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“There you go.” He leans his head back so he can see me. “Ride me just like that.”
I do because it’s feeling so good and because I need to answer the growing ache at my core. He thrusts up to meet my motion, and we build up a fast, steady rhythm together. My body shakes. The loose strands of hair that have escaped my braid fly around. My breasts jiggle. I can feel them bouncing, and for some reason I love how wild and dirty it feels.
This is me. Olivia Vincent. Naked in a Jeep with a very hot man. Bouncing eagerly on his lap.
He’s grunting loudly as our fucking accelerates, sounding primal, animalistic. The truth is I’m kind of grunting too, making soft, wordless sounds every time our bodies slap together. I can’t seem to help it. The sounds just come out.
My fingers are clenched on his shoulders. The tension inside me is rising to its breaking point. I fall out of rhythm with a sobbing sound.
“Slow down, princess,” he rasps, tightening his hold on my bottom and guiding my motion more intentionally. “You’ve got it. Don’t force it. You’re almost there. Just let it come.”
I sob again and arch my spine, but I don’t fight against his direction. His thrusts from below are still steady but more forceful. We’re actually rocking the Jeep now, a fact that’s both thrilling and embarrassing. “Please,” I gasp, just before I surge into climax.
It’s deep and intense and messy and overwhelming. I shake wildly as the spasms of pleasure rush through me. It lasts so long and feels so good that I’m hoarse and aching all over when the waves start to subside. My inner walls have clamped down all around him, and now Grant falls out of rhythm too.
He lets out a bellow as his body tightens like a fist. Then he’s clumsily pulling me up so that his cock slides out. He takes it in one hand and squeezes as he comes in several hard spurts on my belly.
I fall forward afterward, limp and exhausted. He holds me for just a minute before the stuffy heat in the vehicle and the discomfort of our cramped position finally compel me to move.
It’s a little awkward afterward. Untangling our bodies. Getting out. Putting back on our clothes.
It feels like Grant is watching me, but every time I check, he’s looking at something else.
“Well,” I say at last since someone needs to say something.
He rubs his damp, messy hair with one of his hands. “Yeah.”
I’m nervous now, so I can’t think. I end up laying it all out there. “If you tell me that we shouldn’t do this again, I’m going to need a better explanation than it’s complicated.”
His blue eyes are sharp and observant, despite the deep satisfaction I can still see on his face. “Is this really what you want?”
“Yes. And I think that should be pretty obvious. We’re good together.”
“Yeah. We are.” He rubs at his scalp again, an unusually restless gesture for him. “All right then. Anytime you want to make a move on me, I’m never going to say no.”
This isn’t exactly what I want to hear. I want a clearer understanding of what he’s actually feeling. But he never shows me that. He never shows anyone. And at least this is better than nothing.
It will make it easier. Safer. Sex and nothing more.
I’m sure I can manage that. Why shouldn’t I? It’s not like I have a lot else going on in my life. If I have a willing sex partner, why not make use of him when I want?
“Okay. Good. That’s settled then.”
Since we seemed to have come to an understanding—at least for now—we get back in the Jeep and head home.
We chat occasionally on the drive—about the changed landscape, about the wildlife in this area, about how many people we think are likely to take us up on the offer of moving in with us. It feels as comfortable as it’s ever felt between us, more like it was when we were practicing fighting skills every evening, and I’m generally pleased with my decisions today. So I’m in a decent mood as we turn down the gravel path that leads to the bunker.
But halfway there, Grant applies the brakes. His body visibly tightens.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He tilts his head up toward the tall trees edging the path. “There. It’s a guard post. Noah should be there right now.”
I have to peer closely, or I’d never be able to spot the perch where one of our guards should be posted. There’s no one there now. No one in sight. “What does it mean? Where is he?”
“Something’s wrong,” Grant mutters.
I’m trying to take this in—imagining horrifying possibilities—when Grant suddenly makes a move. He does a three-point turn, repositioning the Jeep so it’s pointing away from the bunker. Then he pulls a rifle out of the back before he climbs out. “Come on,” he says. “We’ll need to stay out of sight to check it out.”
