"It's okay. It's just a little blood."
He tilts my chin up and looks at me. "Not that. For before," he says. "For the graduation party."
"You said I had cellulite on my ass."
Hendrix grins, and he moves his hand from my face, running both of his hands down my body and over my ass. "Have I told you how hot I think cellulite is?"
"Funny."
"I was a stupid kid, Addy," he says. "And I didn't want my asshole friends to get near you."
"Because you wanted me."
"Because I wanted you more than I could fucking breathe, Addy."
"I thought you hated me."
"I hated that I couldn't have you."
"Why didn't you ever...?"
"Because you were my stepsister. And you were a year younger than me," he says. "And I was..."
"A jackass."
"That part hasn't changed, Addy-girl."
"We should -- go back in, Hendrix." I'm standing here, pressed up against his hardness, the throbbing between my legs insistent, but I'm telling him we should go inside.
"You're right," he says, tracing his thumb along my lip. My lips part, and I touch my tongue against his skin, tasting salt. "I should definitely not do what I want to do to you right now."
"Wh-what do you want to do?" My voice cracks, and I can barely get the question out. I shouldn't be asking this question. I shouldn't be standing here, with Hendrix's thumb on my lips. I shouldn't kiss that thumb, the way I do now. I shouldn't watch his expression change to one of unbridled lust and listen to the way he groans, the slow rumble of desire under his breath.
I shouldn't do any of those things. Hendrix touching me is dangerous. This isn't a game, not with my career at stake. Not with everything I've worked for at risk. I know that; I tell myself that; yet I don't move. Every cell in my body is on edge, waiting for him.
"I want to taste you," he says. "I want to pull those pants of yours down, and I want to kneel right here in the rain and put my tongue inside you. I want to feel you come on my face, Addy. I want to plunge my cock inside you and feel you come around me." Hendrix's hand is on my back, pulling me to him, and I can feel his erection hard against my leg. If his words didn't tell me he wanted me, that would make it perfectly clear.
"I --" I start, but his hand is fumbling with the button on my jeans. "Shit, Hendrix."
He slides his hand down the front of my pants, underneath my panties, and I grip his biceps as heat runs through my body at his touch. "You are so fucking wet," he says.
I can't speak, can't make anything more than a strangled cry as he touches me, his callused fingers rough against my clit. Desire runs through me like electricity, and every part of me feels like it's on fire. "I want you," I say. I speak the words. Out loud. Finally. "I want you."
Hendrix lets out a growl under his breath, primal in its intensity, and I think he's going to rip my clothes off right here outside in the pouring rain, and I don't care. I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone. In five years, nothing about that has changed. That desire has only gotten stronger.
Lightning cracks, illuminating everything with bright white light for a moment. "We should go back, before we get struck by lightning," I say, and when Hendrix slides his fingers from between my legs, I'm crushed by disappointment.
Then Hendrix is pushing me against the tree, peeling my pants over my hips and yanking them, over my thighs. Before I can say anything else, he slides my panties over my hips. "Did I tell you how much I like this ass?" he asks.
I grin like an idiot, and I must look like one, out here in a damn storm, with my back against a tree and my pants pulled down around my knees. But I don't have time to think about what I look like, or about the way we're both soaked to the bone, before Hendrix drops to his knees between my legs and covers my * with his mouth. He explores me with his tongue, licking me and sucking my clit, and I let out a loud moan that gets lost in the noise of the storm.