I laugh as he groans and turns his attention back to the road, his hand staying on me.
His fingers dig into my skin when he tightens his grip. City streets whip by us and I know we’re getting closer to his building, but for some reason, I don’t want that. I want to stay here—suspended on this seat with his hand between my legs.
His fingers skate higher, and I grip the edge of my seat, waiting…wanting…hoping. Then the edge of his finger skims my panties, and a lightning bolt of excitement ricochets through me. I must make a little sound because Logan jerks his head toward me, like he can’t help but take me in like this. Then his eyes are back on the road and his hand continues, over the silk, over my skin, brushing, rubbing, teasing.
My eyes flutter closed when he tugs the material aside.
I feel deviant doing something like this. I know it’s bad and improper and loads of other naughty words, but once his fingers touch me and he feels how ready I am for him, I’m no longer responsible for acting decent.
I blink my eyes open when his SUV whips to the left and then down a slope, into a dark car park. We’re back at his building, and my heart starts to hammer in my chest when he takes his hand off me, pulls into his parking spot, and kills the engine.
His seatbelt clicks, then he leans over and undoes mine too. It goes slack across my chest and he’s tugging me up and off the seat. I half-expect he’ll carry me out of the car and up to his flat, but instead, he props me on his lap and leans in to kiss me—hard.
He’s more impatient than I’ve ever seen him, as if that ride home absolutely killed him. He grips the side of my head and his fingers twine through my hair, our mouths staying in sync, tongues licking as we consume each other.
It’s hot and heavy and necessary. It feels absolutely vital that he reach down and gather my skirt up again so it sits high on my waist. Then I reach down for his trousers and start to unzip. I’m fumbling because there’s not much space on his front seat, but he helps me, and together, we unsheathe him.
“Condom, condom. Bloody condom,” I say, looking around his front seat.
“Fuck. I didn’t replace the one we used the other day.”
I could kill him in cold blood right there. How dare he do this to us? We’re right here and we can’t wait, not even long enough to make it up to his flat.
“Please tell me you’re clean. Yes? You’ve been checked?”
He nods. “Last month.”
Oh thank god.
“I’m on the pill and I’m clean as a whistle.” I want to stop talking about this, but it seems important that he know. “I don’t…um…I’ve never gone without.”
It sounds like a lie. I mean what girl sits on a guy’s lap, grinding down on him, and says she’s usually oh so careful even though she’s not being that way now? But his gaze catches mine, and he sees the vulnerability there. It doesn’t make sense. All the careful decisions I’ve made in the past, all the rows I’ve had with boyfriends when they’ve wanted to go without a condom, and now, here—poof—I’m ready and willing to give it a go with Logan. Have I totally lost it?
Maybe.
Maybe I have, because he’s kissing me again, and it’s like we’re telling each other the same thing. I trust you. I trust your intentions. And more importantly, I can’t wait either.
He’s so hard underneath me and I’m rocking back and forth, teasing him and using him to rub against my sensitive skin. He lets me continue for another few seconds and then with a rough grip on my waist, he stills my hips and reaches down to align us.
I go up on my knees to give him better access and then we click into place, heartbreakingly perfect.
I sink down on him slowly. Like last time, it’s painful for the first bit, and then my body eases around him, accommodating his size until I can’t take any more.
He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside me, and he takes my mouth again for a deep kiss. We start to rock together gently, moving our hips in sync, and then he picks up the pace, thrusting in and out of me so that I start to careen toward my release.
Then abruptly, he stops, and I protest, angry.
My fingers dig into his forearms and I squeeze my thighs around him, but he has other plans in mind, and I’m forced to listen when he speaks.
“Get in the back.”
“What?”
Oh hell. He doesn’t answer. He starts to shove me back there, and I have to climb over the console in the middle of the two front seats. I trip and fall into the back, but he’s right after me, contorting his huge frame and making me laugh as he gets stuck for a moment.
“Fuck,” he groans, looking down at me lying there, skirt flared up, thighs spread apart.
He manages to push through and then he’s on me, pinning me down to the seat with his weight and taking my wrists to press them against the door behind me. He takes hold of my fingers and wraps them around the door handle.
“Hold that,” he tells me, and I bloody well listen. He pushes up and off me enough to look down and assess me. I’m his conquest, and he’s got me right where he wants me. That’s how he looks: scary and beautiful and mine. He surveys my top, apparently annoyed that it’s still in place. He shoves it up to reveal my bra then tugs the cups down so my breasts spill out over the top. Next he leans down and kisses the peak of each one, teasing me.
I’m dying! He can’t do this. We were going at it in the front seat and I was so close, but now he’s slowing it down, torturing me.
The air in the car is starting to get humid from our breath, and I feel sticky with sweat when his hips roll over mine. He spreads my thighs again and brushes against me. I moan and he does it once more, not pressing into me even when I beg him to.
My panties are still on, and I hate that they shield me from his thrusts.
I move my hands to take them off, but with whip-fast reflexes, he forces my hands back to the door handle.
“I said, hold that.”
His tone has gone dark and possessive, and I’m left complying like an eager student. My fingers tighten around the door handle like my life depends on it, and then he takes the pink silk between his fingers and starts to slide it down my thighs. It gets caught on my knees, but instead of ripping like a brute, he gently fixes it and continues tugging until the material falls off onto the floor of the SUV.
Then his eyes fall between my thighs and his fingers follow, parting me for him.
I arch up off the seat when the pad of his finger brushes against sensitive nerves, and when he does it again, my insides clench.
“Logan,” I plead, but he doesn’t listen. He withdraws his touch and reaches for his length. He wraps his hand around himself, slowly pumping up and down while he watches me. He’s in no hurry to end this, but I am. I AM!
He hears my impatient whimper, and it must finally get through to him because he positions himself between my thighs and presses back into me. Finally. This. Again. His weight, his fullness, his hard length seeming to completely fill me and then some.
“Candace,” he says, tracing his mouth along my chin and letting his body press flush against mine. It’s suffocating and wonderful, nearly too much. He covers me completely, but my hands stay on that handle as he starts to rock his hips like gentle waves, pulling out of me and then slowly pressing back in. “You feel…”