I pushed higher, slow, until my fingers slipped beneath the hem of her sweater dress. Her thighs opened—notwide, just enough to say the dare was real. Heat hit me before I even touched her.
“Rayna…” I warned, but it came out broken, not warning at all.
“Don’t stop now,” she said, head tipping back against the seat.
Two fingers slid through her, soaked already, slick dragging me in. Her breath caught sharp, then poured out in a low moan that tightened everything inside me. I pressed my thumb to her clit and circled, lazy, steady.
“Fuck,” she gasped, hips grinding into my hand. “Just like that.”
The light turned red. I braked, never lifting my hand. Her thighs trembled, pussy clenching around my fingers like she meant to trap me. Cars idled all around, but she didn’t care. Neither did I.
“You’re reckless,” I muttered, thumb pressing harder, fingers stroking deeper.
“You love it,” she shot back, voice breaking, eyes locked on mine.
The light flipped green. I drove one-handed, the other hand fucking her slow and messy. She writhed in the seat, moaning into her palm like that could hide the sounds.
“Quentin,” she cried, raw, shaking beside me.
I curled my fingers just right, pressed down on her clit, and she shattered—body jerking, pussy spasming, soaking my hand. I stroked her through it, whispering her name like it was a prayer.
She collapsed against the door, breath wrecked, dress bunched around her hips. I pulled my fingers free, sucked them clean while I watched her try to gather herself.
Her laugh was wrecked, dangerous. “You’re not even close to respectable.”
“Neither are you,” I said, voice hoarse.
Her hand shot across the console and cupped my dick straining my pants. I damn near swerved.
“Now you’re in trouble,” she whispered, lips curving wicked.
Her hand stayed on me all the way up the block, stroking slow through denim like she wanted me to wreck the truck. By the time we pulled into my spot, I was shaking with it.
We didn’t wait. She climbed across the console, mouth on mine, fingers tugging at my zipper. I shoved her dress higher, pushed her panties aside, and slid in with a groan that nearly broke me.
The cab filled with her sounds—high, broken moans that made me drive harder into her, the cab rocking, windows fogging. Her nails raked my chest, her pussy gripping me tight, dragging me deeper, wetter, relentless. She rode my lap like she wanted the whole truck to know her name.
And God help me—I thought about the streetlight outside, the chance of somebody walking by, the risk of being caught with her spread across me. It should’ve slowed me down. Instead, it made me harder—dick thickening inside her, hips driving deeper like the risk itself was gasoline.
Rayna gasped, nails biting into my chest, riding me faster like she knew exactly what danger did to me. “You better not stop,” she whispered, voice breaking wicked.
“I couldn’t if I tried,” I groaned, pounding up into her, the threat of eyes on us twisting my hunger sharper, dirtier.
“Rayna,” I gasped, head falling back as she clenched around me, until I lost rhythm and just fucked her raw. We came together, shaking, teeth on skin, sweat dampening fabric.
When it was done, we stayed tangled for a long minute, her forehead pressed to mine, both of us grinning like thieves.
“Upstairs,” she murmured finally, lips brushing mine. “Now.”
Inside, it didn’t take long. Clothes hit the floor in pieces. I laid her out, kissed her like she was already mine, and we gave the night the rest of us—slow, greedy, everything.
By the time we collapsed in bed, sheets twisted around us, the city outside was quiet. She fell asleep with her leg slung over me, her hand spread across my chest like she meant to keep me there.
And I knew—trouble or not, I wasn’t going anywhere.
By midday, I drove her home. Neither of us hurried. Every red light was a reason to keep my hand on her thigh, every block a dare to turn around.
At her door, she kissed me once—quick, like she was saving something for later. “I like you,” she said, fast, like speed made it safer.
