Or he always did, and this was his trick to seduce me.
Whatever it was, it’s working because my thighs squeeze shut together, trying to tamp down the dull ache that has started to blossom between them.
His distractingly beautiful face stays just inches from my face as a warm exhale escapes his tempting mouth, shooting tingles running down my spine in an imperceptible shiver.
Slowly–lest this moment breaks–I let my hands fall on my lap in fists as his figure still looms over me. His eyes flick from my eyes to my lips again, and again, and again. His pupilsblown wide.
Licking my lips, knowing I won’t stop him if he closes the distance, I prepare myself as my heart thuds wildly in my ears. So loud that I wonder if he can hear it too.
He moves forward before he pulls back and settles in his seat as he secures my seat belt, much to my utter dismay.
Clearing his throat as if we hadn’t already kissed before, he does something to further cause me severe discomfort between my legs. Ezra puts his hand on the back of my seat, stretching to look at our rear as he reverses the car with his other hand, spinning the steering wheel.
I didn’t have any girlfriends to help me understand when I heard or read about girls swooning when a man did this one-handed reverse. Honestly, I never understood the appeal of seeing a man do something as basic as driving. I didn’t see what was there to fawn and squeal over.
Until now, that is.
Until I saw Ezra Moore do it with such rugged grace that I could feel my panties pooling. His muscles bunching and tightening as his handsettles beside my head on the seat, while his other hand dances in a move that looks like second nature to him.
God damn him for ruining another pair of my panties!
And when that’s done, he looks forward again and drives his stick car with one hand on it. Unbothered, as if he didn’t just alter my brain chemistry.
Huffing at him for teasing me in so many ways in quick succession, I cross my arms at my chest and look out the window, refusing to be the first one to break the silence.
I can feel his questioning stare at me, even though he’s driving, building the undeniable tension. If he wants to talk, he can damn well initiate the conversation.
When I don’t speak for more than five minutes, I feel him speak before I hear him. It’s like a volcanic eruption, the rumbles of which you can feel below your feet before you ever actually see the lava spill, drown, burn, and devour everything and everyone in its way.
And that is exactly how he makes me feel when he abruptly pulls over by the side of the road. Surprised–my nerve endings getting excited atthe bubbling anticipation of what he might do next–my head spins to look at him.
“What are you doing?” I ask, confused as I take stock of his actions, studying him. The intense air settles over us, blanketing us in its embrace.
The second the words leave my mouth, he cuts me a glare, a scowl etched on his chiseled face. Heat pools in my stomach at the fire in his eyes. He continues to glare at me as vehicle after vehicle passes us by, his knuckles turning white with his hold on the steering wheel.
The silence unnerves me, and I open my mouth to ask him once again, when suddenly he unbuckles my seatbelt and I feel myself being lifted and deposited on his muscular lap.
On his lap.
ON HIS FUCKING LAP!
A gasp leaves me at the turn of events as my wide eyes take in his annoyed expression. What is he annoyed about?
I should be the one annoyed. Iamannoyed. How dare he manhandle me? I’m annoyed at him for believing he could do that. I’m annoyed at how my stomach flipped as his rough hands picked me up like I weighed nothing. I’m also annoyed at myself for letting itmake me feel something.
Fury licks at me as I hold myself by putting my hands on his shoulders for support. My eyes narrow into slits as I sneer at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” I grit my teeth as I squirm so that he can let me go.
Instead, his hands tighten on my hips as he growls, halting any efforts, “Stay still.”
I’m not demure or shy or meek or submissive in any way. I’m not afraid or scared of him. Yet…Yet, the moment he orders me, I follow him like a sheep in his flock, devoting my life to please him.
My unsuspecting submission seems to satisfy him, because I see his pupils dilate, and his length twitching beneath me in his very thin and very short shorts, as he praises me, “Good girl.”
I preen under his praise and shiver at the contact of his clothed dick over my aching pussy.
“Fuck me,” the curse flies under his breath as he pulls me by my throat and slams his lips to mine. And fucking finally, I receive the kiss my body has been hungry for since the moment I saw him outside my door, looking like sin wrapped in casual clothes.
My eyes flutter close at the heady sensation, asI open my mouth to let him consume it. And consume he does when he strokes the roof of my mouth with his soft and warm tongue.
