No regret.
Only gratitude and a lingering buzz that hums through me, making me want to do it all over again. So when he grabs my hand and pulls me out the door, I don’t bother worrying about leaving Allie and Sawyer at the bar.
I’m breathless and laughing when he yanks open the truck door. He glances over my shoulder to make sure nobody is following and then tugs me against him.
His mouth is on mine—hot and insistent. He tastes like whiskey and sin. I could drown in him—get completely lost in the way his hands glide over me, reverent and adoring.
My lips part as his tongue licks over mine. He shivers when my hands slip inside his shirt, my fingertips grazing his abdomen. Then he breaks the kiss and climbs into the passenger seat before hauling me in after him.
“Get on my lap. I need to feel your pussy, honey.”
“Christ, Tripp,” I murmur, slamming the door closed as I straddle his lap.
I rock onto his denim-clad erection, and a groan tears from his throat.
“Fuck, Quinnie. I’m not coming in my pants again. Take my cock out.”
His fingers tear at the strings on my dress while I thumb open the button on his jeans. I wrap my hand around his thick length, tugging thewaistband of his underwear down. He lifts up and slides the seat back farther, giving me more room to work.
My dress falls off my shoulder, exposing one breast, and he gathers it in his large hand, squeezing and massaging as I roll my hips instinctively, wanting to feel him fill me.
“Get it nice and wet.”
I whine, but shift, dropping to the floor. His fingers wrap in my hair, keeping it out of my face so he can watch as I open my mouth and lick him from base to tip. I do it again. And again. Before I finally close my lips around the head of his cock and suck hard.
“Fuuuck.”
He pulls my hair, making me pop off his dick.
“I’m not gonna last long enough like that. Spit on it,” he says a little breathlessly.
I collect saliva in my mouth and let it fall from my lips, watching it pool at the tip and slowly slide down his shaft.
“Shit,” he pants, eyes hooded with desire. “Again, Quinn. Do it again.”
I do it a second time. Gratified at the feral sound that rips from his throat as he pulls me back onto his lap.
His lips crash into mine as I shift on my knees, lining him up at my entrance—eager and needy, even though I just came minutes ago. It doesn’t matter. With Tripp, I always want more.
Everything else is muted. All I hear is the thunder of my pulse in my ears and the rough moan he lets out as I sink onto his cock.
But Ifeeleverything.
I grind down onto him, chasing another orgasm as he worships every inch of me he can reach. His hands are everywhere, kneading my hips, gripping my ass, rolling my nipples… tangling in my heart.
He taps my mouth with his fingers. "Open up, Quinnie. Get 'em nice and wet for me."
My lips part, and I drag my tongue over his index and middle fingers, coating them in my saliva.
"Atta girl," he praises, removing them from my mouth.
And then his hand wanders to the crease of my ass, pressing gently against my tight entrance. I let out a whimper and push back onto his finger, letting him breach that sensitive space.
It feels dirty.
And feral.
And wrong.
