“Thank you for dinner,” I say, and it sounds like an excuse to stay.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “You’re welcome.”
The kiss is slow at first. Testing. His hand comes up to my jaw, thumb brushing my lip like he’s checking permission before he takes more.
When he deepens it, his tongue dipping in, tasting. My breathcatches. I shift closer without thinking, my knee brushing his. His hand slides to my waist, steady and firm, anchoring me there.
The windows fog slightly.
I make a small sound against his mouth, surprised by how fast the heat builds. His kiss changes—less careful now, more intent. He follows my reaction, adjusts, presses closer when my breath stutters.
My fingers curl into his jacket, then slip beneath it, exploring. Feeling him tense under my touch makes something flare low and sharp inside me. I lean into that reaction, encouraged.
His mouth drops to my neck. “Audra,” he murmurs, like he means it.
He lifts me over the console so I'm straddling his lap. I can feel his hard cock immediately. I need to touch him.
We kiss again. He undoes my pants, sliding his hand inside. No pause. No waiting. Just taking.
My head tips back. His hand moves with purpose. First one finger, then a second sink into me. I'm so wet it's embarrasing. He moans, so I think he likes it.
He explores, takes his time, finds exactly what makes my breath hitch, what makes my body respond. He doesn’t rush it. He watches me. Pays attention.
I'm not a selfish lover. I unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. My hand makes its way into his boxer briefs. He's hard. Thick. Long. Pulsing. ]
I do my own experimenting, wrapping my hand around his length, stroking up and down. He groans when I cup his balls, then his body twitches when I stroke him harder. He's losing control as he starts to thrust my hand.
"You're so fucking hot, Audra. Fuck my fingers. Let me feel you come."
The car feels smaller now, warmer, filled with the sound of us breathing and the quiet urgency between movements.
I'm there before he is, the orgasm rushes through me. Pure bliss. I cry out and clench around his fingers. That's enough to have him erupting in my hand. We both keep the pleasure going until we're spent.
I'm a bit lightheaded, enough to make me laugh softly when I realize how breathtaking that moment was.
He rests his forehead against mine afterward, breathing evening out, hand still warm in my pants.
“You okay?” he asks, low.
“Yes,” I say, still catching my breath. “Very.”
Then his hand moves.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and brings out a handkerchief. White. Crisp. Already unfolded.
He looks into my eyes when he cleans his come off my hand.
"That's so fucking sexy," he says. His eyes stay on me, steady and heated, like he’s claiming the sight instead of averting it.
When he's finished, I take that handkerchief and shove it in my purse, like I'm hiding the evidence or something. He just smirks, but something else flares in his expression. Possessive. Satisfied. Like he knows I’ll feel this later.
"That was… unexpected," he murmurs.
I nod. Look over at him.
"What I'm going to do to you when I get you in my bed…" he trails off.
He places a chaste kiss on my lips.
