Free Thor (Recherché #1) by LP Lovell Page A

him. Pressure starts in my core, building with every thrust. I tilt my head back and a moan escapes my lips as pleasure tears across my body. My vision blacks out and my body locks up as I come violently. A tortured groan makes its way up Thor’s throat, turning into a growl as his thrusts become stiff and disjointed. And then he collapses back against the seat, still holding me tight. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. My legs feel like jelly.
    When I’ve sort of recovered I manage to crawl back across the centre console into the passenger seat. He opens the glove box and hands me something. A tissue. He starts the engine and the car purrs to life.
    “Are you on the pill?” He asks casually, as he turns in his seat and reverses out of the alley.
    I roll my eyes. “No, I’m going to have your love child and name it Loki.” The car jerks and fishtails back out onto the road. He glares at me. “Too soon?” I laugh nervously. Nothing. Jesus.  “Yes, I’m on the pill. Although next time if you could…” I drift off.
    “If you didn’t touch yourself in my front seat, then I wouldn’t have to fuck you bare back.”
    “Fine, I won’t.”
    “Oh no, please do.” His lips twitch. “But, ginge…”
    “Yeah?”
    “Don’t get spunk on my leather seats.” He eyes the tissue in my hand and I scowl at him.
    “You’re an arsehole.” He just laughs.

    He pulls up outside my flat but doesn’t switch the engine off. This whole thing with us in foreign and weird. If he were a normal guy who texted or called, or generally had in interest in my life, this would be easier, but I never quite know where I stand with him. When I’m around him it’s so sexually charged that the rest just doesn’t seem to matter. I don’t want anything from him, I’d just rather have a clear line. If it’s just sex then fine, but it doesn’t feel that way. When I’m with him he makes me feel like I’m everything, as though for that short period of time his world starts and ends with me. On every level. He makes me feel special. But then I hear absolutely nothing for a week and I start to wonder whether I imagined everything, the passionate kisses, the possessive touches, the gentle caress of his fingers on my cheek. His actions completely contradict themselves. He has my head fucked up.
    “I’ll see you whenever then.” I say. I have this feeling like I’m being played, and maybe I am, but am I not also using him? God, I feel like a hypocrite and a whore.
    I push the door open and put one foot on the ground before his hand wraps around my bicep. I turn to face him and his fingers whisper over my cheek. “I’ll call you.”
    No, he won’t, not until the next time he needs to blow his load. And that’s fine. I just wish that he wouldn’t look at me the way he is now. If he wants uncomplicated then he can’t look at me like I’m something he wants to figure out.
    His lips press gently against mine before I pull away and get out of the car. If I was sensible I would walk away from this. I would save myself the inevitable heartache. And maybe I would if being around him wasn’t such a buzz. Fucking him is like an adrenaline rush, a wild ride that I don’t want to get off.
     
     

 
    I watch the front door close behind her and grip the steering wheel tightly. I want to just drive away and not give a fuck, but an uncomfortable feeling has settled in my gut.
    I have no idea what I’m doing right now. This is completely out of control. This is wrong in so many ways. I’m not only breaking my own rules, but every ethical standard that would be upheld by any semi-decent fucking person. I stay away, then I bail and see her. I tell myself I’m not going to fuck her and then I do. In my car. Bare back. Shit! I slam my hand over the steering wheel and push myself back in my seat. Just drive away, go home, don’t call her again.
    I’m an escort and Poppy…Poppy is the girl any guy would give his left nut to have. I close my