“Trust me?” Two words. A plea. A promise. He deserved so much more than me.
“Yes.” The word escaped me in a long breath. “With everything.”
His smile deepened and he stole another long kiss that left me breathless before he whispered. “Then trust me with this…” And his fingers glided down to the snaps on my jeans. “Trust me with you.”
The sound of the metal snaps on my jeans coming undone was obscenely loud in the quiet of the car. A sharp, definitiveclick-click-clickthat echoed the frantic, tripping beat of my own heart. Archie’s knuckles brushed against my stomach, a fleeting, warm touch that made my muscles clench. His eyes never left mine, dark and intent, watching for any flicker of hesitation. There wasn’t any. There was only a sick, thrilling lurch of anticipation as his palm flattened against my lower belly, his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of my jeans and the thin cotton of my panties.
The first touch of his skin against mine was electric. His hand was warm, a stark contrast to the cool air that had been kissing my skin moments before. He didn’t rush. He explored, his fingers tracing the delicate line where my thigh met my hip, his thumb stroking a slow, maddening circle just above theplace where I was already beginning to ache for him. My breath hitched, a ragged little sound that was half-gasp, half-sob.
“Shhh,” he murmured, though his eyes were gleaming with a predatory satisfaction that belied the soothing tone. “I’ve got you.”
His fingers delved deeper, parting me gently, and the air I’d been trying to hold in rushed out of me in a shaky exhale. He found me slick and swollen, ready for him, and a low, guttural sound vibrated in his chest. “Fuck, Frankie,” he breathed, his voice thick with awe and lust. “You’re so wet for me.”
I could only whimper in response, my head forward to press against the headrest, my eyes squeezing shut as his fingers began to move. He started with slow, deliberate strokes, spreading my wetness, learning every sensitive fold. It was a torturous, exquisite kind of teasing. He circled my clit with the lightest pressure, just enough to make my hips jerk, to make me gasp his name. “Please,” I begged, the word tearing from my throat. “Archie, please…”
“What do you want, Frankie?” he growled, his voice a low rumble against my ear. He shifted beneath me, and I could feel him, hard and insistent, pressing against my ass through our clothes. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”
His words were like gasoline on a fire. “I want… I want you to make me come,” I panted, grinding down against his hand, desperate for more friction. “Please, Archie, make me come.”
He rewarded me with a deeper, firmer pressure, his fingers stroking my clit in a steady, relentless rhythm that had my toes curling inside my boots. The confined space of the Ferrari, the steering wheel digging into my back, the center console against my thigh—it all faded away, blurring into a haze of pure sensation. There was only the drag of his fingers, the heat of his body, the sound of his ragged breathing mingling with my own cries.
“That’s it,” he urged, his voice dark and demanding. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back. I want to hear everything.”
He slid one long finger inside me, then another, curling them just so, and the cry that tore from my lips was anything but quiet. It was sharp and desperate, echoing in the small space. He fucked me with his fingers then, a slow, deep rhythm that matched the strokes on my clit, pushing me higher and higher, until I was a writhing, trembling mess in his lap. The coil in my stomach tightened to an impossible degree, a screaming, desperate thing that demanded release.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and my eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused. His face was flushed, his jaw tight with concentration, his eyes burning with a possessive fire that stole my breath. “I’m going to do so many things to you,” he promised, his voice a low, filthy whisper. “I’m going to spread you out on my bed and eat your sweet little pussy until you can’t remember your own name. I’m going to fuck you with my tongue, with my fingers, with my cock until you’re screaming and begging for more. I’m going to make you come so hard you see stars.”
His words were the final push. The coil inside me snapped, and pleasure, sharp and blinding, crashed over me. I cried out his name, my body arching against him as wave after wave of ecstasy washed through me. I shuddered and shook, my hands fisting in his shirt, my mind going blank, my entire world narrowing down to the exquisite, pulsing pleasure he was giving me.
As I came down, panting and flushed, his movements slowed, his fingers stroking me gently through the aftershocks. I was boneless, spent, a shuddering, flushed mess. But Archie was far from finished. He shifted, his hands leaving my pants to grip the hem of my shirt. With a few impatient tugs, he pulled it over my head, tossing it into the back seat. His gaze dropped tomy chest, to the simple cotton and lace bra I wore, and his eyes darkened.
He leaned in, his mouth hot against my skin as he pressed a kiss to the swell of my breast above the cup of my bra. Then he closed his lips over my nipple, sucking it through the thin lace. The rough, wet fabric against the sensitive peak sent a fresh jolt of desire straight through me. I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders, my nails digging in. He teased me, alternating between sharp, sucking pulls and soothing sweeps of his tongue, until I was writhing in his lap again, my body already humming with a renewed need.
The Ferrari was small, the space cramped and awkward, but Archie was undeterred. He moved with a confident, single-minded purpose, his hands and mouth never ceasing their exploration. He was devouring me, and I was letting him, eager for everything he was willing to give.
He brought me to the edge again with his clever fingers, his mouth still worshipping my breasts, his filthy whispers painting a vivid picture of all the things he wanted to do to me. Just as I was about to tip over again, he stopped, pulling back to look at me. His face was flushed, his lips swollen, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my heart ache.
“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath warm and tickling. “When I make you come again,” he whispered, his words a dark, seductive promise, “it’s going to be on my cock. And after that, I’m going to eat you out until you can’t see straight. There are so many things I want to do with you, Frankie. So many things.”
His words, a raw and explicit declaration of his desire, left me shuddering, flushed and shaken, a fresh wave of arousal washing over me, so potent it was almost painful. I was completely and utterly at his mercy, and I had never felt more alive.
I was breathless, my lungs burning for air that wouldn't come. My limbs felt heavy, languid, saturated with a pleasure so profound it was almost painful. I’d never felt this way before, never been so completely undone, so thoroughly seen. Every nerve ending was still humming, a low, thrumming vibration that echoed the frantic beat of my heart. I was a mess of tangled limbs and raw emotion, and the look in Archie’s eyes told me he knew it. He looked smug, triumphant, and utterly captivated.
A slow, molten heat was building again, deep in my core, a lazy, insistent fire that promised to burn just as hot as the last one. My muscles felt like warm honey, and all I wanted was to give him back even a fraction of the earth-shattering bliss he’d just given me.
"Can I touch you?" The question came out before I could stop it, my voice so hot and husky with need that it barely sounded like my own.
Archie threw his head back and laughed, a real, genuine, uninhibited sound that made my stomach clench. "Babe, if you touch me, I'm going to come like a virgin seeing his first pair of tits."
He met my gaze again, and the laughter in his eyes was instantly replaced by a heat so intense it felt like a physical touch. His gaze devoured me, lingering on my chest where my bra was still doing a poor job of hiding my hardened nipples.
"Trust me when I say those tits had nothing on yours," he growled, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly murmur. "I want to suck those nipples until they're as puffy and swollen as your clit is."
His words were absolutely drowning me, a filthy, intoxicating flood that stole the air from my lungs. A fresh wave of arousal washed over me, so potent it made me dizzy. "But I want to touch you," I insisted, my voice trembling with desperation. "I want you to feel as good as me..."
He groaned, a low, pained sound, as if my words were a physical blow. When I whispered, "Please," he let out a harsh, ragged breath, his control visibly wavering. "Anything you want," he breathed, the words a raw, open promise.
But he didn't let me touch him. Not yet. Instead, he lowered his head again, his mouth finding my breasts with an unerring accuracy. He sucked and nipped and teased, his teeth scraping gently against my sensitive skin, his tongue soothing the sting. He worshipped me with his mouth, driving me to the brink of madness until I was squirming in his lap, my body aching for a release I knew he wouldn't give me just yet.
