Page 32

Do I want to fuck a twenty-one-year-old? Not just any—I’m not gross. But this one? That fate dropped in my lap with legs that go on for days? Of course. I’m a normal guy with needs. I think of sex every minute because it’s how I’m wired, but I can also separate those thoughts and feelings from dictating my actions. Clearly. Tilly knows that better than anyone else.

But I don’t respond to her. Not with words.

Instead, I crash my lips to hers and shift to cover her body with mine. I slip my hand under the lined, lacy fabric covering her boob, and she pulls back and gasps for air.

“What if someone sees?” she pants.

I glance to each side. “Who’s going to see?”

She smirks and relaxes against the pillows, and I kiss over her collarbones and down to the swell of her chest. Her boobs aren’t large yet still fill out this dress. They may not fill my hands, but they’re perky as her nipples are taut with how aroused she already is.

“Is this what Tilly wants?” I murmur against her chest.

“Yes,” she sighs. Her hands trail to my belt.

“Nope,” I say, sitting up. Her expression changes quickly from lust to terror that I might stop this completely. “I’m not fucking you for the first time in the back of my truck. My back can’t handle that.”

“Oh,” she whispers and looks away.

“But…you’re not the only one who wants it,” I finally admit to give her something.

I allow myself to caress her toned thighs and carefully shove the material of her dress up her legs to bunch it around her waist. Just a white thong is between me and her pussy. Her breath hitches as I hook the cotton material with my index fingers and slip it down her legs. She gently kicks it off.

Fuck, her pussy is perfect.

In the dim late evening light, it’s glistening with how ready she is for me. I don’t want to wait much longer either, but it’s not the best time. I plant kisses up her thighs, and she shifts under me with each one. I know I could slip myself in her without any prep, and I have to resist the urge. My fingers separate her slit, opening her up.

I press my lips just above her clit, and her hips buck. I use one hand to hold her in place, and I swirl my tongue over her clit. She gasps and props herself upward to see how I’m doing, but I stay focused on her clit. I slip a finger in her, and she clenches around me. She’s on the edge, and I’ve barely touched her. But after rejecting sex with her for a few days, I’ll make her come. But the next time she does will be around my cock.

My fingers are long but don’t go nearly as deep as I would. For now, my finger will have to do. I suck on her clit and curl my finger inside her. She clenches tighter, and I do it again. That completely unravels her. She moans hard, and I feel her body shudder with an orgasm. The waves crashing through her are strong, and I can’t wait to feel her come on my cock.

In time, Enzo …

“Oh, my God, Enzo!” she pants. She shakes her head and laughs. “How the fuck do you know everything?”

I kiss the inside of her thigh and pull my finger from her. “Mm, it’s all a matter of paying attention.”

And experience knowing where the damn G-spot is.

“I don’t think anyone has made me come. Not like that. Not that fast,” she adds.

Goddamn, that’s a tragedy, but a good thing for me.

“I’d usually spend more time between your legs, but we should head back before it gets dark. I have to strap down those tires.” I lean up, supporting my weight on my wrists, and peck her on the lips. Her cheeks are red, as is her neck. Not even her tan can hide that.

“Am I supposed to act normally after that?” she asks breathlessly.

I smirk and hand her thong to her. “Well, you have an hour ride.” I kiss her again, and she drapes one of her arms over my shoulder.

“Five more minutes?” she replies with a light giggle.

“Maybe,” I say, running my hand up her clothed side. She pulls me back to her and deepens our kiss. Her other hand slips under my shirt over the soft contours of my abs, and just as I slip my tongue past her lips, she grazes her fingers over my jean-clad groin.

She pulls her lips from mine and gasps. “How are you not hard?” she asks, studying my eyes. I chuckle and sit back on my heels. I take her hand and guide her fingers over my aching length, pressed against my thigh, straining against the tight denim. “Holy shit,” she mumbles.

“We’ve gotta get going,” I say, my voice hoarser than I expected.

Tilly helps put the cooler, blanket, and pillows into the backseat while I strap the two tires down in the back of the bed. She’s pouty in the passenger seat, and her face doesn’t change much as the bumpy dirt road turns to asphalt again. The ride back is treacherous from the missing inner back tires, and I keep the automatic exhaust brake on the entire way to help with traction.