I shook my head, grasping his cock as I straddled his lap again.
“Just thinking. Santa seemed to know exactly what I wanted for Christmas, too.”
Wingman chuckled, smoothing hands around my hips as I sank down onto his cock. His laugh turned into a deep, rumbling moan. The tendons in his neck strained and he pulsed his hips up, fucking slow and deep.
“Goddamn, sweetheart. You’re so hot and wet for me.”
I gave a pleased little hum, with the warmth of a blush rising in my cheeks at the compliment. Resting my hand on his chest, I started to ride him, savoring every inch after feeling empty for so many years.
It’s only sex,I told myself, over and over.It doesn’t mean anything.
But it was so hard to remember that with his mouth at my neck. Or the pulse of his cock, dragging along my walls.
And the way he kissed me, like he was a drowning man and I was the air to sustain his lungs. Plying my mouth open with his skilled tongue. I wanted to kiss like this every day for the rest of my life.
A well of loneliness opened in the pit of my stomach. I tried to bury it again, circling my hips harder, desperate to lose myself in the moment so I didn’t have to think about what came afterward.
My lower belly clenched tight. My thighs trembled, but my muscles ached from disuse. Wingman took over, burying his face in my chest and driving into me. I wedged a hand against the car’s ceiling to stabilize myself and I closed my eyes. Surrendering to every ripple of sensation as I came.
“Shit,” Wingman said through his teeth. He cupped my cheek in his callused palm, pulling me down with a biting kiss. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come.”
I grinned down at him, wiggling on his cock. His orgasm hit him hard, abs flexed tight as he flung his head back. He dug his fingers into the plush flesh of my hips.
A little thrill zipped up my spine, watching the pleasure morph across his features. I took the opportunity to admire him. Tattoo ink curved over his obliques and marked his shoulder. More ink cascaded down his right arm to his wrist in a full sleeve.
A guy like him would never be attracted to me if he knew that I was a single mom.
But I enjoyed myself for now. The fantasy would be over soon enough.
Despite the heater blasting against my back, a draft of icy air still seeped from around the windows. I huddled against the warmth of Wingman’s chest, kissing his neck and nipping at his earlobe. My tangled hair spilled over my shoulder, and my lips felt tender, swollen.
His fingertips drifted in lazy patterns over my back, idly tracing up and down my spine.
“Told you that I’d make it worth your while.”
I rolled my eyes, fighting back a smile.
“Must you cheapen the moment?”
“Dn’t pretend you were looking for a five-star-hotel lay. You’re the one who wanted to fuck in the back seat of my car.”
“It beats a quickie in the clubhouse kitchen,” I protested. “Which is what you were angling for.”
“Hey, that kitchen is huge and roomy. Plenty of space to move around and spread out. Surfaces to lean on.”
“Well, you’ll just have to try harder to get into my pants when we’re in the kitchen next time,” I replied, gathering up my clothes and putting them back on.
“Next time?” Wingman prompted.
I faltered as I shimmied into my jeans without bumping my head against the roof. He was right—there really wasn’t much room in here to move around.
And there would be no next time. It was a figure of speech. I didn’t want to lead him on or think that I was interested in a recurring situation.
This was a one time deal. It could never happen again.
“Metaphorically speaking,” I amended.
“Right.”
