An hour later, the sign for Chicago illuminates under the headlights as we turn onto a main highway. “Seriously, where are we going?”

“Just trust me, Princess. Would I let anything bad happen to you?”

I stare at his profile. “Do I need to remind you what happened two hours ago?” And just because I’m in a mood, I add, “I trust you so much, I haven’t jumped out of the car yet.”

His face hardens. “It won’t happen again. And you aren’t fucking going anywhere.”

“How can you be sure about that?” He was so certain that we could stay at the Horror House, but obviously, that’s not the case.

“Because after this, I’m done.”

“What do you mean?” My heart picks up its pace. After what? Done with what? Does he mean done with me? Is he going to leave me again like he—

No. I’m not entertaining those kinds of thoughts. If I can accept that I’m enough for me, then so can he. And if he leaves after getting my name tattooed, then good riddance.

My insecurities got the better of me last time, and I won’t let that happen again. The past three years have taught me if there’s anything that would separate us, it would either be someone else’s doing or if I manage to run fast enough. The former seems more likely than the latter.

“You’ll see.” He grabs my hand and kisses it. “I promise you, just a couple more days, and I’ll go straight.”

I let the silence hang in the air, with the occasional “mmhmm” I send his way when he starts back up with his chatter. I can tell he’s uncomfortable because his rambling doesn’t make any sense, along with his use of movie quotes in his conversation with himself.

I want to fix all this, but I don’t know how to. I want to know the next steps, but I don’t want to make the decisions. Maybe it’s because I’m scared, or maybe I’m just hoping something will land in my lap and the rest of my days will be all happy-go-lucky.

A few hours later, he’s stiff and silent, and I’m sick of sitting in a car. It’s pitch-black outside, and I’m seriously ready to find a bed to crash out on for the next two days.

Mickey pulls us into a rest stop and cuts the engine.

“Why are we stopping?” I’m basically speaking in questions tonight. But it must be asked when a glance around tells me that the only building around us is the dodgy-looking bathroom. Other than that, it’s nothing but woods for miles.

I wanted a bed, not Horror House 2.0 minus the house.

“We’ll rest here for the night. We’re still too close to the house to get a hotel.”

I groan internally and get out of the car without responding. He follows me to the bathroom, standing guard wordlessly. It’s not until we get back inside the tin can that I use my inhaler, then recline my seat to lie down with my back to him.

“No, that’s not happening,” he says the second I shut my eyes.

There’s a violent edge to his voice that I promptly ignore by grabbing a blanket from the back seat. What’s the worst that will happen? He’ll kill me? Tie me up again? I don’t think so.

“Either look at me, or we’re sharing a seat. And I don’t give a shit how uncomfortable that is.”

Actually, I stand corrected; that can go on the list of bad things that could happen. The issue now is whether I play the stubborn card or give in to his demands like the old Isabella. I’m about to choose the former when my nether regions remind me just how sore I am and how much worse this whole lap-sitting thing will be.

“Too late.” Mickey hauls me over before I get the chance to utter another word.

“No, no, no, stop,” I plead, hitting his arms as he arranges my body on top of his, careful not to hit the steering wheel. “You’re hurting me.”

He freezes. “Where?” His gaze is filled with concern and his voice is laced with panic. It makes me feel unnecessarily warm inside.

Damn him.

“Umm.” I’m not about to tell him where. My heating cheeks should be answer enough.

“Where, Bella?” he warns.

When he shifts his leg, I yelp and nearly leap off him from the sudden ache the contact causes.

“Bella,” he muses, walking his fingers across my thigh until he dips between my thighs, where I squirm strategically so my core doesn’t rub against anything. “Is my baby girl sore?” He makes a pleased sound in his chest, skimming his fingers over the part of me I’ve been trying to keep away from him.

“Mickey, I’m serious. It hurts.”

“Fine.” His chuckle brings me anything but relief. “On one condition.”

“There shouldn’t be any conditions to this. I don’t think I’ll survive another round.” My voice rises an octave or two.

“What’s that saying? You break it, you buy it,” he teases. “Well, that only works if I don’t already own it.”

“You do not own it or me, Ro—Mickey Riviera.” I bite the inside of my cheek for the near slip-up. I could say it, and he’d stop with his advances. But what else will stop?

“I disagree.” He places the tiniest bit of pressure on my center, and I push back against his chest to escape his touch. “Do you want to know what my conditions are?”

I burn holes into him with my glare. “What?”

“Kiss me.”

I narrow my eyes. Mickey is never that simple. “What are the caveats?”

“There are none. Kiss me, and I’ll let you go back to your seat.” He’s smirking, and I don’t know if it’s a mischievous smirk or a cocky one.

“Okay.” I quickly peck him on the cheek and scramble to get away, but his vice-like grip around my waist becomes steel.

He presses his lips to my ear and lightly circles my sensitive nub through my tights. The friction is enough that I can feel the heat of his fingers through the thin material. “It was very generous of me to give you such an easy offer. So I will say it one last time, and you’ll give me a kiss like the good little girl you are. Or else I might decide that your pretty lips would be put to better use…elsewhere.”

His threat vibrates through my body. Somehow, someway, despite how beat up my nether regions are, Mickey manages to make me throb with pleasure.

“Okay,” I whisper, a tremble in my voice.

“Okay, what? You want me to come in your mouth, baby girl? Fuck, I can just imagine what those eyes of yours will look like when you gag. I bet you’re wet—"

“I’ll kiss you,” I blurt out to cut him off.

I don’t need him to know that he is one hundred percent correct about what’s happening downstairs. His praise only adds to my downfall. And waterfall. What would he feel like in my mouth? I never got a chance to feel him, but he looked like he would be silky to the touch. How would—

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Kiss Mickey, that’s all I need to think about right now. Nothing else. No distractions. Just… Just focus on those very kissable lips and keep our hips a healthy distance away from each other.

He raises his brow, eyes alight with amusement. “I’m waiting.”

Here goes nothing.

I lower my lips to his. At first, he doesn’t kiss me back. Then, my breathing stutters to a stop with the force of his kiss. It’s as brutal as the way he fucks. His hands move to thread in my hair, holding me hostage as his tongue dominates my mouth.

Kissing him here feels more intimate than what went down in the woods and the bath—intimacy without the sex. I want this, right? I want Mickey, just under different circumstances and at the right time? I… I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I haven’t had time to sit in my corner of the world and sort through my thoughts and feelings. But I have to focus on the now.

“This is more than a kiss,” I try to say through his refusal to break it.

“Shut up, Bella.” His gravelly tone curls down my spine.

He bites my lip and angles my body to deepen the kiss, but it hurts. Not my lips, but my goddamn abused bits, rubbing up against the harsh material of his jeans and solid muscles, making me want to scream.