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He groans. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to touch me like that.”
“Probably as long as I’ve wanted to do this.” I slide my hand out and take hold of his jeans, giving them a tug. He lifts his hips in answer, and I shimmy them off, lowering them to his muscular thighs, unintentionally pulling the blankets with them. I get my first up-close, unhindered look at Shane’s perfect dick, thick and long and resting heavy between his bare thighs.
My throat goes dry.
Seriously, Ms. Dixon’s bananas have nothing on Shane. Thank God we never went this far that summer because I doubt I would have been able to stop.
If we were in a more private situation, I wouldn’t hesitate to lean over and take him in my mouth. But if someone is watching us, that would be an obvious flag, and I will not become the second Reed woman to get caught giving a blow job in a public place in Polson Falls.
Easing the blankets back up over his lap for privacy—on the off chance someone happens to stroll by and peer in—I nestle my head against his chest, wrap my fist around him and begin stroking, letting my thumb sweep over the tip with each pass, wishing it was my tongue.
I didn’t think Shane’s erection could get any bigger and yet, it’s still swelling within my grip as I jack him off in a steady, calm rhythm, trying to keep our public indecency private. Shane has given up all hope of watching the movie, switching off the volume and closing his eyes.
“Kind of hard to watch a movie like that,” I tease.
“I can’t watch that while you’re doing this.”
His hand is still tucked into my panties but his fingers move lazily, without purpose, as I pleasure him. Still, moisture pools with just his touch as I anticipate hearing Shane come for the first time. I suspect that will be very soon, based on the subtle rocking of his hips.
“Faster,” he whispers on a sigh, his free hand bunching around the blankets.
I quicken my wrist action, squeezing his shaft as my hand glides from root to tip, the soft, erotic sound of skin rubbing against skin competing with Shane’s shallow, ragged breaths in the otherwise silent car.
At some point, he pulled the hem of his T-shirt up, exposing the pad of thick muscle across his stomach. I marvel at the carved beauty of those ridges as his body tenses with pleasure, as Shane gets ready to explode.
“I’m coming,” he hisses through gritted teeth. A moment later, he pulses within my palm and hot spurts run over my fingers as he unloads into the blanket. His jaw is taut as deep, guttural groans escape him, as if he’s trying to keep quiet when all he wants to do is yell.
A soft “fuck” slips out with a final shudder, his body relaxing beneath me.
We remain like that for a few moments, his chest heaving, me curled into his side, still gripping him. With a final, parting squeeze that makes him inhale sharply, I release him to hold my hand up in front of us. “You said you didn’t want me in your car with sticky hands,” I joke. While the red blanket took most of that mess in, my hand is still coated.
“Here.” He uses a corner to wipe my fingers and palm clean. When he’s done, he balls up the soiled material and tosses it to the floor, leaving us with the soft gray blanket.
“You weren’t kidding about planning ahead.”
“Aren’t you happy I did?” With a smirk, he tugs his boxers and jeans up but doesn’t bother fastening them yet. Turning toward me, he curls his arm around my body and pulls me in tight against him. Peering at me through heavy-lidded, satisfied eyes, his hand works its way beneath the blanket again, to the slit in my dress. “Take these off.” He toys with the elastic waistband on my panties.
I lift my hips and shimmy the silk material down my thighs as requested.
He guides them the rest of the way until they’re lost on the floor and then he slips his hand between my thighs.
I let out an embarrassing whimper as he teases my clit, his thumb drawing small circles.
“Go back to watching the movie,” he whispers with a smug smile, echoing my words from earlier.
I laugh. “I was never watching the movie.” The truth is anything could have been playing and my attention would have been lost on the man sharing the front seat with me. I close my eyes so I can avoid the gory scene on the screen and focus on Shane’s lips on my neck and his talented fingers as he brings me to a shuddering orgasm.
“I can’t tell you the last time I got a hand job on a date,” Shane says as we climb the steps to my front porch. The light shines bright this time, and I have no trouble sliding my key into the lock.
