I did. One hand drifted lower, over the soft curve of my belly, until my fingers found my clit, slippery and throbbing. I circled it the way he’d taught me, and the dual sensation—him thick and pulsing inside me, my fingers on that electric bundle of nerves—sent sparks shooting up my spine.
“Damn,” he rasped, voice breaking. “You’re soaked, baby. I can hear how wet you are every time you move. Ride me. Take me deeper.”
I started to move—small rolls at first, testing how deep he’d let me take him, how much I could stand. Every inch dragged a low, broken sound out of Devon’s throat, and the sight of him beneath me was almost too much.
He was beautiful like this, struggling to hold back. The low cab light painted gold across the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the heavy slope of his shoulders, the thick ridges of muscle jumping in his stomach every time I sank down. His hands flexed on my hips, but he didn’t guide me. He was letting me set the pace, even though I could feel how desperately he wanted to take over. I could see it in the strain along his jaw, the way it flexed and clenched every time I took him to the hilt.
“Rylie,” he rasped, voice shredded. “Baby, you have to move faster or slow the fuck down, because I’m—” He broke off with a hiss when I rolled my hips in a slow, filthy grind, taking him sodeep my thighs shook. “I’m trying so damn hard not to flip you over and fuck you into this seat.”
The raw plea in his voice sent a fresh rush of heat spilling out of me. I was drenched. Obscenely so. Every time I lifted up, the wet slide of us parting and coming together again filled the cab with a sound so dirty it made my cheeks burn even as it drove me higher.
I braced my palms on his chest, feeling the thunder of his heart under my hands, and started riding him in earnest. Long, deliberate strokes that ended with me grinding down hard, clit dragging against the base of him. Each time I bottomed out, his cock jerked inside me, thick and impossibly hard, nudging something deep that made my vision blur at the edges.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, eyes locked between us now, watching himself disappear into me over and over. “Taking every inch like you were fucking made for me. Wet and greedy and—” His head fell back against the seat with a thud, throat working as he swallowed hard. “Jesus, I’m not going to last. Not when you’re squeezing me like that.”
I couldn’t answer. I was too lost in how good he felt—scorching hot, thick enough that every drag scraped across places I didn’t know I had, filling me so perfectly I wanted to cry from it. My thighs burned, my breath sawed in and out, and still I couldn’t stop chasing that edge.
His hands slid up to my breasts, cupping them roughly, thumbs flicking my nipples until I whimpered. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urged, voice hoarse and wrecked. “Let me feel it. Want to feel this pretty pussy milk me when you come.”
That was all it took.
I slammed down one last time and came—a sharp, high cry tearing out of me as pleasure crashed over me in brutal waves. My walls clamped down hard, pulsing around him in long, greedy pulls that brought a savage groan from his chest. Icouldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop grinding, riding it out until tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
Devon’s control snapped like a frayed wire. His hands gripped my hips as he surged up into me—once, twice, three brutal thrusts that lifted me clear off the seat before slamming me back down.
“Fuck—Rylie?—”
The words ripped out of him, raw and guttural. He buried himself as deep as he could get and came with a hoarse shout, cock jerking hard inside me. I felt the first hot pulse, then another, and another, thick and endless, flooding me until I was overflowing, until I could feel him leaking out around us with every throb.
His hips kept moving in short, helpless jerks, drawing it out, milking every last shudder from both of us. His arms locked around my back, crushing me to his sweat-slick chest as he buried his face in my neck. His breath was ragged against my skin, teeth scraping my shoulder like he needed to mark me while he emptied himself inside me.
We stayed like that, trembling, fused together, his heartbeat hammering against my breasts. I could feel him still pulsing faintly, the warm, wet proof of what we’d done sliding slow and sticky down my thighs.
Only then, when the mountain air finally slipped cold through the cracked window and our breathing started to slow, did the haze lift. But Devon’s arms were still iron bands around me, his lips brushing lazy, reverent kisses along my throat.
We hadn’t used anything.
Oh god.
What if I get pregnant?
6
DEVON
She went rigid in my arms.
Not the good kind of rigid—the post-orgasm, boneless, satisfied kind. No, this was the kind that came with shallow breathing and a heartbeat I could feel hammering against my chest.
"Rylie?" I loosened my hold just enough to see her face. "Baby, what's wrong?"
Her eyes were wide, unfocused, staring at nothing. "We didn't use protection."
The words came out flat. Mechanical. Like she was reading them off a cue card.
"I know." I brushed damp hair back from her forehead, trying to catch her gaze. "Hey. Look at me."
She did, and the panic there hit me square in the chest.
