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The second my nude line-less panties hit the floorboards of my car, I lift myself up over the middle console and straddle Slade’s lap in the passenger seat of my car, lifting the hem of my tight-fitted dress up high enough to get my knees on either side of his wide body.
He becomes more alert as his hands hover on either side of my body… not touching me but keeping his hands close in case a slip or fall so he can catch me.
“And what's that?” he asks, his eyes watching me set myself down on his lap.
I know that without underwear on, Slade has a clear shot of me bare and clean-shaven under my dress, but I don’t care. He’s driven me to the point where I don’t care at all anymore.
“An orgasm,” I say, reaching for the top button of his pants.
My body continues to stay untouched by his hands as I work to undo his pants. Instead, he lays one arm on the middle console of my car and the other on the armrest of the passenger side door.
I’m panty-less on his lap, and he’s not going to touch me until I tell him he can?
He just almost spent the night in jail for assaulting someone who touched me inappropriately tonight…
…oh… is that what this is about?
“You want me to give you an orgasm?” he asks as if he might have misheard me.
His eyes break from between my thighs, and when they reach mine, they’re hooded and as needy as I am.
“It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I’m just another notch on your bedpost, right? You should have collected plenty by now.”
His eyes soften to me for a moment, and I don’t like the honesty in them. The concern he’s showing in them for me.
“Don’t say that. Don’t try to cheapen this just to make it fit what you want from me. You’re the one that wants this to mean nothing.”
Convenient for him, though, isn’t it? Slade’s not the long-term type, even if it is something I’m mildly interested in.
And I am interested in the long-term, just not with him.
I yank down further on his pants, and his cock breaks free of its confines, standing tall and straight and begging me to sit on it.
I hook my arm around the back of his neck to pull myself closer.
“I don’t have a condom,” he tells me.
I stop for a second and stare back at him.
I don’t usually carry them myself. It seems out of all the things women have to worry about to prevent conception, carrying a condom is the least a man can do.
“Are you clean at least?”
The question almost has me wanting to laugh to myself.
Is Slade clean?
How could he be sure if his reputation is still the same as it was in college?
“I haven’t been with anyone in months, and I had to get a full physical, including a full test panel, as part of my contract. I’m clean,” he says, his eyes staring back into mine.
“I haven’t been with anyone since my last relationship that ended last summer,” I admit.
He nods.
“Are you on birth control?” he asks, finally gripping my hips and making me feel weightless as he pulls me closer, anticipating my answer to be yes.
I nod, but I hate how he’s starting to take control.
