She doubles down

Don't stop. Don't you dare stop.

The voice in Chloe's head was screaming, a frantic counterpoint to the thunder of her heart. Every instinct she had—every evolutionary impulse for self-preservation—was shrieking at her to scramble off the hood, dive into the car, and bury herself under her cardigan.

But then she saw Ethan's eyes.

He was watching her with that smirk, that knowing, arrogant tilt of his head that said, I win. You're going to break.

Like hell I am.

The flush on her skin burned hotter, turning her porcelain complexion a deep, vivid scarlet from her forehead to her navel. She felt dizzy with the rush of it—the cold wind nipping at her exposed skin, the heat radiating from the engine block beneath her knees, and the tangible, heavy gaze of the three strangers behind her.

She didn't freeze. She didn't run.

Instead, Chloe locked eyes with Ethan through the glass and slowly, deliberately, raised the squeegee for one final pass.

"Missed a spot," she said, though the words were lost to the wind.

She dragged the rubber blade down the glass, putting her hips into the motion. And then, with a reckless insanity that felt like jumping off a cliff, she did it. She gave her ass a little wiggle. Just a twitch. A subtle, taunting shimmy of her pale, round bottom, aimed directly at the audience behind her.

"Damn!" the guy behind her choked out, sounding like he’d just been punched in the gut.

"Okay, werk," one of the girls said, her voice loud and appreciative. "That is a look."

Chloe finished the swipe. She tossed the squeegee into the bucket on the ground with a wet clatter. Now came the hard part. The dismount.

She couldn't just back down; that would be clumsy. She had to turn.

She pivoted on her knees, the metal of the hood slick under her skin. As she turned, she finally saw them. Two girls in oversized hoodies and leggings, and a guy in a backward baseball cap, all standing by a beat-up Honda Civic. They were frozen, gas nozzles forgotten, staring at her with slack-jawed fascination.

Chloe slid off the hood, her bare feet hitting the concrete. She stood there for a second—fully frontal now, chest heaving, nipples hard as diamonds, her pubic hair glistening with the evidence of her arousal. She was hyperventilating, her breath puffing out in white clouds, her face burning so hot she felt lightheaded.

She **** a smile. It was tight, manic, and probably looked a little crazy, but it was a smile.

"Evening," she squeaked, her voice an octave too high.

"You're... uh... you're brave," the guy stammered, his eyes glued to her breasts.

"She's hot, shut up Kevin," the second girl said, stepping forward with a grin. She looked Chloe up and down, her eyes lingering on the wetness between her thighs. "You lose a bet, honey? Or just feeling the breeze?"

Chloe felt a fresh wave of wetness soak her inner thighs. She grabbed the door handle, her knuckles white.

"Just... clearing the bugs," she managed to gasp out.

She yanked the door open and threw herself into the passenger seat, slamming it shut instantly. The silence of the car enveloped her. She was shaking—violent, uncontrollable tremors that racked her entire body. She curled into a ball, knees to her chest, hiding her face in her hands as the adrenaline crash hit her like a freight train.

Beside her, Ethan didn't start the car. He just sat there, staring at her huddled, shivering form, the air in the cabin thick with the smell of sex and fear.

"Well," he said softly, his voice rough. "You certainly cleared the bugs."