Page 77 of Holding Ground

“Pull over.”

With a frown, he does as I ask, easing the truck over to the side of the country road. There are no streetlights, and only the glow from the dashboard lights fills the cab of the truck.

“Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

I don’t answer his question. Instead, I undo my seat belt and reach over the console, dragging him forward by his shirt. He comes willingly. Our lips meet, and when his tongue swipes the seam of my lips, I open, deepening our kiss.

With my right hand, I find the center of his lap and feel him hardening beneath the denim. The space between my thighs tingles, and I moan into his mouth before I pull away.

“Let me take care of that for you.” Going back to kissing him, I undo his belt with one hand, the button, and the zipper.

Then I sit back in my seat. Elliott looks at me in the dim interior, and though I can’t see him perfectly, I can see that he’s worked up.

“Push your seat all the way back.”

He doesn’t argue with me. He just does as I ask, so there’s lots of room for me. I get up on my knees and lean over the console, resting my abdomen on it. Elliott helps me get his pants down enough that his cock pops free, then spreads his legs as much as he can in the small space.

Though I ache to feel him inside me, I want to do this for him. I want to give him the kind of pleasure he won’t easily forget, so I grip the base of him and stroke.

First, I watch his face. He’s looking at his lap, licking his lips, eyelids heavy, and there’s a sort of desperation about his expression. Then I watch his chest and the way his breaths come out in short, shallow pants. Finally, I watch my hand stroke him up and down, up and down, slowly. Pre-cum beads at the tip, and it’s instinctual, the way I lean forward and lap it up with my tongue.

Elliott’s deep groan echoes throughout the small space.

Leaning down, I wrap my mouth around him, and he groans again. Elliott’s hand comes to the back of my head, gripping my hair, though he doesn’t direct my movements. I stroke him in tandem as I move up and down, stretching my mouth around his girth. I can’t fit him all the way in, but I’m determined to make this good for him, so I lean even further forward until he hits the back of my throat.

When I gag, his hands tighten in my hair, and he lets out a guttural groan.

I move up and down a few times, then push down hard again, holding myself there. Elliott’s hips arch up, and I gag again, but force myself to relax so I can keep him in the back of my throat. When I finally pull up off him, I need a second to gather myself, so I use my fist, concentrating my efforts on his tip. His eyes close, and his head falls back against the headrest, lost in the sensation.

It’s hard to overstate how much I love that I’m the one taking him to the brink.

He opens his eyes and rolls his head in my direction, meeting my gaze. “Look at you. Fuck.” Elliott uses his thumb to wipe the moisture from my chin.

My core clenches, and I feel desperate, empty for him.

I bring my mouth to his cock again and really work him now. Within seconds, he’s holding me in place with his hand on the back of my head and taking my mouth from below. I don’t resist. I don’t want to. I want him to use me for his pleasure.

And when he finds his release a minute later and spills down my throat, I let out a low hum of approval. I make sure to take it all, then clean him up with my mouth before tucking him back into his pants and returning to my seat.

There’s something innately sexy about watching Elliott adjust himself, do his jeans back up, and refasten his belt. When he looks at me, it’s with wonder in his eyes.

Mission accomplished.

“You’re something else, Em. Full of surprises.” He threads his hand through the hair at the side of my head, then roughly pulls me in for a kiss.

I love that he doesn’t shirk away from kissing me, because I know he must be able to taste himself on my tongue. If anything, he only deepens the kiss.

He pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m gonna make that up to you when we get home.” Then he puts the truck in drive and eases back onto the road.

It’s a short ride until we reach his place, but it’s never felt longer.

When we walk into the house, Ansel is in the family room, watching TV. He stands and looks between us. “How was your night?”

Thinking about what just transpired in Elliott’s truck, I try to hold back my grin.

Ansel must notice or sense something, because he laughs. “That good, huh?” Shaking his head, he walks to the front door. “Well, I’ll leave you guys to it. Baylor didn’t wake up or anything, so you’re probably safe to continue whatever you already started.”

“Ansel…” Elliott’s voice has a warning edge as usual.