“Birth control?” I managed, the responsible part of my brain barely hanging on.
“I’m on the pill,” she whispered against my lips. “Have been for two years. Stupid optimism, I guess.”
“Thank fuck,” I rasped, and kissed her again.
She shifted forward, rising on her knees, guiding me to her entrance. I felt the wet heat of her kiss the head of my cock and I nearly lost it. I grabbed her hips and stopped her.
“Lose the shirt,” I said, voice wrecked. “I want to see you.”
She grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and, in one swift move, jerked it over her head, tossing it on the passenger seat next to her. She wore a white bra underneath, simple cotton, but on her it looked obscene. I hooked my fingers under the cups and pushed them up, baring her breasts—full, perfect, nipples tight and pink from the cold and from wanting me.
I couldn’t look away. I leaned in and took one nipple in my mouth and sucked hard as I rolled the other between my fingers. She gasped, arching into me, fingers digging into my shoulders.
I slid my hand down between us, tracing her slick folds, and pushed one thick finger inside her. So tight. So wet, she coated me instantly. She whimpered, rocking against my hand. I added my thumb, found her clit, started circling slow and firm while I kept my finger buried deep.
“Mason—” It came out broken, desperate.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I murmured against her breast, switching to the other nipple, grazing it with my teeth. “Let me make it good.”
I worked her clit in steady strokes, curling my finger to find that spot inside that made her shake. Her thighs trembled around mine. She was close already—I could feel it in the way she clenched around my finger, hear it in the breathy little cries she couldn’t hold back. I sucked her nipple hard and pressed my thumb exactly where she needed it.
She came with a sharp, shocked cry, body locking tight, pussy fluttering around my finger in hot pulses. Her head fell back, dark hair spilling everywhere, mouth open, cheeks flushed crimson. She looked like every fantasy I’d ever had and some I didn’t know I was allowed to have.
When the shudders eased, she sagged forward, forehead against mine, panting. Her hand found my cock again, stroking me. Then she rose, lined me up, and started to sink down.
She moved slowly. So damn slow. She was impossibly tight, her body resisting even as she wanted it. I felt the barrier give, felt her tense and whimper into my mouth.
“Easy, sweetheart,” I whispered, both hands gripping her hips now, thumbs pressing into the soft curve where her waist met her thighs. Her skin was fever-hot under my palms, trembling. “Breathe for me. Slow. I’ve got you. Take your time.”
She nodded, eyes glassy, lashes wet, lips parted on a shaky exhale. I watched her face as she sank another inch. The head of my cock pushed past that tight ring of resistance, and she winced, a small, broken sound catching in her throat. I hated that sound—hated anything that hurt her, even for a second.
I slid my hand back between us, found her swollen clit again, slick and burning. I rubbed slow, deliberate circles—feather-light at first, then firmer when her hips jerked and her thighs loosened around me.
Her breath hitched, turned into a moan, and she took more until finally,finally, I was buried to the root inside her. The heat of her was unreal, velvet and fire, so tight I saw stars behind my eyelids. Her walls fluttered around me in panicked little pulses, trying to adjust to the stretch.
We both groaned at the same time, the sound raw and helpless. I could feel every inch of her gripping me, could feel the faint throb of her pulse around my cock. My balls were drawn up so tight they ached, and the base of my spine was already tingling with the need to thrust, to claim.
“Move when you’re ready,” I told her, voice shredded, barely recognizable.
Holding still was torture. Every instinct screamed at me to flip her beneath me and drive deep, but I locked my hips and let her set the pace.
She started with small circles of her hips, testing. Each one dragged her clit across my thumb and made her gasp. Her wetness coated me, ran down over my balls, soaked the front of my pants where we joined. The cab smelled like sex now—sharp and sweet, mixed with the faint pine of the air freshener and the cold snow pressing against the windows.
Slowly, the pain faded from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, found mine, and the look she gave me—half-shy, half-wild—nearly undid me right there. She rolled her hips harder, taking me deeper on every downward glide, and I met her with the tiniest lift of my own, just enough to make her breath catch.
The sounds were obscene and perfect—the wet slide of her pussy taking me again and again, the soft slap of skin on skin, her breathy little moans climbing higher, my own ragged curses when she clenched down unexpectedly.
“Look at me,” I rasped.
Her eyes snapped open and locked on mine. Her cheeks were flushed deep red, lips swollen and wet from my kisses, hair sticking to her damp forehead. Her breasts bounced with every roll of her hips, nipples tight and glistening from my mouth, bouncing softly in a rhythm that made my cock twitch inside her.
Christ, she was beautiful. Undone and perfect and mine.
“You feel perfect,” I told her, voice shaking with it. “So fucking perfect around me. Like you were made for this. Made for me. Come again, Gabby. I need to feel you come on my cock.”
She whimpered, high and desperate, and started riding me in earnest. I thrust up to meet her, shallow but hard, the angle driving me against that spot inside her that made her sob my name. My thumb never left her clit, rubbing tight, fast circles, slick with her.
Her whole body went rigid first—back arching, head thrown back, breasts thrust forward. She cried out my name—a broken, beautiful sound that echoed in the cab, her pussy clamping down on me so hard, my vision whited out at the edges.
