Her hand slides higher. Not much. Just enough to make my breath catch. "What do you think about?"
"Your curves." The words come out rough. "The way you felt pressed against me. The sounds you made. How you tasted."
Jessica's pupils dilate. Her scent floods the cab, peaches and honey so thick I can taste it. "I think about it too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She leans closer. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. "I think about your hands. Where you touched me. How you made me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered."
"You were." I cup her face with one hand, thumb stroking across her cheekbone. "You are."
She closes the distance. Her lips press against mine, soft and tentative at first, then hungrier. I kiss her back, one hand tangling in her hair while the other finds her waist, fingers spreading wide over the curve of her hip.
Jessica makes a sound low in her throat. Needy. Desperate. She climbs over the center console with zero grace, all fumbling hands and knocking knees, until she's straddling my lap, the steering wheel pressing into her back.
"This seat is not built for this," she mutters against my mouth.
"Back seat?"
"Back seat."
We tumble into the rear of the truck like teenagers, all limbs and laughter. Jessica lands on top of me, hair falling around us like a curtain, and I catch her waist to steady her. The curves of her hips fill my palms, soft and full and perfect.
"God, Jess." I run my hands up her sides, feeling the dip of her waist, the flare of her ribs. "You're so gorgeous it hurts to look at you."
She ducks her head, embarrassed. "Carlos."
"I'm serious." I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Every curve. Every inch. You're perfect."
"I'm not..."
"You are." I slide my hands down to grip her ass, pulling her harder against me. "And I've wanted you like this for six years. So let me tell you. Let me show you."
Jessica's breath hitches. She rolls her hips, grinding down against me, and I groan.
"That's it," I encourage. "Take what you need."
She kisses me again. Deeper this time. Her tongue slides against mine, hot and slick, and her hands fist in my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear. I kiss down her jaw, her throat, finding the spot where her pulse hammers beneath her skin.
"Carlos." My name is a gasp. "I want to make you feel good."
"You are."
"No." She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are dark, determined. "I want to."
Understanding hits me like a truck.
"Jess, you don't have to..."
"I know." Her hands move to my belt. "I want to."
I should stop her. Should tell her we can wait, that there's no rush, that we have time.
But I don't.
Because the truth is I've wanted this for six years. Wanted her hands on me. Wanted her mouth. Wanted to see her come undone for me the way I've imagined a thousand times.
"Okay," I manage. "Okay."
