I drag her across the seat until she’s straddling my lap. She settles over me, her knees spread wide on either side of my hips, that scrap of silk riding up to her waist, baring her completely. I wedge her between the steering wheel and my chest, two fingers sliding into her dripping pussy.
“Feel this,” I growl, taking her wrist and pressing her palm to the front of my slacks. My cock is a steel bar beneath the fabric, pulsing with every heartbeat. “That’s what you did to me back there. Sitting on my lap like a fucking tease, bare pussy rubbing my dick through my slacks until I was leaking like a teenager.”
She whimpers, fingers curling around the outline of my shaft, squeezing. “Santino—”
“Touch me.” My voice is gravel. “Now.”
Her hands shake as she works my belt, the clink of metal loud in the confined space. The zipper rasps down; my cock springs free, slick with precum that’s been dripping since the poker table. She wraps her fingers around me and strokes once, twice, spreading the wetness from root to crown.
“You feel how hard you made me? I was dying to bend you over that table and fuck you raw in front of them. To show them who you belong to.”
“I need to tell you something important,” she whispers in between strokes of my cock. “I’m not a virgin.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I mutter.
I grip her ass with both hands, lift her clear of the console—her knees knocking the gear shift—and line her up over my cock.
“Please—” She tries to sink down, but I hold her suspended, teasing her entrance with shallow dips that stretchher open just enough. She gasps, nails digging into my shoulders.
Then I drag her down, impaling her in one brutal drop, her soaked heat swallowing every inch. The sound she makes—half scream, half sob—is pure filth. Her pussy clamps around me like a fist, velvet heat sucking me in, rippling along every inch as I bottom out.
She’s so fucking tight, the slickness of her walls milking me with every pulse. I can feel her heartbeat fluttering around my cock, the wet heat of her arousal dripping down my balls, pooling on the leather seat beneath us.
“Fuck, Liana—” I grip her ass, spreading her wider, watching my cock disappear into her again and again as I lift and drop her. Each thrust punches the air from her lungs, her tits bouncing in the plunging neckline, nipples hard. “You’re so fucking perfect. Taking me like you were made for it. Feel that?” I grind up, rolling my hips so the head of my cock drags over that spot inside her. She convulses, inner muscles fluttering wildly. “That’s where I live now. Buried deep inside you.”
I set a punishing rhythm, fucking up into her with short, brutal strokes that make the suspension creak. Every slap of skin on skin is wet, obscene, her wetness coating my shaft. I slide one hand between us, thumb finding her clit, rubbing tight circles until she’s shaking, tears of overstimulation glistening on her lashes.
“Santino—please—can’t—”
“You can.” I pinch her clit lightly, and she detonates.
"Oh God," she moans loudly. "Santo, I'm going to—"
"Come for me," I demand. "Right now."
Her orgasm rips through her like a seizure—pussy locking down, gushing around my cock, soaking my pants. The clench isvicious, dragging me over the edge with her. I roar her name as I come deep inside her, filling her until it leaks out around my shaft, streaking her thighs.
We stay locked together, panting, my cock still twitching with aftershocks inside her fluttering heat. I can feel every pulse of her walls, every drop of our combined release dripping from where we’re joined.
“Next time you want my attention,” I murmur against her sweat-damp throat, “you text me a picture of you like this. Not walk into a room full of wolves with your pussy bare and my name on your lips.”
She laughs breathlessly, clenching around me again. Then she carefully climbs off me, adjusting her dress with shaking hands.
I fix my clothes mechanically, watching her, waiting to see what comes next.
"Can I take you to my place?" I ask.
She's checking her appearance in the visor mirror, finger-combing her messy hair. "Which place?"
"My apartment." I button my pants, tucking in my shirt. "We're not done yet. Not even close."
"Oh." She finds her purse on the floor, checking inside it. "Actually, I should probably get home."
I stop moving. "What?"
"I should go home." She pulls out her phone, checking the time with a casual glance. "It's really late."
"So? Come home with me." It's not a request.
