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Rubbing a thumb over her satiny skin, I say, “I said no panties. I didn’t say anything about not wearing a bra.”
She crosses her arms, hiding her nipples. “Are you always this controlling?”
“You better believe it.” I steal another glance at her before taking the offramp. “But I’m making my decisions with your best interest at heart.”
She challenges the statement with a single, “Ha,” and turns her face to the side to stare through the window.
Sliding my palm up the inside of her thigh, I brush apart the sides of the slit in her skirt. “Were you a good girl? Did you do as you were told?”
She clamps her knees together and grips my wrist in both her hands, but not before my fingertips brush over the velvet softness between her legs where she’s naked. I go from a semi to hard in a second, fantasizing about making her come on my fingers right here in the car.
She tries to move my hand away, but I’m stronger, if only physically. Where she’s concerned, my willpower is weak. If I don’t want to walk into the venue with a telltale bulge in my pants, I’ll be wise to pull my hand from between her thighs.
Instead, I find myself saying, “Open your legs for me.”
She shoots me an incredulous look.
Fuck it. I’m a goner. I’m going to do it.
“Open, Violet. I’m going to make you come before we walk into that ballroom. If you don’t come before we arrive, you’re going to orgasm in the parking lot, and unlike at the restaurant, this one is well lit.”
A flush works its way over her cheeks. Her nipples pebble under the fabric of the sexy-as-sin dress. She’s not embarrassed. The red color on her cheekbones is the result of anger but also of excitement. My girl is sexually adventurous. She can deny it all she wants, but the idea of my fingers inside her while we’re speeding at a hundred and twenty kilometers per hour on the highway, passing cars traveling in the slow lane, turns her on. She likes the idea of coming while the drivers around us are oblivious to where my hand is or how I’m using my fingers.
Slowly, she spreads her legs like I knew she would. Keeping my eyes on the road, I rub a finger around the button at the apex of her folds. She’s slick already, proof that my instinct about her is right. When I gather her wetness and carefully slip a finger inside, she clutches the sides of her seat. I’m tempted to watch her, to study the expression on her gorgeous face, but I’m not taking chances with her safety. My concentration is focused on the road even as I add another finger to the first and give two shallow pumps.
She bites her lip and leans back her head, inhaling sharply when I pick up my pace. Curling my digits, I find her sweet spot while rubbing the heel of my palm on her clit. She turns wetter around my fingers, her inner muscles gripping me harder. Imagining how she’ll feel around my cock nearly makes me explode.
I want to do wicked things to her, things I’ve never done with another woman. I want to pull over and fuck her senseless on the hood of my car. If Gus hadn’t warned us not to be late, I would’ve acted on the fantasy. I would’ve slammed her against the nearest tree and come so deep inside her she would’ve still felt me with every step she took the day after. I would’ve bent her over and ruined her pretty dress, and she would’ve loved every second, because Violet isn’t a glittery star in a dark sky. She’s a comet. Like me, she does nothing in half measures. My girl takes life by the horns and rides it flat-out.
A soft, distressed sound escapes her lips as her hips lift off the seat. She swallows a moan but comes with a shudder, her inner muscles gripping my fingers hard. I don’t let up. I wrench every ounce of pleasure from her body by alternating my rubbing and pumping until her ass hits the seat and her muscles go slack. When I finally pull out, brushing the pads of my fingers over her clit in the process, she quivers with a small tremor.
Reluctant to let go, I cup her sex, holding her warm, soft flesh in my palm as she comes down from her high. She opens her eyes, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t pretend she didn’t enjoy it or that the climax didn’t hit her hard. Her silence and languid body language are honest. I love that about her, that she’s neither faking nor downplaying her pleasure.
I only let go when we approach our exit and I have to change gears. She picks up her bag from where it has fallen by her feet and takes out a tissue to clean between her legs. When she’s done, she crumples the tissue in her fist and dumps it in the garbage bag that’s hooked over the gearstick. What can I say? I’m a pain in the butt when it comes to a clean car interior. She takes a miniature bottle of hand sanitizer from her bag, squirts a little on her palm, and wordlessly offers me some. As I’m driving, she doesn’t have a choice but to rub the gel over my skin.
