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I follow her out of the room and through the twisted maze of the prison halls. She doesn’t speak until we get into the car.
“I’m surprised you didn’t jump over the table and punch Phillips in the throat.”
I look at her in surprise. “Why?”
“You were clearly not happy that he was checking me out.”
“That shirt is not work appropriate,” I growl.
She turns to face me. “Licking your employee’s neck and sucking on her ear and then claiming she masturbates to thoughts of you is not work appropriate. In fact, it’s harassment.”
I shift the car into drive. “Whatever you say.”
“That’s all you are going to say?” she asks me with a huff.
I sneak a glance at her. “What do you want me to say. An apology?” I wave at the guard as he lifts the gate to let us out of the parking lot. “I am not apologizing. Not when you were so close to moaning my name from just the feel of my tongue on your neck. When I could feel you holding back from thrusting your hips against mine. You liked it more than I did.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” I ask teasingly. “Or would you have preferred I did more? Maybe dropped my hand and caressed your breasts, found your nipples taut with need. Maybe slid my hand down farther under your skirt to find the heat between your thighs. Your clit pulsing, begging for me to touch it.”
She swallows and I know my words are turning her on, no matter how hard she fights it. “Sexual harassment,” she breathes.
“Is it though?”
“Yes. You’re the lawyer.”
“And you are the one sitting next to me, turned on by my words. Wishing I would touch you. I think that’s consent.”
She just squeaks and I know I am getting to her. I reach across the console and put my hand on her thigh, causing her to jump. I squeeze her thigh, then slowly glide my hand higher to the apex of her thighs, desperately wishing she wore a skirt today.
My fingers graze her center, the warmth penetrating through her pants, and I know she is turned on. I know she is probably wishing she wore a skirt today too. I run my hand up and down her thigh, my finger grazing her core each time I reach the top. I am just about to pull my hand away when she grasps my wrist, holding it against her heat.
“Carson,” she whispers and then moans.
My name on her lips has my dick raging hard. I pull off into a parking lot of a park and drive toward the end of the lot, where a willow tree drapes over the space.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“You can’t make those sounds and not make me want to fuck you.”
She looks around the wooded area. “We can’t.”
“Because we are in public or because of your brother?”
She bites her lip as I press hard against her clit. “Both,” she moans.
I throw the car in park and unbuckle my seat belt and lean into the console. My hand sliding up to the buttons of her pants. She moans as I pop them open, her body squirming in the seat.
“Spread your legs,” I demand.
She doesn’t hesitate, opening them as far as she can in the front seat of the car.
I slide my fingers down her stomach and over her clit. She is soaked. And I have no doubt it’s not just my words or my actions but this unspoken game we are playing.
I rub her clit, circling it with my index finger as I lean into her neck. “Do you like that? Does that feel good? Have you been dreaming about my fingers inside you? My tongue? My dick? Are your fingers as good as mine as you relive that night over and over in your head?”
She shakes her head, her hips thrusting into my fingers. I slide a finger inside of her, the warm welcome of her heat something I have been dying to touch and taste again.
