out of the car on my own. It’s awkward, but I manage. As I walk past him, he snags my arm, pulling me back to press his mouth to my ear. “I’m sorry, Claire.” Like he can read my mind, he gentles his grip on my arm. “I never meant to hurt you I never wanted to—”

  It happens again. The rollercoaster feeling only he can give me, and I feel myself bending. Melting. Giving in to him and the way he makes me feel.

  Don’t

  Don’t trust.

  Don’t feel.

  He’ll only hurt you again.

  He’ll leave you, just like last time.

  I pull my arm from his grip and shake my head.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Twenty-one

  Jaxon

  I knew I was going to hurt her. That what was happening between us was important—not just because she was a virgin, but because afterward, lying next to her, I wanted to stay. Be with her.

  I was ready to throw everything away for her. I wanted to. And that made her dangerous.

  I thought about waking her up, telling her everything I should’ve told her the night before. Tell her that I was leaving. Make her understand that I didn’t have a choice. But making her understand would require the truth, and in the cold light of day, I lost my nerve because the thought of her looking at me, thinking about what happened between us with regret, killed me.

  So I left. Told myself it was okay because she’d get over me. Move on. Find a good guy. One who had more to offer her than a fucked up past and a life of waiting for me to come home. Because I had to leave. No matter what I wanted, laying there with her in my arms, I knew I had to go. I never had a choice.

  I told myself that by walking away, I was doing right by her and I believed it.

  My reasons don’t matter. Neither does the fact that leaving her behind was the hardest thing I ever had to do.

  I hurt her.

  And that makes me the wrong guy for her.

  Wrong or not, I looked at her, standing in front of me on that porch, and I wanted her. Realized I never really stopped—and even though she hates me, she wants me too.

  I saw it on her face when she looked up at me. Jerked her arm from my hand. She likes how seeing me again makes her feel. My hands on her. Inside her. But she doesn’t trust me. Might never trust me again.

  I don’t believe you.

  Too fucking bad.

  I’m the one who broke her.

  I know that.

  But I’m the only one who can put her back together.

  I know that too.

  There’s only one way I can do that.

  Tell her the truth.

  Make her understand that my leaving had nothing to do with her.

  You tell her the truth and it’s over. She’ll never look at you the same way again. She’ll regret everything that happened between you, more than she already does. She might even blame you. Think it was your fault…

  Maybe.

  Maybe she’ll hear the truth about me and tell me she never wants to see me again. But she needs to know. I owe her that much after the hurt I caused.

  Twenty-two

  Claire

  They’re having the time of their lives. Drinking and laughing. Hanging out of the moon-roof. Flashing pedestrians (now I understand why Bri insisted on strapless dresses). Horns are honking. People are yelling and howling at them from passing cars. I’m almost certain we’re going to get pulled over.

  “Claire.”

  Jaxon’s voice over the intercom barely held above a whisper.

  “Answer me, Claire.” It irritates me, the way he thinks he can tell me what to do. Almost as much as it turns me on. What irritates me the most is that after five years, he still has that kind of power over me.

  I jab the call button with my finger. “What?”

  “I need to talk to you. I—”

  Just then, Helena drops down onto the seat they’re all standing on. “Hey, Driver,” she says loudly, jerking her top up over her exposed breasts.

  I can practically hear Jaxon sigh. “Yes, ma’am?”

  She grins at me and winks. “We want to go to Nina’s.”

  As soon as she says it, I feel my face catch fire. Nina’s is a sex shop downtown. Half urban legend, half rite of passage, it’s the place every kid in Chicago talked about being old enough to get into. When you turned twenty-one, you went drinking. When you turned eighteen, you went to Nina’s.

  I’ve never been.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s not on the itinerary,” Jaxon says, his tone making his polite refusal sound like fuck no.

  “Don’t be that way,” Helena shoots me a sly, watch me work kind of smile. “We want to put on a lingerie show for you.”

  She winks at me, and I think about jamming my thumb in her eye socket. The only thing that stops me is the fact that she’d probably look sexy with an eye-patch.

  “An unscheduled stop is against the rules...” Jaxon’s tone purrs over the speakers. “But I suppose we can make an exception.”

  Twenty-three

  Jaxon

  Pulling into the parking lot, I recognize that this is probably a mistake. We keep itineraries for a reason. I should be driving them to the first stop on their club crawl. Instead, I’m pulling into the dark parking lot of a seedy, downtown sex shop.

  Not my finest moment.

  But I need to talk to Claire, and I doubt I’ll get the chance once we’re parading from club to club.

  When I open the back of the limo, I’m not surprised by what I see. A half-dozen empty champagne bottles littering the floorboard. Glitter everywhere. Someone’s underwear on the seat.

  “Those are mine.” The redhead pops out of the back of the car with a leer. Reaching back, she snags them off the seat and turns to tuck them into the front pocket of my suit. “You can keep them.”

  I offer her a smile in return because pissing her off is only going to take time and energy away from Claire, neither of which I have to spare. “Thanks,” I say, moving her out of the way so I can help the rest of them out of the car.

  They’re totally faced. The tops of their dresses askew. Hair wind-blown from hanging out of the moon roof. Makeup starting to slide off their faces.

  And then there’s Claire.

  She lets me help her out of the car this time, her gaze dropping to the purple lace G-string sticking out of my pocket, before looking away completely.

  Herding them across the parking lot, I open the door and usher them across the threshold before posting up at the door. Nina’s is split into two separate areas. The ground floor is well-lit and spacious. Clean. Separated into areas of interest. Relatively safe. Like Target—if Target sold 12-inch strap-ons and played porn audio tracks over their PA system.

  The basement is where the real shit goes down. Being a teenage boy in Chicago, you hear stories. Sex shows. Private auctions. Orgies. Fetish dens. Once upon a time, I was as curious as any other horny teenage boy—and then in the blink of an eye, I was too old for that shit. Too tired. Too jaded.

  “Thirty minutes, ladies,” I tell them, leaning against the wall, watching them scatter like buckshot around the store. The redhead heads straight for the rack of corsets and crotchless panties and starts loading up, giving me a long, lascivious look. “Everybody finds something to try on,” she says loudly. “I promised Driver a lingerie show.”

  I stand there for a few minutes, watching the scramble, scraps of lace and silk, flying every which way. As soon as Claire hustles down the hall with a few hangers, I turn around and lock the door, flipping the sign from open to close.

  “You can’t do that,” The woman behind the counter says, scowling at me.

  “Sure I can.” I pull out my wad of cash and slide her some bills across the counter-top. “For thirty minutes.” If there’s anything I’ve learn
ed working the private sector, it’s that everything and everyone has a price.

  The money disappears in a flash. “Twenty.”

  I tilt my head, so I can see the bank of security monitors mounted under the counter. I see Claire on the screen marked #5. Reaching over, I switch it off. “Make it fifteen.”

  She smirks at me, giving me a long look from head to toe. “Whatever you say, cowboy—but if she starts screaming, I’m calling the cops.”

  Twenty-four

  Claire

  I have no intention of trying any of this stuff on. I grabbed a few random items off the rack made a beeline for the changing room so I’d have an excuse to sit in a quiet room by myself for a few minutes. I walk down the long row of changing rooms.

  Choosing one, I push the door open and flip on the light to reveal what looks like a 5x5 closet, complete with vinyl bench, mirror and door lock. There’s a box of wet wipes on the floor next to the bench.

  I don’t even want to think about what goes on in these rooms.

  Behind me, I can hear Bri and her friends laughing and shouting. Even without an audience, they’re putting on a show.

  No. They have an audience.

  They have Jaxon.

  Stepping through the open door, I turn and shut myself in, sagging a little bit against its frame. Eyes closed, I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. I do it again. And again.

  I want to go home.

  I want to go back to pretending that Jaxon Bennett doesn’t exist. That what happened didn’t happen.

  No, you don’t, you big liar. What you want is for Jaxon to come back here and—

  Someone knocks on the door I’m leaning against, the sound and feel of it reverberating through my bones. Like my filthy thoughts brought him to life, I open it to find Jaxon on the other side.

  I slam it in his face.

  I hear him sigh, the sound heavy with frustration and something else. Something sad. “Claire—open the door. Please.”

  It’s not locked. He could open the door if he wanted. He doesn’t even try. I twist the knob in my hand, popping the latch before backing away. Jaxon pushes it open wide enough to let himself in before shutting us in together.

  “What do you want?” I say, wrapping my arms around myself, hangers full of lingerie still hanging from my fingers. I keep forgetting how big he is. How much space he occupies. I put as many feet between us as possible, backing myself into a corner but it’s not enough. I need more.

  I need mountains and oceans between us. Continents and eons. I need him to disappear again, this time forever because that’s the only thing that’s going to keep me from him. The only way I won’t fall again. Knowing he has that kind of power over me scares me a little. I’d forgotten how easily he can pull me under.

  “I want to explain.” He takes the hangers from me, doesn’t even look at what’s on them before tossing them on the bench seat. “I want you to give me a chance to explain.” He looks down at me, shaking his head. “I know I don’t deserve it but I’m asking anyway.” He steps into me, and I retreat. I should feel crowded. Overwhelmed. I should be screaming at the top of my lungs.

  I don’t.

  I feel achy. Needy. Weak.

  “I’m leaving.” I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s not what I expected. What I thought. I thought... I shake my head. What I thought doesn’t matter. All he wants is to clear his conscience. “That’s all you had to say, Jaxon. All it would’ve taken—I’m leaving.”

  “I know.” His shoulders slump, and his head tips forward eyes squeezed shut. “I know... I should have said something, but I was afraid if—”

  “That I wouldn’t let you fuck me if I knew you were going to take off on me.” I finish his sentence for him, feeling the same fierce satisfaction I felt earlier when I slammed the car door in his face.

  His eyes blink open, and he stares at me for a moment before they narrow, his jaw snapped tight. “No, I—”

  “Because I would’ve, you know.” I lay it all out, too angry to think about what I’m saying. “I would’ve let you do anything you wanted to me, even if I’d known I was never going to see you again. That’s how crazy I was about you.” My voice breaks, the sharp pieces of it cutting me wide open.

  The truth tumbles out, too fast for me to snatch it back and I stare up at him, wide-eyed, praying to god he thinks I’m crazy. That I didn’t mean it.

  He steps closer, and I counter, trying to get away but only succeeding in bumping into the mirrored wall behind me.

  “Are you getting married?” he says softly, angling his head even further. I have to jack my neck all the way back just so I can keep looking at him.

  I feel myself blink, slow and stupid, like some blinded animal. “Married?” I finally say, shaking my head like I don’t understand his language. “You want to know if I’m getting married? Now?” I can feel my anger rising to near epic proportions. “You’re asking now? After what you did to me in the—”

  He growls at me, his hands clamping over my bare shoulders to haul me against him, even as his mouth crashes down. His tongue brushes against my lower lip, licking and teasing its way inside to tangle with mine. I whimper in response, the fight leaving me the second his lips meet mine. I’m lost.

  Floating and spinning, the only things keeping me from drifting away is the weight of his mouth. My hands on his chest, fingers curling into the lapels of his suit jacket. His hand in my hair, his rough fingers tight against my skull, while his other slips to my hip, holding me tight, letting me feel the hard length of his cock between us. I forget about how insulted I am. How much he hurt me. Keeps hurting me. All I can remember is this. How good he felt, moving inside me. How much I wanted him.

  Still want him.

  The thought sends a rush of heat through me, so hard and fast I feel like I’m spinning. I slip a hand between us, lower and lower until my fingertips are grazing along the length of his rigid cock.

  He groans, flexing his hips into my hand, again and again. I tighten my grip, sweeping my thumb over the engorged head of his shaft until I feel pre-cum seep through the fabric of his pants.

  “Fuck...” Tearing his mouth away, he glares down at me. “Answer the question—are you getting married?”

  I keep giving in to him. I keep letting him in.

  Giving him what he wants. Every time.

  I feel my jaw set itself in a mutinous jut. “Does it matter?”

  He doesn’t even hesitate.

  “Nope.” I feel the hand on my hip start to tighten, gathering the fabric of my skirt. “Not even a little bit.”

  Twenty-five

  Jaxon

  It matters.

  The thought of her with someone else—getting married. Having babies. Growing old with someone else—someone who isn’t me, matters.

  It does.

  Just not the way it should.

  Instead of backing me up and slowing me down, the thought of her belonging to someone else pushes me into a dark place.

  A place where I have to have her.

  Mark her.

  Own her.

  “Claire,” I growl at her, low and tight in my throat, even as I’m reaching down, fisting my hands around the hem of her dress, jerking it up, exposing her black lace panties. She doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t pull away. She just stares up at me, her hand gripping and stroking me through the pants. “Be sure.”

  She pushes her hand into the waistband of my pants, shoving them down around my thighs, freeing my hard, thick cock completely. “I am.”

  I press my hand into the juncture of her thighs, fingers trailing up the seam of her pussy. Wet. She’s so fucking wet she’s practically dripping. The feel of her against my hand is electrifying.

  She’s here.

  She’s with me.

  Belongs to me.

  Control shattered, I jerk her panties to the side so hard I hear them rip. Shifting my hands, I slide them under her ass, lifting her. Opening her.

  Step
ping into the space between her thighs, the head of my cock slides into her, just past her entrance and immediately starts to throb. I can already feel an orgasm barreling down on me, tightening the small of my back. “I don’t have a condom.” It’s been too long. I forgot how good being inside her feels.

  Claire wraps her legs around me, digging her heels into my ass, urging me closer. Deeper. “I don’t care.”

  Christ. I’m going to come. Soon. Too soon to make it good for her.

  Gritting my teeth, I thrust deep, pinning her to the wall with my cock, my throat locked around a gruff shout, shaping it into a low groan. She gasps, her eyes going wide, hands fisting in the front of my shirt. I’m still wearing my shirt. My jacket. Someone walks by, talking on their phone, mere feet from where we’re standing, looking for an empty dressing room. I forgot to lock the door.

  I don’t fucking care.

  Using my hips to hold her in place, I hook my hands around the front of her dress and jerk it down, exposing her breasts. My dick gives a hard twitch and she moans. Her mouth opens slightly, and she begins to pant. Eyes closed, she starts to move, working her hips against mine.

  Shit.

  Lowering my hands, I grip her hips, holding her still. “I want to make you come first.” I whisper it in her ear, tightening my hold on her when she tries to work her hips again. “Claire.” My sharp tone jerks her eyes open. She seems surprised to see me. “Put your tits in my mouth.”

  Surprised or not, she does what I say, pushing her breasts together with her hands, lifting them up to my mouth like an offering. Like a starving man, I lower my head, taking a hard nipple into my mouth, sucking and nipping at it until it’s swollen and throbbing on my tongue. I give the other one the same attention, alternating between them, while I shift my hold on her hips, sliding my thumb past her juice-slicked folds to press against the top of her mound. I don’t tease. I don’t play. I stay buried inside her, rocking my hips against hers, little pulses that stimulate her core until she’s right where I need her to be.