"Fuck, yes," she breathes against my lips.
I pull back just enough to look at her. She's breathing hard. So am I. And her lips are swollen and her eyes are huge and she's looking at me as if?—
She sees something others don’t.
No. Don't think like that. This is one night. That's all it can be.
She pulls me back in before I can spiral—smarter than me, this woman, one step ahead—and this time she kisses me thesame as she talks—boldly and a little surprising. Her hands fist tighter in my shirt and she climbs further into my lap with a confidence that makes my cock strain against my jeans.
Jesus.
She grinds down against me once, and my head falls back against the seat. "You sure you want to do this?" My voice is wrecked already.
“Yes. I don’t—this isn’t typical for me—it’s been a long time since I’ve been this attracted to someone, Tom.”
I bury the sting of the fake name. Okay then. “You asked for it, honey.”
I kiss her again, harder this time, one hand sliding into that blonde hair and tilting her head back so I can get at her neck.
She gasps when my teeth graze her flesh, and her hips rock forward, making me groan against her skin.
The dress rides further up her thighs and I can feel the heat of her through my jeans. I grip her ass hard enough that she bites her bottom lip.
"You have no idea how you look right now," I say.
In the dim glow from the parking lot lights, her skin is golden and her hair's falling around her face and she's looking down at me with this expression that's half want and half dare.
"Tell me," she whispers.
"Like an angel." I drag my thumbs over her hipbones. "A verynaughtyangel."
She smiles and grinds down on me, and we both inhale sharply. My hands tighten on her, and she does it again, a rough sound escaping my throat.
"Do that again," I say against her throat. "Slower."
She does. And as I watch her eyelids flutter, I think, this woman is going to ruin me.
My hands slide up her thighs, pushing the dress higher, fingertips tracing the edge of her panties. She shivers.
I slip my fingers under the fabric and find her wet, hot pussy, and groan. She grabs my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt, and when I circle her throbbing clit, her head falls back and the sound she makes is something I will remember for the rest of my goddamn life.
"Is that the spot, baby?"
"Fuckyes."
I work her slowly, then faster, then slowly again when she tries to rush it, and she whimpers in frustration.
"You're a tease," she pants, and she's wriggling against my hand now, chasing it.
"Says the woman who wore this dress to a bar on a Saturday night." I tease that aching nub again, and she cries out. "You had to know what you were doing."
"I didn't—oh, shit—I didn't know you'd be there."
"Well, lucky me."
I kiss her while I rub that sweet little spot, bringing her over the edge, swallowing the sounds she makes.
She comes apart in my lap, jerking and convulsing, with her hands tugging at my shirt. Her breath comes in jagged bursts against my lips, and I hold her through it, my free hand spread wide against her lower back, keeping her steady.