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Caroline sinks onto me, her wet pussy frying the circuits in my brain. I wriggle my fingers under her skirt and grab her ass, pumping her hips to make the friction a little faster. Mr. Jones is one happy guy right now. He’s about to start singing a fucking hallelujah chorus, and as much as I want this to last forever, I want to give in to this orgasm as well.
She’s riding me like a motherfucking queen, straddling my legs in the back of my Jeep. We’re parked at an abandoned sawmill. Not the most romantic place, but it’s private.
Private enough that I could whip off her shirt and suck those titties. Private enough that I could go down on her in the back seat. Her screams of pleasure were guttural, and as soon as she’d ridden the wave, I pulled her into my lap and practically begged her to sit on me.
It didn’t take much.
My rigid cock speared her like a knife through butter.
“You feel good,” she pants in my ear, her tits jostling against my chest. “So fucking good.”
I slide my hand up her back, anchoring her to me as I give her my final thrust and let myself go. A groan rumbles in my throat as I lightly bite her bare shoulder and let my body shake.
She milks me dry as I tip my head back and moan again.
Fuck. She’s magical.
She rests her head on my shoulder, her chest heaving as our bodies slowly start to relax. I rub my hand across her back and do a quick scan to make sure no one else has driven or walked into the parking lot.
It’s highly unlikely, but still. I don’t want Caroline to get busted half naked by some creepy stranger.
“You good?” I kiss her shoulder.
“Yeah,” she puffs into my ear before shifting off me and pulling her bra straps back up, tucking those beautiful fun bags away for later.
I grab some tissues from the box sitting between the front seats and hand her some before taking a bunch and cleaning up.
She soon has them crumpled in her hand and is searching around the floor of the Jeep.
“Here.” I grab her panties and hold them out on the end of my finger.
“Why thank you, kind sir.” She gives me a playful smirk before reaching for them… and going perfectly still.
Her eyebrows pucker just before she drops the balled-up tissues on the floor and snatches my wrist, yanking it toward her. “What’s this?”
“Huh?” I scan my forearm, wondering which tattoo she’s talking about, until her thumb skims over it.
Oh shit.
“The red heart.” She lifts her skirt to reveal her tattoo. “It’s just like mine.”
“Oh yeah, I, uh… Queen of Hearts.” I try for a laugh, but it comes out rusty.
“Did you have it before?”
“Before when?” I’m trying to play innocent, but I think I’m failing big-time.
“Before our party hookup. I don’t remember seeing it.”
“Oh, um… no,” I admit. It’s tempting to lie to her and just say I liked it and wanted the same, but for some reason I can’t do it.
I have to go for the truth. Or a portion of it, anyway.
“So, yeah… see, sometimes when I meet a person, they stay with me for a bit, and then I get a tattoo to remember them by.” I add a sweet smile to my explanation, hoping for a swooning sigh and maybe even a “You got a tattoo to remember me by?”
But instead, her eyes narrow. “Meet someone?”
“Yeah.” I brush my hand down her cheek. I like how soft her skin is. I like the shape of her face… except when it bunches into a scowl.
