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Once we’re on the road, I pull my phone out of my purse to text Carla. However, I get sidetracked when Conor’s hand moves to rest high on my leg. His fingers stroke the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, leaving a blazing path in their wake. Nudging his hand high, he slips beneath the hem of my bodycon dress until his middle finger is rubbing over the wet patch on the front of my thong.
An animalistic growl erupts from his chest, and he uses his hand to push my thighs apart before tugging the scrap of fabric covering my pussy to one side and sliding a finger into my wet pussy.
“Text your friend,” he orders, reminding me what I was doing before I got so pleasantly distracted.
I type out a message to Carla, letting her know that I left with Conor and I’ll call her in the morning. With the way Conor keeps curling his finger inside me, it’s almost impossible to string the words together in a coherent manner.
Once I finally press send and throw the phone in my purse, I’m breathing heavily and my cheeks are flushed. Arousal drips from my pussy as he fingers me, sending shockwaves coursing through me every time he hits that perfect spot.
“You’ve got two minutes until we reach my apartment. I want to hear you scream for me, Mia.”
Oh boy, this is not like the sex I had with the boys back home. No, Conor is all man. He knows what he wants, and the wet suction sound as he fucks my pussy with his fingers is demonstrative of just how talented he is. No awkward fumbling and premature orgasms for this guy.
I ride his fingers in earnest, the mumbled curses and low groans I'm eliciting from his throat combatting any embarrassment I might feel otherwise.
“That’s it, babe. Fuck my hand. Come all over my car like the filthy little slut I know you can be.”
I gasp, shocked and embarrassingly turned on at his dirty words. No one has ever spoken to me like that and, in any other context, it might be misconstrued as insulting. But the way Conor says it… it makes me want to be a filthy little slut for him. I want to do all the dirty, depraved things with him.
No more missionary position and faking orgasms. I’m about to reach a whole new level of sexual experience. One I feel few people ever achieve.
His foot slams down on the accelerator and we jump forward. The spike of adrenaline pushes me over the edge, and I scream out Conor’s name as I throw my head back against the headrest and come all over his hand.
I’m still in a daze, coming down from the rush of endorphins, when he pulls into an underground parking garage. The bright fluorescent lights shine through the car window, chasing away the last remnants of my pleasure. My cheeks burn as I swiftly sit upright, pulling my dress down.
“Hey,” he soothes, pulling into a space and parking the car. As soon as he’s turned off the engine, he turns to face me. Sliding one hand into my hair, he pulls me toward him. “Don’t be embarrassed.” There’s the hint of an order behind his tone. “That was hot as hell. I just wish I could have watched as you fell apart on my fingers.”
His finger that was in my pussy just only a moment ago is brushing along my lower lip, and he stares transfixed for a moment before asking, “Have you ever given a man a blow job?”
My eyes widen, and I nervously lick my lower lip, accidentally running my tongue over his finger and tasting my essence on his skin.
“No.”
There was this one time, only I barely got the tip past my lips before I started gagging, and yeah, it’s safe to say it was a complete disaster. Warren never asked me to hang out with him again after that.
I expect him to be disappointed that I don’t have more experience; instead, his eyes flare with heat. “Unbuckle my pants.”
If it’s possible, my eyes widen even more. “H-here?” I ask, scanning what little I can see of the parking garage, considering Conor still holds my head hostage.
“Yes, here.”
I don’t see anyone around, and we are in a fairly abandoned part of the structure. I’ll probably be done in a couple of minutes, anyway. What are the chances someone will see us?
I undo his belt buckle with fumbling fingers. The metallic sound as his zipper lowers fills the car before he lifts his hips, helping me shove down his pants and boxers enough that his erect, bulging cock springs free.
It’s hard and angry-looking, leaking precum, and all I can do is gape, unsure of how the hell I’m going to stretch my lips over the head, never mind covering it with my whole mouth.
Conor’s hand tightens in my hair and then he applies pressure, lowering my face toward the pulsating head. Internally, I’m panicking, and I begin to fight against him, but he doesn’t let up, continuing to push my face closer.
When it’s mere inches from poking me in the eye, I do the only thing I can think of—I stick my tongue out and lick it.
Conor hisses, his hips jolting forward, and assuming that’s a good sign, I repeat the action. This time, I’m rewarded with a string of praised curses.
Hesitantly reaching out my hand, I fist the base before running my hand up his length. I do this several more times while continuing to lick the precum it elicits, before gathering the courage to wrap my lips around the head and slowly lower them over his shaft.
“Oh fucking hell, baby. Yes. That’s it. Take me in deep.”
I stop just before he can block my airway, taking a second to adjust before lifting off him. He only gives me a moment to adapt to the feel of him in my mouth before he begins to direct my movements. Using his grip on my hair, he pushes me down further than I’ve gone before until the air stalls in my throat, then pulls me back. When his head slips from between my lips, I suck in a breath before he pushes me back down. The entire time, he says things like, good girl or that feels fucking amazing. His praises are like a balm to the tears burning my eyes.
