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He’s pliant, kissing me back deeply. His mouth is greedy. A hungry man needing the sustenance I’m offering.
I push my hands in his golden-blond strands, savoring the way they feel under my fingers. I’ll miss the way they feel. The way he feels as he kisses me with everything he has.
Every ounce of passion, need and heat.
I’ve never felt so perfectly matched, so thoroughly understood as I do with this guy.
And I don’t care about the rules we set the other night. Or the ones I reset last night.
I just need another hit of my man. He’s not mine. But maybe for a little while on a country road, he can be.
I break the kiss. “Backseat. Get on my lap.”
“Fuck yes,” he says, with his trademark enthusiasm that makes my heart beat too fast.
I unlock the belt, then climb over the console, bumping my hip against the seats.
He’s right there after me, knocking the roof of the car with his head, banging his knee against the drink holder.
Who fucking cares?
Not me. Not him.
In no time, he’s straddling me, his knees on either side of my thighs. He reads my mind or maybe my body as he starts rocking against my erection.
I groan as I grab his face, but I don’t kiss him again. I just look at his lust-crazed eyes, his bruised lips, his eager grin.
This man is mine right now.
And I want him to know it. I glance around one more time, checking the scene. It’s mid-afternoon, and the sun is bright overhead. But we’re all alone behind these windows, and I take a chance. I unzip his shorts.
“Fuck, Tanner,” he says, like a warning.
“Want me to stop?” I desperately hope he says no.
He grabs my hand, presses it firm against his straining cock. “Does it feel like I want you to stop?”
I kiss the corner of his lips and murmur, “No. Feels like you want to fuck my hand.”
He shudders. “You can read my dick perfectly.”
With a laugh, I unzip his shorts the rest of the way, and shove my hand into his boxer briefs, wrapping it around his throbbing length.
“Yes,” he mutters, shuddering out his approval. He grips my right shoulder with one hand, then pushes his shorts and briefs down farther with his other hand, freeing his cock more. He returns his hands to my shoulders, using me as a lever so he can fuck into my grip.
I stroke faster, coming in for a possessive kiss as I do. My head swims with lust, but passion too. His mouth is incredible, soft and lush, and I can’t get enough of him. Of his lips, and his sighs, and his moans. Of his cock, and his need, and his heat.
He rocks into my hand, eagerly fucking my fist. I wrench away for a second to spit into my hand, then I return to him.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters. “Missed you last night. Missed you the night before too.”
My heart slams harder. “Same here,” I say, working his fine cock with my wrist.
“So much,” he mutters, then lets go of my shoulders, showing off his quickness as he unzips my shorts and frees my dick too.
“God yes. Touch me,” I say, begging unashamedly.
Soon, we’re working each other, spitting into palms, then jerking in tandem. I’m shaking with desire and sweating all over. I’m sure the windows are steaming up, and I’m sure, too, that I just don’t care.
I can’t care about anything but his hand sliding over the head of my dick, squeezing out a drop of pre-come and coating my cock with it.
I’m moaning his name, groaning obscenities, when Luke knocks my hand off his dick.
He pushes his body even closer to mine and angles himself on my lap so our dicks are touching. Another lick of his palm, then he takes us both in his hand, gripping our shafts together, using our pre-come to ease the path.
I stare down at the filthy and beautiful sight. Our hard, hungry cocks in his palm. Him shuttling his fist faster and faster still till my whole body jerks with pleasure, then I’m spilling in his palm. Seconds later, he’s shooting too, his hot release covering his hand and our dicks.
It’s wild and wicked and kind of wonderful too.
I don’t know how I’m going to survive this wedding without the world knowing how this man makes me feel.
But I’m going to have to try.
First though, I reach up for a kiss. A tender, needy one, then I ask, “Is my Audi sexy now?”
“I’ve never been so happy to be wrong about a car,” he says, returning my kiss with a sweet, lingering one of his own that sure makes me feel like his man.
A new desire swirls up in me, but this one’s not sexual. It’s purely emotional, this powerful impulse to ask: Would you change your mind?
