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I search his face. “From what I can tell, we’re all doing our best to make it through each day on blind faith that tomorrow might be better.”
His searing gaze makes my cheeks feel hot. He reaches over and unlatches my seatbelt, which may be the most offensive thing that’s ever happened to me. “You’re kicking me out?”
He frowns. “With insights like that and tits like those?Fuckno.”
He reaches across the seat, grabs me with strong hands, and hauls me closer, until we’re breathing each other’s air. “You were sitting too far away to kiss,” he says, pushing his fingers into the hair at the base of my skull.
My scalp prickles with sensation as his grip firms. He pulls my mouth to his in a kiss that starts with a gentle teasing taste but quickly progresses to an authoritative and capable plundering that urges me to either resist or submit. Each of his testing passes leaves me feeling more and more needy, and I choose to chase the satisfaction he seems to promise.
He moans into my mouth and works his fingers deeper into my hair, until he’s tugging and angling me to take his tongue just so. He slides his other hand down the neckline of my borrowed dress, to slip beneath the fabric and palm my breast. I gasp against his lips as he captures my nipple between his thumb and finger and twists, and then I press closer.
It’s exactly what I wanted, and he knew just how to give it to me. He really does know what he’s doing. I want him to show me more, and his mindful touch and mature presence gives me the courage to say so.
“Take me home and lick me,” I pant when he releases my breast and pulls back with a strained sigh. “Now,” I say, embracing the shameless need that he evokes in me. “I want to come.”
He sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip and glances around before he runs his rough fingers up my outer thigh and under my dress. “Would you still come home with me if I made you come right here?” He grips my bare, fleshy ass with an approving grunt, and then trails his hand over to my inner thigh and thrusts my legs apart.
“Short dress and no panties. With a stiff breeze outside. Bold choice.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine, and he strokes his thick fingers through my slick folds. His eyelids flicker with almost the same sort of fluttering I can feel in my chest as his eyes search mine, and he mutters under his breath. “You’re soaking wet, little miss.”
That name makes my legs slip wider in invitation, but he only keeps stroking.Stroking. So slowly, I want to growl in frustration. I rock into his touch, wanting him to push his fingers inside, the way I would have by now if they were mine.
“Why isn’t your face between my legs yet?” I ask when he purposely eases back. I chase his hand, too incensed with need to mind my tongue or my actions.
His smiling lips press together, and he hums with what I’m certain is approval.
He likes me — likes the way my body responds to him and how my hungry thoughts blurt out uncensored.Good. Because I’m going to say and do some outlandish shit by the time where done with each other, I just know it. I need him touching me again.
“I’m serious,” I warn him, when he continues to watch me squirm instead of bringing me relief. “Get me any wetter, and you’ll need to lick my slick from your seats, too.”
A soft puff of air leaves his nose, as he smirks. “I like the sound of that,” he says in a husky whisper.
Everything lights up bright as day around us.
I jump when a horn blasts at us from behind, but Gunnar isn’t fazed.
He pushes two big fingers inside me and smothers my surprised cry with his hungry mouth. He gulps down my whimpers, like they’re just what he wanted, and I urgently want to give him some more. When he hooks his fingers into my inner walls and pumps them in and out of me, I surrender to his touch, but he soon retreats, to leave me needy and bereft.
“Sorry, little miss. We need to move,” he says, taking his fingers to his smiling mouth. He licks them once. Twice. And then sucks them both into his mouth, cleansing them of my arousal in the most unhurried fashion imaginable as he moans.
The horn sounds again, and Gunnar barely seems to notice. His entire focus is on me, and his pupils are so dilated I can hardly see the blue of his eyes, despite the brightness from the headlights behind us lighting up the side of his face.
“They can fucking wait,” he rumbles when I glance backward. “I need some more.”
I stare at him, transfixed. I don’t think anyone has looked at me with this much intensity and interest since maybe when I learned to walk. Definitely not so recently I can remember the seductive feeling of being worthy or special enough to have earned the attention.
He’s literally holding up traffic. For me. I’m going to give him anything he wants, I just know it. What if he wants to stick it in my ass?
“Shelby, fuck that sweet little cunt with your fingers and give me some more,” he commands in a deep, gravel-like tone that makes him sound desperate for another taste. How rough would those husky whispers feel against my skin?
The only thing wrong about it is that he called meShelby. Would he forgive me for the lie if I confessed right now? Or would he kick me out of his car and leave me pining for his intensely masculine energy and the flattering way he seems enthralled every time I check to see if he’s looking at me.
When I don’t move, Gunnar frowns. It highlights the fine lines in his forehead and reminds me of our age difference. It’s somehow reassuring and intimidating all at once. He’s a big, strong-looking man with years of experience, who lugs around stones, and promises to fuck me so I’ll feel it for days. He’s like a moderately refined caveman, only he’s wearing a flannel shirt over a band T-shirt that looks like he bought it at an actual Nirvana concert. A mountain man with the heart of a musician, maybe?Fuck, that’s a hot combo.
“Little miss?”
God, that fucking name. My heart is racing, and my breath is hard to catch. I’ll be hislittle missany day of the week, if he keeps looking at me like I’m where his next breath is coming from. I’m so going to give him whatever he wants.
