We don't make it to the car before Beckett's mouth is on mine. My back arches off the car hood, knees nearly buckling, one hand slamming flat on the roof to keep from sliding. The other fists in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss.
“You hate me, huh?” he pants. “Say it.”
“I hate you,” I spit—right before I kiss him again. Sloppier. Meaner. I bite his lower lip and he laughs, dark and low and f*****g delighted.
"Really?" His hand slams against the door, yanking it open. “Get in.”
He tears open the door, shoves me inside, follows like a storm—knees braced between mine, hands in my hair, his lips dragging hot down my neck. “f**k, Ash,” he rasps, voice wrecked and furious. “You’re the worst f*****g thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I laugh—wild and broken—my hands clawing at h
