“Yes, ma’am,” I reply. I press my lips to hers, and her tongue swipes into my mouth. The head of my cock slips across her center, warm and pulsing and ready to welcome me, but I pull back.
“What?” she asks, her eyes wide, and I know the feeling I see in them. I feel it too. It’s fear that this is over.
“I don’t have a condom,” I tell her.
She sits up so fast she nearly smashes her forehead into my chin. I jerk back, my head hitting the roof, and we nearly tumble off the seat into the floorboards, a tangle of arms and legs.
“I think I have one,” she says, scrambling over the center console and dragging her purse into the back seat. She starts rifling through it, but it’s not bright enough to see into the black hole. With a frustrated growl, she turns it upside down and dumps the contents onto the floor: an assortment of tampons and broken crayons, some dusty mints, and what looks like six months worth of wadded-up receipts.
But no condom.
“Shit. Fuck. Okay,” she says, lying back down on the seat and gazing up at me, a look of sheer determination on her face. “It’s okay. I’m on birth control. Have been for years. I’m religious about taking it. I have an alarm on my phone so I never forget.”
She blinks up at me, hopeful, and god, I wish it was enough.
“I haven’t been tested in…” I stop, counting backward to my last physical, because with everything that’s been going on and the loss of my health insurance, well… “It’s been a long time.”
Her mouth drops open in an adorable display of shock. “What?” she cries, like I’ve just told her that I live a secret hidden life as a puppy-kicker or a person who tells children Santa isn’t real just for fun.
“I’ve been distracted by other things!” I explain.
Carson stares up through the moonroof like she’s mad at the sky. “I can’t believe this!” she cries.
And as much as I want her right now, want to be so deep inside her I forget what it’s like not to be connected to her, I still can’t help but laugh at the little temper tantrum she’s throwing right now. She’s still flushed from the pleasure she experienced beneath my hand, making a mess on my leather seats, on the precipice of an orgasm she begged for, and she’s pissed she can’t have more.
“You can’t believe that I don’t have current STI results in my back pocket at all times?” I ask, because if I can’t fuck her, then I at least want to laugh with her.
She glares at me. “I can’t believe we’re naked in the back of your fancy-ass car and we’renotgoing to have sex.”
A grin spreads across my face. “I guess that depends on your definition of sex.”
With the car door still open, I slide down her body, my lips and tongue and teeth exploring her soft, pale skin, until my knees are in the dirt. Then I grab her ankles and yank her across the seat until her legs are over my shoulders, her pussy wet and open and begging to be devoured. And when I drag my tongue up the length of her, she lets out a scream that makes me smile into her wet heat.
Then I close my lips around her clit.
Her body shudders, her thighs pressing into me as I lave her heat with the flat of my tongue and suck her clit like a starving man. Her back arches, her hands pressing into the door behind her head, her heels digging into the leather as she presses her pussy into my tongue.
“Good fucking girl,” I mutter, my lips fluttering over her, the vibration of my voice going straight to her core.
Her orgasm rips through her body like a freight train, her ankles pressing into my back, her hands reaching down to dig her fingernails into my shorn scalp.
“Fuck fuckfuck, Dan!” she screams, the words catching in her throat between gasps.
I suck her through it until her thighs are quivering and she starts to scramble away from me, overstimulated. I give her clit one last flick with my tongue, then plant soft kisses along her inner thigh and over the crease of her hip.
Her chest is heaving, her eyes wide as she stares out the moonroof, the light catching her blue eyes. When she looks down at me, still kneeling in the dirt before her, she smiles.
“That was fucking incredible,” she says, panting. There’s a red flush on her chest, her cheeks are pink, her lips are crimson, and she’s smiling. She’s lit up like she just won the lottery, like she just found out that world peace is within her reach. It suddenly strikes me that I would do anything for this girl.
My sweet girl.
My needy, demanding, dirty, tough-as-nails sweet girl.
As I gaze down at her, all I can think is that I can’t believe she keeps going out with the poorest excuses for men on the planet. And I can’t believe those poor excuses for men don’t realize how Powerball lottery–level lucky they are to be in her presence.
Because I sure as shit know how lucky I am even just to have gotten to look at her tonight. The fact that I got to taste her? I’ve never been good enough in my life to deserve that. And as much as my cock is aching to be inside her, even if I never get there—even if this is all we ever get, even if when the sun rises tomorrow, she decides that this was enough, I’ll somehow both mourn the fact that it’s over and thank my lucky stars that I ever got this far.
If I thought for one second that I was good enough for her, I’d sweep her off her feet and promise her that beautiful house with the hammock and the lemon wallpaper. I’d move mountains to give her anything and everything she wants and pray every single day that that list continues to include me. I can’t believe that all the ways I’ve fucked up my life both brought me to her and keeps me from giving her everything she deserves.
