“Not sure how that’s possible,” I retort.
He hums, moving his hand from my hip toward the inside of my thigh, and I slap my hand over his. “What’re you doing?”
“Are you going to stop me or are you going to let me continue?”
I open and shut my mouth wanting to say something about wanting to knowwhat exactlyhe’s wanting to continue. But when I don’t say anything he slips his hand lower, up the inside of my thigh, under my shorts, grazing over the thin fabric covering my center. I can tell when he feels the dampness there because his chest rumbles in approval.
He runs the pad of his finger along my fabric covered seam and I drop my head back to his shoulder with a small moan.
“What’ll it be, Angel?”
“Hm?” I hum, too busy getting lost in the sensations to think of any real response.
“Are you going to stop me, or let me continue?” he repeats, and I’m still too distracted by what his hand is doing, the simple act of rubbing me through my underwear.
He pauses and I want to scream, but he keeps a steady pressure with his hand pressed completely against me.
“Which will it be?” he demands, rougher this time. I squirm, trying to get him to move more, but he holds me firmly in place.
“Continue,” I breathe out finally.
His hand finally moves again, this time he pulls my underwearto the side, and plunges a finger in. I buck against him, but the small space limits both our movements and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle it like this.
“Wes,” I moan breathily, reaching behind me to tangle my fingers in the hair on the back of his head.
“What is it, Angel?”
“I want more.” I don’t even think about what I’m saying. The words just fly out like I don’t have control over them.
He lets out a soft chuckle, and then takes his hand away and I want to grab and force it back into me. But I’m not able to because he’s pushing me forward so my chest collides with the steering wheel, and I hear clothes rustling.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, panting while trying not to accidentally hit the horn.
He doesn’t answer, instead I feel cool air on my backside as he pulls my shorts down over my ass. I squeal and try to get away, but there’s no room for me to go anywhere. Wes pulls me back down, and I feel his bare cock against my ass. I have to bite my bottom lip to stifle my reaction. Though, I think trying to hide how I’m feeling is a moot point considering he just felt how wet I already am.
“Keep your hands at ten and two,” he says casually, placing them there for me. I swing my head back to look at him, but he lets go of one of my hands to guide my face forward by my chin. “Always keep your eyes on the road.”
“Wes, I’m not steering the car like this.”
He shuffles underneath me, and I feel the tip of his dick press against my opening and my jaw drops in a gasp.
“No, you’re not,” he grinds out, pushing just barely so his tip is notched inside me. “You’re going to drive the car while riding my cock just like this.”
He pushes in a little more and I can’t help but tighten around him.
“Don’t bother acting like you don’t love the way that sounds. I can feel how wet your pussy is for me.”
“There’s no way I’m going to be able to see straight,” I moan.
“Well you better try, because you’re the one in control. I just handle the speed.” He pushes all the way in, burying himself completely. For some reason I feel like his words have double meaning, but I’m too distracted to read anything into it.
He adjusts his legs, presses the gas so the car engine revs. My hips move involuntarily, causing him to rub a particularly sensitive spot in my inner walls.
His foot moves over to the brake, and his hand to the gearshift. I’m white knuckling the steering wheel trying to not let my eyes cross from the pressure he’s causing between my legs.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Not even a little bit.”
