He chuckled. “I’m pretty ugly when it comes to relationships.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”
He stretched a condom over his massive member.
My lust-filled eyes met his. I didn’t need a written invitation or any verbal instructions. Eager to feel his massive girth inside me, I crawled onto his lap, facing him. At the instant I came to the realization that I’d never had sex in a car, he raised his hips.
With the tip of his God-given gift resting against my soaking wet folds, he paused.
“Oh!” I exclaimed. I exhaled a long breath. “Wow.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Uh huh.”
“Are you sure?”
I could have responded in the affirmative, but I chose not to. At that juncture, I felt actions would speak much louder than words. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and released my weight. His thick shaft penetrated me.
Surprised by his girth, I paused.
We locked eyes. I forced myself to take him into me, slowly. As I began to wonder about my physical limitations of accepting his entire length, the tip of his dick collided with my cervix.
The breath shot from my lungs.
My gaze fell to my lap. I had no idea the cervix was an erogenous zone. The men I’d been with in the past hadn’t had the ability to bring it to my attention. Braxton, on the other hand, couldn’t help it.
Proud of my accomplishment, I replaced my look of pleasure with a guilty grin. I met his gaze. He looked like he’d see a ghost.
“Oh, yeah. I’m doing just fine.” I let out a breath. “What about you?”
“Jesus.” He winced in mock pain. “Are you a virgin?”
“A recycled one,” I said with a laugh. “I haven’t had sex in a few years.”
“A few years?” He coughed. “Really?”
“I got divorced and swore off men.” To save myself from making another O-face, I adjusted my weight. “Then, you saved me from a thug and tricked me out of my panties.”
“You’re not going to camp out on my doorstep after this, are you?”
He was talking too much and fucking too little. I didn’t need a lecture on how to have sex and walk away. I’d done it more times than I cared to admit. Just not recently.
“This is nothing more than the two of us having fun,” I said. “Stop talking and fuck me.”
“Just remember.” He withdrew himself until the tip of his dick was tickling my pussy lips. “You asked for this.”
After that low-level warning, he fucked me as if his continued existence depended on it.
I’d had men make sweet love to me before, and I’d undoubtedly been fucked a few times. I had never, however, been fucked like Braxton was fucking me. His savage thrusts lifted me with such force that my head hit the car’s headliner.
Each inward stroke forced the tip of dick into the soft flesh of my cervix. The subsequent jolts of euphoria that rushed through me took with them my ability to refrain from reaching climax prematurely.
The clapping sound of his hips slapping against the back of my thighs filled the car’s interior. A few unplanned high-pitched squeals on my part followed, as did the occasional Oh. My. God.
His cologne, my perfume, and the sweet musk of sex melded together.
I had every intention of leaving a lasting impression. In fact, fucking him until he couldn’t walk was my plan of action. However, a matter of minutes into our impromptu parking lot romp, and I was scratching the headliner of his two-hundred-thousand-dollar SUV with the tips of my thirty-dollar nails.
I draped my arms over his shoulders. On the verge of a sexual meltdown, I sank my fingertips into the flesh of his muscular back.
“Ohmygod,” I exclaimed. “I’m…”
Before I finished my thought, my pussy tightened around his shaft. The next few strokes sent me into the sexual stratosphere. As I reached the pinnacle of climactic bliss, he continued to pound away.
An orgasm rushed through me like a tsunami overtaking a Japanese beach.
I let out a blood-curdling wail.
Overcome by the sudden surge of emotion, I blacked out momentarily. When I returned to a half-conscious state, my mind was a jumbled mess of mental jelly. He had officially fucked me senseless.
Mindless, I crawled off his lap. Sitting in my seat with shaking legs, I stared blankly at the sunshade. I raked my fingers through my hair and offered him an apologetic look. “That. Felt. Amazing.”
He glanced at his lap.
I did the same.
Twitching with desire, his cock pointed at the heavens above. Before I could offer a helping hand, he peeled the condom away and began stroking himself with his right hand.
I’d never witnessed a man pleasuring himself. In awe of the sight, I watched with eager eyes. A few joyous moments and several tight-fisted strokes later, he ejaculated into the palm of his cupped left hand.
Repeatedly.
Flushed with a pang of odd sexual guilt for witnessing the act, I glanced at his face. Hoping for some type of confirmation that it was okay for me to have watched so enthusiastically, I waited for him to meet my gaze with approving eyes.
“Would you mind handing me a wipe?” he asked. “They’re in the glove box.”
Wondering if jacking off inside the car was a common occurrence, I opened the glove box. A package of leather interior wipes were all that was available.
I lifted the package. “One of these?”
“It’s all I’ve got,” he replied. “I keep them to wipe off the seats after my greasy-haired coworker gets out.”
I handed him one. I glanced at the puddle of cum in the palm of his hand. It was a three-wipe operation.
I handed him two more. “Oh.”
He cleaned up the mess and situated his slacks. After buckling his seatbelt, he looked at me and smirked. “Do you want some help with yours, or do you think you’ll be alright?”
I mentally shot him a glare. Without looking, I retrieved the belt and buckled it. “I’m good.”
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “You sure are.”
Braxton
Jacking off in my hand wasn’t as satisfying as I wanted it to be. Disappointed somewhat in Anna’s sexual stamina, I stared at my computer’s monitor. As I recalled the highlights of my morning, Pratt stepped into my office.
The skin under his eyes was thin and dark. His hair—which was normally styled—was dry and unkempt. Wearing a look of defeat, he shuffled toward the closest chair.
“No good news?” I asked.
He poked a piece of candy in his mouth and neatly folded the wrapper before putting it in his back pocket. “Nope.”
Performing surveillance on high-profile targets was one of the services I offered. Typically, I gathered information in support of someone’s theory, and then provided photos and videos of the proof, at a price. Attorneys, actor’s agents, and movie producers were a few of my typical clients.
My means of gathering inside information ranged from interviewing disgruntled spouses to bribing enemies, friends, and neighbors. My sources weren’t always right. Some provided more accurate information than others.
Not yet convinced I’d acted on a bad tip, I searched for answers. “You were there the entire night?” I asked. “You never left once?”