He exits his vehicle, jogging around the back end before I even close the door.
We don’t say hello.
Don’t ask questions.
We don’t even pause.
He just grabs me by the arm, and his mouth crashes into mine.
God, yes. Finally.
As his tongue slides territorially past my lips, I shiver in his embrace.
Nothing has ever felt as right as him touching me.
After the frantic, fevered pace of the last couple of days, we go at it.
We kiss like long-lost lovers who thought they’d never see each other again. Which is kinda the truth.
All our pent-up lust and frustration, the tension, boils to the surface and is consumed by the ferocity of our hunger.
He wraps his arms around my waist, gripping me tight.
I twine my hands around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair, melding him to me. Bringing him closer. So much closer.
I moan low in my throat.
He groans in return.
I arch into him, my breasts pressed against his hard chest.
He turns me around and slams me against his SUV.
His hands are under my skirt, pulling the fabric up my thighs.
I hook my leg over his hip, granting him access.
His cock brushes against my soaking panties. I cry out, helplessly grinding against him.
The intensity of my need startles me with its fierceness.
I want him so bad.
He thrusts against me.
I’m fighting for breath.
He rips away, bites my neck, his teeth sinking into my skin. “You’re all I can think about.”
“Me too.”
Our mouths collide.
The kiss is consuming. A desperate press of tongues and teeth.
I admit the truth. “I couldn’t have done never again.”
“Me either.”