Before I can utter a syllable, a female voice purrs, “Oh, yes, you do,Officer Carter.” She enunciates his name with the same seductiveness I used when coercing him to join the force over a decade ago.
With a snarl, I swing my eyes to the voice. I’m not surprised to discover the seductive purr belongs to Melena. Utterly oblivious to the half dozen eyes glowering at her, she twists the rope scarcely concealing her monstrous rack from the public between her thumb and index finger while her hungry eyes burn into Ryan’s profile.
I’m five seconds from telling her to row up shit creek without a paddle when the air in my lungs brutally evicts. Since I was distracted issuing a vicious glare to Melena, Ryan has snuck up on me. While whispering in my ear that he has everything covered, he yanks me out of his truck.
Ignoring the excited hollering of my coworkers encouraging me to fight—and the disappointed sigh of Melena—he stomps around the wooden bed of his truck, holds open the door with his foot, then slides into the driver’s seat, taking me right along with him.
Since he’s not used to driving with a person sitting in his lap, his steering wheel digs into my back and his crotch jabs my ass. It’s been over a decade since I’ve seen Ryan’s cock, much less felt it, but I’m fairly certain I’m not the only one stimulated by our closeness. I can’t miss the bulge in his jeans.
When I attempt to scoot off Ryan’s lap, he yanks me back into my original position. Considering the thickness I’m striving to ignore grows from our battle, I come to the conclusion not only is he at half-mast, but his manhood is even more enticing than I remembered.
“I can sit in my own seat,” I snarl.
I’m not peeved at him. I’m not even peeved at myself. I’m pissed at his jeans.How dare they come between us.
Grunting in lieu of a response, Ryan tugs the seatbelt around us before locking it into place. His hot breaths fan my nape when he stabs the key into his ignition to fire up his engine.
My work colleagues’ exuberant catcalls ring in my ears for the next quarter of a mile, along with the thud of my raring pulse.
* * *
I bite on the inside of my cheek when Ryan hits his third pothole for the night. My bite isn’t pleasant; it is painful enough tangy copper stings my taste buds. The past three minutes have been pure torture. Having Ryan so close but being unable to touch him is the cruelest form of punishment. I can smell him on my skin, taste him on the tip of my tongue, and feel him sitting heavy beneath my ass. If that isn’t already distracting my senses to a point of no return, every subtle bounce of his truck reminds me how perfectly aligned our bodies are.
If I weren’t wearing panties, and he wasn’t wearing jeans, we’d be . . .
No, Savannah. Don’t go there.
“Pot-ooh-mmm.” My warning turns into a throaty moan when the front tire of Ryan’s truck hits the pothole with the precision of a marksman.
“You’re mean,” I mutter in a breathless pant.
I’m not game to look at his face, but I know he is smiling. I can feel it in my bones.
“What? I didn’t do anything,” Ryan denies for the fourth time, a smirk heard in his words.
My eyes roll skywards. He can deny it until he is blue in the face. I know he is aiming for every bump in the road. How? Because not only does each collision add to the heat between my legs, it makes the thickness in his jeans swell.
“Did you say something, Savannah?” Ryan growls my name, sending his voice through my veins like liquid ecstasy, stimulating not just my hot buttons, butevery goddamn button I own.
“No,” I answer, my one word incapable of hiding my aroused state.
Mortified at the lust-craved idiot I’m portraying, I attempt to scoot off his lap for the fifth time the past four minutes. I barely move an inch when Ryan throws his hips forward. I groan, heightened beyond belief when the mouthwatering outline protruding from his crotch rubs the sensitive skin between my ass and sex.
I moan, practically purring. I’ve never been more aroused in my life. My clit is throbbing, and my panties are soaked. I am equally excited and frustrated. I’m not frustrated by Ryan’s attention; I’m annoyed my clit doesn’t have anything to grind against. I’m sitting side-straddled, meaning, other than pressing my thighs together, I can’t ease the throb between my legs.See—torture. Pure, unbridled torture.
Groaning in frustration, I burrow my inflamed cheeks into Ryan’s neck. Now matters are ten times worse. His scent is even more inviting from this vantage point. He smells intoxicating and familiar—a scent I crave more than anything.
“Please stop.” The furious pulse raging through his body amplifies the thrumming of my core. “I can’t do this. I can’t be close to you and not. . .”
I stop talking, mindful I’m crawling into a hole I may never get out of. I’m dying to taste him again, but I know from experience one taste will never suffice. If I have one, I’ll want another, closely followed by another. Is that something Ryan can offer me? Or am I simply praying for a miracle?
Furthermore, is this what I want? I barely survived leaving him the first time. I won’t survive a second dose.
“Do what, Savannah?” The raw huskiness of his voice excites me more. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” My disappointed breaths make condensation bead on his neck. “I don’t want anything.”
My knees curve inward when Ryan’s truck rolls over the safety grooves in the roadside. The pleasing vibration lights up every inch of me, while also eradicating my hesitation. I’m panting, aroused and brimming with anticipation of what is about to transpire.
