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They struggled for a moment, as he adjusted her on his lap, so he could release her arms from the confines of the dress, and free her breasts.
Her nipples throbbed, so hard they were already begging for his attention.
She sat on his lap, topless and exposed and so needy she thought she might actually die from the desperate need to feel his lips on her. The solid erection felt huge trapped between her legs, but only increased her desire. She wriggled, instinctively trying to alleviate the pressure against the hard ridge.
He groaned, the raw sound a sop to her ego, making her feel powerful… Or at least less powerless.
His dark eyes met hers as he cradled the swollen weight of her breasts in his palms, traced the edges of the areolae. ‘Don’t move, Orla. Or this will be over far too soon.’
She stilled, the agony intensifying.
Then he bent forward and licked across the turgid tip of one nipple. She moaned, bucked, unable to do as he demanded, rubbing against the ridge trapped in his pants. The exquisite torture continued as he captured the stiff peak with his mouth and suckled hard. The pressure built and twisted at her core, her skin tight, raw, aching, her breasts on fire as he tormented one nipple, then the other.
Her soft, guttural moans echoed around the car, flagrant, uninhibited, desperate.
He bucked his hips, and finally released her from the torture, rearing back to press his hands to her burning cheeks.
‘Release me,’ he said.
She nodded, eager and yet unsure. Aware of him watching her, she tried to look as if she knew what she was about as she fumbled with his zip, concentrating hard. At last she managed to locate the tab and draw it down, her fingers shaking. As she undid the zip, revealing black boxer briefs, the defined outline of his erection took her breath away.
Good Lord, that’s… Impressive.
She pulled the waistband down and the erection leapt free, so hard, so long, so thick, so beautiful.
Her breathing clogged in her lungs, the air conditioning chilling her damp breasts only adding to the barrage of sensations as she stared at the magnificent length.
Had she done that to him? Did he want her that much?
‘Does it hurt?’ she said, then realised her mistake when he gave a strained chuckle
.
‘Yes, it does. I’d love nothing more than for you to ride me right now,’ he said, the explicit language only making her feel more needy, more desperate and like more of a fraud. ‘But I don’t have protection with me. So we’ll have to be creative.’
She wanted to ask his permission, to touch him, but forced herself to trail a finger down the solid length, gasping when it jumped, bending towards her touch.
‘Hold me,’ he said, his voice a tortured husk of breath. It was all the encouragement she needed, fascinated and so turned on her thoughts were no longer her own.
She wrapped trembling fingers around the thick girth, marvelling at how soft and strong he felt—like steel encased in the finest velvet. Her thumb captured the bead of moisture leaking from the crown, lubricating her fingers, allowing her to slide them up, then down.
‘Ah, yes…’ He shuddered, shifted. The feeling of power built but then he moved the hand he still had in her panties. She bucked against his hold, his touch sure and firm and unflinching as he pressed the heel of his palm into her vulva then teased the swollen nub. He circled and stroked, expertly stoking the fire until it burned and stung.
But even as the rush of desire hit her, so did the terrifying rush of emotion.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he demanded.
So many things, too many to count.
‘I…’
I don’t know…
‘Is this good?’ he asked.
She nodded, round a choking sob, just as he swirled and stroked over the very heart of her.
She jolted, panting now, trying to concentrate on him, but too aware of his devious, devastating touch. She was caught in a battle of power, and passion and submission. A battle she was desperate to wage, but soon realised she didn’t know how to win.
