“I’m not.” My voice cracked.
“You are.” His other hand pushed my thighs apart, forcing me to straddle him wider. The leather of the seat groans. “And I love it.”
His cock pressed against the curve of my ass, thick and hot through the thin cotton of my underwear. I felt the pulse of him, the impatient twitch. My breath hitched, and I was shaking. But it wasn’t fear; it was need.
And as if sensing the exact fix, he flipped me.
One moment, I was straddling him; the next, I was spin around, my back pressing against his chest, his arms locking around my waist. I gasp as my hands gripped his thighs for balance.
“What—”
His lips brush my ear, his breath hot. “I want to see you ride me like this. I want to watch your face in the window.”
My heart hammering deep in my chest.
“Look at how fucking beautiful my wife is,” he said, his voice low and rough.
I could see us in the reflection of the tinted glass—me, flushed and breathless, my sundress twisted, my hair a mess. He, all hard angles and dark intensity, his hands already pushing my underwear down my thighs.
“Lorenzo—”
“Stand up for a second.”
I forced my eyes open and took in the window reflection, watching as he slides inside me. Slow. Deep.
My legs felt like jelly as I braced my hands on the seat, rising just enough for him to drag my underwear down my thighs. The fabric caught on my hips, then fell, pooling around my ankles. I kick them off blindly, desperate—a knee-jerk obedience that made him chuckle low in his throat.
“Good girl.”
The praise hit like a shot of whiskey—warm, sharp, dizzying. I sank back down, and this time there was nothing between us. His cock slid along my slick folds, not entering, just teasing, coating himself in the evidence of how badly I wanted this. How badly Ineededit.
He pressed the crown of his cock against my entrance—just the tip, just enough to make me gasp. I pushed back instinctively, trying to take him deeper, but his hand clamps down on my hip, holding me still.
“Not yet.” His teeth scraped my earlobe. “I want to feel youbeg.”
I was beyond shame. Beyond pride. My voice came out broken and wet. “Please, Lorenzo. Please. I need you.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
He rewarded me with a slow, maddening push—the head breaching my tightness, the stretch a burn and a bliss all at once. I whimpered, head falling back against his shoulder. He filled me inch by inch, savoring the resistance, the slick heat of my body opening for him.
His hands find my hips, gripping tight, guiding me.
“Move,” he commanded.
And I did.
I rocked against him, slow at first, finding my rhythm. My thighs burned with the effort, but the feeling was intoxicating. He was inside me, and every movement sent sparks shooting through my body.
His hand slid up my stomach, over my ribs, until he found my mouth.
“The driver doesn’t need to hear what’s mine,” he whispered.
I pressed his palm against my lips, muffling the sounds I couldn’t stop. Moans, whimpers, cries that wanted to be screams.
His other hand drifted lower, fingers finding my clit. I was so sensitive that the touch alone caused me to buck.
