“Something wrong?” Calla tuts, tone dripping with faux sympathy.
Tipping my head into the back of the leather headrest, I loll to one side, narrowing my eyes at her.
“It’s your fault.”
“Myfault?” Calla presses a palm to her chest. “Nuh-uh, mister.”
A laugh escapes me then, quickly followed by a stuttered groan I’m certain the taxi driver hears.
“Here?” Calla grazes her fingers along the bulge of my hard cock, squeezing slightly. My hips raise of their own accord, chasing the pain pleasure she’s eliciting. “Is this where it hurts?”
I drag my gaze back up to her pretty eyes, noting the mischievous sparkle in them.
“Maybe I should check it out?” She hums, all spun sugar sweet, like butter wouldn’t melt. “Make sure everything’s okay, you know?”
Reaching outward, I sink my thick fingers into Calla’s soft hair, gripping the whole surface of her skull in my palm. I bring her closer to me, until she’s practically on top of me; the only thing keeping us apart is the stretch of Calla’s seatbelt.
Nudging my nose with hers, I find my voice. “You want to be put on your knees, Calla?”
Her eyes bounce over my face before she licks her lips and nods.
In the front, through the glass partition, I hear the driver cough loudly, as if to remind us we’re not alone.
Yet.
Right now, in this very moment, I can’t find it within myself to be fucking bothered by his presence. It’s Calla who moves first, laying her lips on mine with a wild fervour I’m coming to associate with her.
I don’t think Calla does anything by halves.
I like it that way.
She’s unlike anybody I’ve ever met before, not afraid to standalone, to be different, and quite frankly, I can’t get enough of it.
Of her.
When Calla moves her lips to trail a path down my neck, deft fingertips slipping my topmost button through its slit, revealing more of my chest, and pressing her wet mouth there, I make the mistake of glancing out of the taxi window. I notice it’s smeared with handprints, the sprawl of London town passing us by, people and bars and shops and—
I sit upright abruptly. Grabbing Calla’s waist with one hand to keep her steady, I form a fist with my other hand, rapping once on the partition separating the taxi driver and his passengers.
“Yeah, mate?”
“You wouldn’t mind just pulling up the curb, would you?I need to grab something. Could you keep the meter running?”
The cabbie flicks his eyes up to my total fee. He sucks on his teeth. “If you’re quick.”
“Five minutes. Tops.”
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I drag Calla out of the car with me, lacing our hands together again as our feet hit the pavement. Everything sways for a second before the world rightens itself once more.
I blame that bloody shot of tequila.
“Blake,” Calla protests. “What—”
“I don’t have any condoms at home,” I say, swerving to avoid a group of rowdy teenagers gathering outside a famous fast-food restaurant and then taking a hard left into a familiar drugstore.
“Oh.”
“Mhm,” I hum, navigating my way along the aisles, past shelves full of hygiene products, toothbrushes and—
