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“Careful. We’re still in a moving car and that sounded like a challenge. What else am I going to find out about my Not Fiancée?”
I’m boneless, melting against his chest.
His soft touch moves to my inner thigh and continues climbing with wicked intent. My legs tremble, and he’s still only barely touching my thigh.
Instant doom.
His fingers keep moving until he finds the crease between my leg and pelvis. He traces that line, marauding across my panties, eyes like two storming suns cast in emerald-cobalt.
“W-Ward,” I stammer, scared I’m about to spontaneously combust.
And I just might because now he’s on a mission.
His hand moves to the elastic of my panties and his finger slides over it. He traces the curve of my body until he finds my opening.
Then his fingers curl. A fierce knuckle drags back and forth, owning my pussy until napalm pools in the scathing spot where our skin touches.
I throw my arms around him and try not to scream.
Ward’s finger shifts up like the smirk on his lips. He finds my pearl, rubbing in laps determined to cause my obliteration.
No freaking words.
My hold on him tightens and a howl of pleasure sticks in my throat. My nails claw at the back of his neck as my legs quiver.
“Oh—oh God! There,” I whisper.
The hot glint in his eye deepens as that shadow of his smile lands on my lips.
His tongue invades me the way I wish other parts would—he’s so not playing now—the pressure of his finger is too freaking much.
Before I can stop, I gasp into his mouth.
I swear, if we weren’t in the car, I’d rip his pants open and mount him right here.
But his kisses are slow and passionate, sweet and diabolic.
He’s not frantic like me, en route to the hottest shrieking O of my life. He’s a human ice dam with arms and legs and evil lips.
Shamelessly, I move a hand to his arm and press on his hand, keeping it between my legs.
His lip curls, showing teeth, when his finger dips inside me.
Our kiss goes nova, his growl and my moan joined in unholy matrimony.
So much for fake.
So much for my body, heart, and soul.
I move to my knees, trying to remember how to breathe.
His fingers delve in and out of me with an intensity that matches the hunger of my kiss. Every time my tongue gives chase, his reminds me who’s in charge with these hot flicks timed oh-so-perfectly.
Seriously.
This man’s touch has stopped time.
The car no longer moves. The only things that exist are our faces pressed together in a carnival of caresses, and the ground zero blaze where his hand joins my body, pushing into me with a thrust that claims.
A horn bleets, but it’s somewhere else. Someone else’s problem.
Ward’s mouth doesn’t leave mine, and if he’s not bothered by the noise, then—
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Yikes. Never mind.
It blares so loud it’s like it’s coming from inside the car.
I hope Reese hasn’t put the divider down. I jerk away from Ward, gasping. I move too hard, too fast, and I’m about to tumble to the floor. Firm hands pull me back to the seat a second before someone beats on the passenger window. I try to peek out the tinted window, but it’s so dark it’s no use.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Ward says with a sigh.
He stabs at the button to lower the window.
“We’ve been stopped for ten minutes! People are honking at me like crazy. I, um, I got a parking ticket, boss. I tried to honk to wake you guys up, but—”
“I’ll pay the ticket, Reese. Just get back behind the wheel and have a safe trip home.” Ward swings his car door open and steps out. He helps me out and then scoops me up in his arms again.
I try to forget our make out session stopped freaking traffic.
“Careful. A girl could get used to this,” I say, dragging my finger up his jaw, loving the scrape of his beard.
He leans down and brushes my lips with his.
“Maybe you should,” he says.
He carries me past the doorman, through the glass doors, and to the elevator.
Yeah, I can’t take it anymore.
I find his mouth, trace his lips with my tongue, and when he opens, the kiss overflows with a passion deluge.
He carries me to the penthouse and shepherds us through the door, only breaking the kiss once or twice for air before he sets me down.
My hands move to his shoulders and slide under his jacket. I take it off and let it drop on the floor in a rumpled mess.
“Sorry,” I squeak, wincing at how expensive his suits must be.
“I want your tongue back, not your apologies,” he growls.
Happy to oblige.
I fumble for his buttons. It’s surprisingly hard getting a button through a slit when your eyes are closed, your mind is full, and your body is a five-alarm fire.
