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It doesn’t matter if she’s in love with Nic. I’m not looking for love. We could never work for real, but the sex…
My brain spends all morning coming up with reasons why casual sex with Ash is a good idea. It would relieve stress. Make this trip more interesting. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex and I really, really miss it.
It would be so fucking good with her.
All afternoon, I shoot holes in those reasons.
Sex with Ash would only relieve stress between the moment of orgasm and the moment she opened her mouth. The odds are good that would be under five minutes.
It might make the trip more interesting, but so would an audiobook. Hell, anything would be more interesting than driving through the plains. Plus, interesting isn’t always good, and who knows what the fallout of sex with Ash would look like.
Abstaining won’t kill me. Hasn’t yet. I can jack off when we get to the hotel. Correction, I will be jacking off when we get to the hotel because this woman is my catnip. I’m jealous of the seat belt pressed against her fantastic tits. If she accidentally grabbed my cock today, I’d come in my pants.
We’re still days away from LA and this is trouble. Nothing good can come from sleeping with Ashley.
My resolve holds out until the late afternoon when we’re miles from anything. The road is straight and boring and I’m backsliding into bad intentions. I roll my window down, but the fresh air doesn’t help. It whips her platinum blonde hair around, the ends of it occasionally brushing my arm. She doesn’t care that she’s in a whirlwind of hair as she sings quietly to the song on the radio.
Fuck the consequences. I reach over and rest my hand on her bare thigh.
Ashley stops singing and stares at my hand. I squeeze just hard enough for her to catch my intention.
She bites her lip, staring at me from behind her windblown hair, debating the same thing that’s been running through my head all day.
I wait to see what she’ll do, my heart hammering in my chest.
The song’s melody dips low and sultry.
Her smile turns wicked, but her touch, when she slides her hand over mine, is light. Slowly, she slides my hand up her thigh. Under her skirt. Up and up as she spreads her legs wider.
I swallow when the side of my little finger brushes damp silk.
“You used my bikini to get off,” she says, her voice husky, barely audible over the music. “I get your fingers.”
Fuck yes. I shift in my seat from the unbearable pressure my jeans are putting on my rapidly hardening cock.
“For the next five minutes,” she lifts my hand away and places light kisses on my fingers. “These are mine.” Her lips part and two of my fingers slip into her mouth. Her tongue is soft and wet and warm. I swallow a moan as she sucks me. Ash slides them out and smiles. “Then we’re even.”
That’s as far as she’ll take this. Fine. It’s for the best, and I’ll still get a taste of her and something concrete to fantasize over when I’m alone in my hotel room tonight.
She’s waiting, so I nod, my gaze dropping to where her skirt rests high on her thighs. Yeah, I want this too.
“Eyes on the road, baby,” she chides, a slow smile forming under my fingertips.
“Turn the radio off.” I all but growl, snapping my eyes back to the road. “If I can’t watch you come on my fingers, I want to hear you.”
“If you do it right, you won’t need the volume down.”
Fuck. I hold the steering wheel in place with my knee for the five seconds it takes me to squeeze myself through my jeans.
“Hand on the wheel,” Ash says in a stern voice. “And watch your speed. I don’t want some state trooper to get between me and this orgasm.”
Fine. I’ll ignore my cock and focus on the road. As much as I can.
Because she might be the actual devil, she pushes my hand down over her tits, letting me get a quick squeeze while she shifts in the seat and spreads her legs to give me better access. I barely catch the moan in my throat when she brushes my knuckles over her wet panties.
I’m not sure how much control she expects to keep, but she doesn’t protest when I slide under the soft fabric and Christ. She’s so wet my fingers slip over her. Beneath the thrum of the song on the radio and the rush of the wind through the windows, she moans at my touch. Her hand tightens on my wrist.
I want to pull over onto the shoulder to watch. Instead, I check my speed. Check my mirrors. The road is empty except for us.
