He shakes his head, palming my breasts and lifting his hips again when I stop moving. “Not one that’s open.”
Immediately I’m filled with disappointment. We stare at one another, still moving our hips back and forth, unable to stop.
“Fuck it,” he groans, frantically pushing my jacket off my shoulders. “I’ll pull out.” Without waiting for me to get it off, he starts trying to get my shirt off too. I catch up with his speed, wiggling out of my jacket and then shirt. Bra’s next, and when I’m naked from the waist up, he leans forward, peeling his own jacket away, eyeing my nipple rings. “Goddamn, these are fucking hot.”
I smile. “That’s not my only piercing. I was a rebel child.”
He takes a quick second to lick my right tit and suck my nipple ring into his mouth. I moan again when he tugs, my stomach tightens and a quick burst of pleasure right to my clit, burning with need. From my toes to the roots of my hair, need throbs inside me. My heartbeat crashes against my ribs, my palms against the seat behind him, rocking my hips back and forth on his cock I desperately want inside of me.
“I need to see it all,” Barron demands after his shirt joins my clothes next to us, yanking me forward, kissing me hard. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he admits, grunting and lifting his hips once more.
“Then take your damn pants off,” I growl, breaking the connection our mouths have, trying to get my own off but also not wanting to stop kissing him.
His mouth moves to my neck, his breath rough and needy. Before I can get mine off, he reaches inside them, his fingers finding my other piercing. “So fucking hot.” He groans and then rips his hand away just as fast. “As much as I’d love to give that some proper attention, I have to be inside you.”
I lift up and scoot over to get my jeans off at the same time he pushes his down past his knees.
That’s when I notice him, there, for the first time. Forget California. I’ll never not want the South. More importantly, his south because goddamn fucking damn. Thick, long, absolute perfection Inch by inch, I crave for him to be inside me.
His gaze works its way to mine, and he smirks, his touch skirting along the curve of my breast. “You just gonna stare, or come back over here, darlin’?” To tease me, I assume, the thick Texas accent returns with a pair of dark, pleading eyes.
My eyes close for a brief second, teeth digging into my lower lip. Am I going to jump off the cliff and fuck him because there’s no take-backs if I do? Jump, bitch. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I straddle him again. As he kisses me again, his hands grip my waist and he pulls me into him, our bare chests connecting. I can feel him there, his swollen head penetrating my lips, ready. He lifts his hips eagerly, but I resist. “Are you sure?”
He snorts and tries to lift his hips higher, but I raise up. His jaw tightens as he growls out, “I’m not a fucking virgin.”
My turn to snort. I pull back an inch, eyeing him carefully. Shadows dance across his face, making his expression indistinguishable. “I’m referring to the no condom.”
He laughs. “I’m sure.”
I stare at him, our eyes locked in silence as I ease down on him, his cock sliding inside me effortlessly. We gasp simultaneously.
The second he’s fully sheathed inside me, his face is buried in the side of my neck, but he doesn’t move. Not an inch. Gripping me tightly, his body trembles. Slowly, we set a rhythm, but nothing is said between us. It’s not nearly enough. I want to throw my head back and ride the shit out of him, but I’m not sure what’s happening here.
After a minute, his head hits the back of the seat, and he lifts his hips, slouching a little more. I pull back enough that my chest is within view. That’s when he loses his mind. Before I know it, I’m flat on my back on the bench seat, and his mouth is everywhere at once. My nipples, each one properly attended to while he has a handful of my hair and is pulling it.
Let me tell you this. If you haven’t ridden a real cowboy, I feel fucking sorry for you. Roaming, caressing, straight-up fucking manhandling, this Texas boy shows me exactly why I craved the South. It’s almost animalistic.
His mouth meets mine, needy, panting breaths filling the cab of his truck. “You are so fucking sexy,” he growls, slamming inside me again.
A smile tugs at my lips, but I can’t reply. I can’t even catch my damn breath. Clawing at his shoulders, I wrap my legs around him tighter. Using one hand on the seat and the other on the top of my head to keep it from hitting the door, he thrusts deeper. He’s stopped kissing me, and he’s focused on my eyes. I fight the urge to say something stupid. Like I love him. Because that’s not possible. Right? Nope. It doesn’t look like that. I don’t even know this guy.
But then again, my heart does. She’s desperate for me to make it last. She tells me to swallow my lies, wait, give it time and get to know him while my brain screams, Don’t do that.
Too bad my pussy is in charge because she tells all them bitches to shut the fuck up.
Grunting with each thrust, Barron pants. “Did you come?” There’s a smile on his face, remembering our conversation at the bar.
I bite my lip, bringing my hands to the back of his neck, urging him to give me his weight. With my lips at his ear, I suck his earlobe into my mouth. “Almost,” I whisper, sliding one of my hands to his ass. “Harder.”
And he provides. Until I arch my neck, trembling as my orgasm racks through me.
“I can’t hold out any longer,” he practically whines, driving into me harder.
“Don’t.”
He sucks in a breath, his body tensing above me. His movements halt, but his kisses are so possessive and desperate it makes me sad. Because I want this forever.
When his movements slow and finally seize, we lay there, wavering, waiting for the other to say something. His chest expands, a swallow following. I hear his breathing, the slow and steady rhythm, the rise and fall, and I can’t think of anything better than being here with him.
He’s still inside me, but he’s finished. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say and I’m a little afraid to move after that. There’s a look that crosses his face, eyes widening slightly, and he glances between us where we’re still connected. Does he regret it?
Pressing his palms into the seat, he rises, pulls out of me, and then sits on the driver side of the truck without a sound.
He pulls his jeans up and into position, zipping them before he reaches for his shirt.
I sit up, doing the same, and realize I have a mess. “Do you have a paper towel or anything?”
Barron turns his head at the sound of my voice, his eyes between my legs. Swallowing, he opens the glove box and hands me a wad of napkins. Fighting through a wave of embarrassment, I clean myself up and pull my jeans back on.
With both hands on the steering wheel, his body tenses, and then he looks over at me. “Don’t go,” he begs. “Stay with me until I have your car finished.”
I nod, unable to resist him. Scooting closer, I cling to his side. “I’ll stay.”
His lips press to my temple. “Thank you.”
Because I’m not letting you leave. In a non-creepy stalker kind of way. Or am I?