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His cock springs up between us, long and hard, and I slide my bottom off the seat, toward the floor, before catching the tip of it in my mouth, still in a daze that I’m doing this. With someone else. Someone new. Someone frightening.
“Oh, shit.” He fumbles with the side of his seat, trying to find a way to pull back the darn thing, to allow me more space to take more of him. “Stupid BMW. Give me a minute, Winnie.”
Winnie.He never calls me that. It amuses and surprises me that I’m Winnie in his head, even when he insists on calling me Winnifred. I don’t comply. I wrap my fist around his cock and lower my head, swirling my tongue against his tip. He hisses with pleasure so intense I swear it is dipped in pain. “Fuck. Please.”
“Please what?” I tease.
“Just wait a second. If I don’t find the right button, I’ll just rip the damn seat from its base. It’d still be worth it, but I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror quite the same again.”
I laugh, my mouth still around him. A salty pearl of precum hits the tip of my tongue. And then—lo and behold—he finds the button and pushes the seat as far from the steering wheel as possible. He reclines the back of it until he is almost lying flat. I take all of him into my mouth, dropping to my knees on the sticky floor, gum wrappers and crumbs offood digging into my knees. The windows aren’t even tinted. Just what am I doing?
He pushes one hand into my hair and watches me through hooded, drunk eyes. He looks so into it I think I might come just from watching his expression. Our eyes meet across his lean torso. I’d love to see him without a shirt. But, I remind myself, I’d never let myself go this far. Already I’ve crossed too many lines with this man. Next time I’ll see him, it’s going to be to exchange information, and then we’ll be done. We have to be done. His heart still belongs to a dead woman, even if mine is beginning to slowly come alive from the hibernation Paul has put it in.
“Stop.” He groans, stroking my hair. Not like a quick date you meet on an app, but like a lover. “I’m about to come, and I don’t want it to be all over this poor asshole’s car.”
The permission to let him finish inside my mouth is on the tip of my tongue. By a miracle, I manage not to utter it. We’re not together, and I know that come tomorrow morning, I’ll regret it. He tugs me up before I find my footing, somehow maneuvering me so that I’m flat on my back on the seat he was just occupying. He’s on top of me now, hovering like a dark shadow. He grins down at me. My heart jackrabbits in my chest. Uncontained. This is the word I’d use to describe myself right now.
“Regretting me yet?” He dives down to kiss me hard. I shake my head, not wanting to break the kiss.
“Good,” he murmurs into my mouth.
His hand snakes between us, fumbling with my jeans. The top button loosens free, and Arsène drags the zipper down. Rather than pushing his hand into my underwear, he slides the fabric to one side, stroking my center, finding me wet and warm.
Another grunt slips between his lips.
He doesn’t ask me what I like, the way Paul did when we first fell into bed. I’d told him, of course. Gave him a full, detailed list of dosand don’ts. Paul did everything right, patiently bringing me to my climax, the gentleman that he was. But he never did anything unexpected either.
Arsène isn’t patient or unsure. He strokes and dips his fingers in, exploring with barely controlled eagerness, rolling his thumb over my clit, until he tentatively finds a spot that makes me squirm with desire and writhe beneath him. He stays on that spot, his mouth moving from my lips to my right breast. His teeth peel down my top and bra, and his tongue swirls around my tight nipple.
He is turning me inside out, making me feel sixteen again, like it’s the very first time my underwear got all sticky and wet in the back of Rhys’s truck. I feel cherished and beautiful and sensual. His fingers inside me alone push me close to the edge. My whole body is trembling with need. I’m about to fall apart in his arms, and I don’t even care. I’ll have a lifetime to give myself excuses for what’s happening right now. For once outside of the stage, I’m fully immersed in a moment.
“I’m close ...”
To my words, he strokes me quicker, deeper. The pleasure is so intense I squirm and hiss, unraveling at his fingertips, all loose threads.
A knock on the driver’s door brings the moment to a halt.
Oh gosh.
Swiftly, Arsène reaches with his free hand to cover my modesty, draping it across my chest, while he turns his head toward the window. He makes sure to cover most of me, so I can’t see the knocker, and they can’t see me.
“Yes?” he asks, composed and detached. “How can I help you?”
“You can stop knocking boots with your wife in your front seat while there are children watching the movie,” a woman, by the sound of it, huffs in annoyance.
Wait till you hear I’m not his wife, but his dead fiancée’s lover’s widow ...
“Can I try to bribe you to take your precious children and whatever’s left of their innocence and get the hell out of here?” Arsène asks pleasantly.
“Not on your life!” She raises her voice.
“How about ten K? Number negotiable, of course.”
“I’ll call the police!” I can see from the corner of my eye that she is shaking her fist at him, and a snicker escapes me. Arsène is quick to move his hand, plastering his palm over my mouth to muffle my giggles. The space between my thighs is still throbbing, hot and needy. I can feel my pulse there.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he drawls.
“Get outa here!” she shrieks. “And don’t think I didn’t take your license plate.”
