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His gaze slides down to where my thong meets his slacks. “Pull your panties to the side. Leave me with something to remember this by.”
I’m too high off the friction to argue. To flushed from the wet and the wanting. I slide my panties to the side and bask under the heat of his fascinated stare as I grind against his leg.
The pressure between my thighs builds and builds with every friction-filled glide, and with every brush of Rapahel’s bulge against the top of my clit.
“Fuck,” he whispers in my ear as I slide my hands between his bent elbows and lock my fingers behind his headrest in order to get a better position. “You’re really going to come on me?”
What type of fucking question is that? Maybe I’d be able to decipher the tone of it, if my pulse wasn’t thumping so loud in my ears; if my body wasn’t screaming with the need for release.
I’m hot, desperate, full of steam and depraved thoughts. In no fit state to answer his question, that’s for sure. But he gets his answer and all it takes is a flex of his thigh. Buckling under the unexpected movement beneath my clit I sink my teeth into Raphael’s bicep to ride the orgasm that licks through my body like a forest fire.
After a few, star-filled moments, my high settles around me like dust. I melt into his chest—a storm to his calm, fire to his ice—to catch my breath back.
Only when my semblance comes crawling back to me, do I realize he hasn’t moved. Hasn’t fucking breathed. With unease and the embers of embarrassment crawling up my throat, I push off him and warily meet his gaze.
It’s expressionless. The colors in it don’t shift, even as he hands me my bra. Even as he drops my top on my lap. I tug it on, heart pounding for a completely different reason now.
Nerves pinching my skin, I slip off him and drop into the passenger seat, awkwardly tugging on my jeans and sneakers.
He stares at me.
“What?” I whisper. I wish my question didn’t make me sound so vulnerable.
Wordlessly, he slips his blazer back over my thighs and turns his attention back to the sheet of rain on the windshield. The car comes to life, headlights casting a yellow glow beyond fragmented water, and a new, cheery Christmas song fills the car.
Throat growing thick, I stare at the glove box, unable to ignore how dread tugs at my heart like an anchor. I’ve been in a similar situation before—twice, actually. I’ve only slept with two men, and both managed to fool me. They laughed when I insulted them, leaned over dining tables and feigned interest when a few glasses of wine loosened my tongue and softened my defenses. Both times, I let them fuck me rough in the backs of their cars, and then never heard from either again.
And now here I am, sitting in silence, squirming in the passenger seat. It feels all too familiar.
But then a firm, hot hand slides under the blazer and rests on my thigh. I glance up at Raphael, but he’s focusing on the gap between the whooshing wipers, steering the car with the palm of his other hand.
“Strip for another man again, and he’ll die crossing the road.”
Warmth grazes one side of my face, and when I roll my head to chase the darkness, the scent of leather and man assaults my nostrils.
Ice and instinct course through my veins and I bolt upright. Through bleary eyes, I blink at the low sun through the windshield. We’re parked outside my apartment. It’s early; I can tell by the frost cloaking the Santas and the shop owners shivering as they wait for their automatic shutters to open.
I slept in Raphael’s car? Shit. I twist my aching head to find him sitting in the driver’s seat, replying to an email on his phone. He’s still wearing the same clothes as last night—slacks and shirtsleeves. In the cold light of day, the ink shrouding his arms looks all too real. Sinister.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I whisper, smoothing a hand over my hair.
He doesn’t look up from his phone. “Wish I did, ‘cause you snore like a donkey.”
“No I don’t.”
He laughs easily, drops his phone in the cup holder, and pins me with a smooth smile. “You go that red over everything?” Before I can reply, he reaches out and runs a thumb down the indentation of my chin. “Relax. You fell asleep, and I thought if you got a good night’s rest, you might not be so shit at your job.”
He holds my gaze for a moment, before lunging over me and shoving open my door.
“Now, get out before I remove your adenoids with my bare hands.”
