He slides the back of his fingers across the swell of my hips and stomach, trailing down toward my zipper, and then going right past it.
“Will I have to stretch her out? Make room for my cock?”
A low moan sounds, and my cheeks heat when I realize it was from me.
Wilder presses the backs of his fingers against the seam between my legs, not waiting for me to spread my thighs—as if there’s room in this seat for me to let him in.
He makes room, forcing his hand in between my thighs, creating a path for himself, until his hand is pressed directly against my cunt. He taps with surprising pressure as he keeps talking.
“Will she be sweet for me? Or will she need some discipline?”
My thighs part as best they can, opening for him, begging him for more, but he moves on his terms with the sun starting to sink in the sky above.
His knuckles start rubbing, pressing in harder on my clit, and going softer over my core, where I want him to go the hardest.
“She’s not going to come too soon, is she, Alexis?”
Moaning, I slip down in the seat, giving him better access, arching my back.
“Will she come all over my hand, or my face when I finally let her?” he asks, voice gravelly and dangerous.
I mewl at the picture he paints for me, his head between my thighs, my hand in his hair, his instructions to grip it harder if I want more, softer when I want it slower. When he had me do that the other night, I nearly made him bald.
Out here, in the wild, I want his hand in between my legs, his fingers plunging into me, thick and deep, able to find that spot that my own can never reach with the curves that get in their way.
“What if I get the job done first?” I ask him, taunting the shadows that hide in his eyes.
His gaze finally breaks away from the road, jaw clenched tight, cheek popping from the force, to look over at me.
When I have his full attention, I unbutton the top of my shirt, all the way down to my bra.
His Adam’s apple bobs, eyes dipping down between my cleavage, and I trail my fingers there.
Glancing back at the road, he licks his lips before coming back to me, and I pull the cup of my bra down on one side, leaving it below my breast to let him see what he’s missing. My nipple is already budded, desperate for the feel of his tongue, his teeth, anything he wants to give me.
Or maybe I’ll just do it myself.
Using two fingers, I tweak it, and I don’t hold back when the pleasure runs through my body, straight to my core.
“Mmm,” I moan, head back on the rest, eyes closing as I fall into the moment with myself, like I’ve done for all these years.
His fingers are still against my core, but he’s stopped moving them, distracted by my show.
Flicking my eyes open again to check on the road, I see that he’s somehow keeping us between the lines, his eyes darting between me and the open, empty asphalt every second or two.
He brings his hand back over to readjust himself, and I take my chance.
I reach down, unbuttoning my jeans, and dragging down the fly slow enough that he hears every ridge as it unzips.
“What if I’m already done by the time you get where we’re going?” I ask him, pitch low and throaty.
“Don’t you dare,” he warns, a monster rising to life somewhere inside him.
“Who’s gonna stop me?” I ask him, eyes daring him to make a move when we’re on a two-lane road with no shoulder to pull off on.
Slipping one hand beneath my underwear, I dip my fingers into the soaking mess that’s waiting there and groan, my other hand coming back to play with my exposed nipple.
“Lexi.” It’s more of an order this time, but I ignore it.
