Her breath hitches as my hips move harder. Faster.
Every time I try to stop myself, to pull out of her and put an end to this, I just push deeper inside. Her body calls to mine, and the only thing I can manage to do is to answer that call.
With one hand digging into the plump cushion of her hip and the other holding onto the headrest next to her, I pound into her, letting out a groan as I slip in and out of the tight warmth of her body.
Her hand reaches for mine, and as her hips roll against me with every thrust, she fights a moan.
“Don’t,” I pant. “Don’t be quiet this time, Princess, I want to hear you.”
Over her shoulder, her eyes flick to mine as she whines through gritted teeth, and she doesn’t have to tell me what she’s thinking; I already know. I’m thinking it, too.
If she says my name, it’s real.
We don’t have alcohol to blame this time. We can’t hide behind lowered inhibitions and bad decisions. We can’t pretend that we don’t remember it happening.
The sun is shining and our minds are clear.
We can’t hide from our guilt, this time.
Bringing my hand down from the headrest, I slip it between Julia’s legs, drawing frenzied circles around her clit to force a loud, perfect moan out of her that sends heat rocketing down my spine.
My lips meet the soft skin at her spine to kiss and suck my way toward her shoulder as she tightens around my cock, and every one of my muscles begins to tense.
There’s a voice in the back of my mind – one that’s getting harder to ignore, whose volume gets louder and louder with every thrust of my hips – that tells me that I want to slow this down. I don’t want quickies with her in hidden-away places.
It begs me to take my time with her, and for a minute, I can convince myself that it’s only saying these things because I’ve been alone for so long.
“Connor,” she whines, her fingers squeezing around mine. My fingers at her clit speed up, my hips joining with them as my lips meet the crook of her neck. “Oh, god.”
My name on her lips, together with the tightening of her pussy, send me over the edge. I frantically reach for a balled-up piece of fabric from the cargo net at the back of the passenger’s side seat, using it to catch my cum as I quickly pull out of her.
Oh no. I’ve seen this fabric before.
Great. First, I cum on my best friend’s wife, now I cum on one of his shirts.
I’m really batting a thousand, here.
Julia rests against the back seat, panting to catch her breath as she reaches to slide her panties back into place before pulling herself to a seated position.
Brushing her hair out of the way, I trace a finger over the elegant script tattooed into the base of her neck. Tripp’s work, I’d be willing to bet. The lines are clean, it’s neatly printed, it’s only three small letters, but someone clearly took their time in doing it.
“What’s PJM?” I ask her.
“Nothing,” she answers, her tone clipped as she pulls her thick strands back into place.
Turning to face me, she scans me from head to toe and back again, pain etched somewhere behind her features. Her palm lands against my chest to feel the hard beating of my heart as her eyes meet mine and her brows dip.
“I don’t—”
My lips meet hers, my hand resting at her jaw as my tongue slides past her lips, and for one slow, heated second, I forget that she’s Tripp’s wife.
“We don’t talk about this,” I tell her. “He never finds out.”
Her head shakes in agreement with me and I press one more kiss to her lips before hurrying back toward my waiting bike.
I’m a monster.
Chapter 9
