Maybe Ronan’s right—maybe Idowield sex as a weapon.
“You know what else I’ve noticed?” I counter almost like a cat purring. I ease closer, so close my mouth lingers half an inch from his. “You can’t keep your hands to yourself, Callahan. Always finding excuses to touch me.”
His eyes darken. His hand glides up the side of my thigh. “Why would I keep my hands to myself when I’ve got a fucking knockout for a wife like you to touch?”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I challenge.
A grin flashes in and then out on Ronan’s face. He turns his head toward the front of the towncar, where the driver’s focused on the road.
“Pull over. Stop the car right now. Get the hell out and go take a cigarette break.”
The driver starts to question him then catches his gaze in the rearview mirror and thinks better of it. He fumbles with the wheel, promptly changing lanes and pulling over to the curb on a quiet Manhattan side street.
The instant the driver steps out of the car and the door’s thudding shut, Ronan’s all over me.
I’m anticipating him as he drags me into his lap, and then his mouth seals over mine. He kisses me hard, his tongue demanding entry. My lips part as I kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers fisting in his hair.
We’re far from gentle as heat engulfs us and I straddle him.
It’s more tension snapping between us. More of the natural desire we can’t seem to shake.
Ronan’s hands slide up my thighs and shove my dress higher. He’s impatient and aggressive, tugging my panties to the side and hooking two fingers into my throbbing pussy. He goes knuckle deep, instantly stimulating me in the right spot.
Pleasure shoots up my spine, making me arch against him. I almost pull my mouth away from his, but he grabs the back of my neck with his other hand and crushes our lips together.
I’m forced to endure his bruising kiss as he rubs my pussy and sends hot, fiery sparks of pleasure streaking through my body.
His mouth is warm and tongue insistent. His taste of whiskey and his fingers thick and rough.
I moan and grip at his shirt as we kiss, hips rocking back and forth in want. We unbuckle his belt in the meantime, freeing his dick as we kiss and grope each other and grow more impatient.
A daze has captured me, equal parts tipsiness and natural attraction. I’m sinking onto his big, veiny dick seconds later. I’m taking him deep as my pussy walls flutter, and we trade hard, borderline angry kisses.
We don’t take our time. There’s no slow buildup or teasing.
Just me riding him hard and fast in the back of the towncar, the leather seat creaking as I roll my hips and his dick slides in and out of me.
Ronan’s a man who makes it no secret what he wants; he’s not a man who shies away from dominating or taking command.
As I rock against him, he’s gripping my throat and holding my lips to his. He’s giving a squeeze and making me even more lightheaded than I already am, the flushed daze intensifying. Then he’s growling at me, telling me how fucking good my pussy feels wrapped around him.
How I’m his beautiful little princess that’s also his dirty little whore.
Only for him. Only with him.
“Your pussy was made for me, princess,” he grunts. His hips buck up, his hands squeezing the flesh on my thighs to wrench me back down on his dick. “You’re mine to fuck. Mine to come inside. Come all over. Look at you, fucking me in the backseat of this car on a fucking public street. My prim and proper wife is such a filthy little bitch.”
The degrading words unlock another dimension of pleasure. It quakes through me as he palms my breasts, and I arch into his touch, hips still rocking.
His dick still deep.
A whimper escapes my lips as his thumb drags across my nipple, then he takes it between two fingers and twists.
“Oh!” I cry at the sharp pain lancing through my breast.
“You like that?” he growls, bucking into me. Holding me down ’til his whole huge dick is stuffed into my quaking, slick pussy. “My little dirty whore want more?”
“YES!” I pant unashamedly. “Give me more of that big dick!”