I deepen the rhythm, letting instinct guide me as my own need coil low. I stroke him with one hand as my mouth makes a wet mess on his length and myself with the other. This isn’t just about pleasing him. It’s about claiming him. About celebrating what we just promised each other.
My ring catches the glow from the dashboard as my hand slides up his length again, the diamond flashing with every movement. His fiancée on her knees with a mouth full of him as he attempts to get us home safely.
“Damn, baby,” he breathes. “You gon’ be the death of me.”
I smile against him, savoring the way his body trembles beneath my touch. I push him closer to the edge—then pull back just enough to keep him right there—suspended in pleasure.
He growls softly. Frustrated and turned on all at once.
“Don’t play with me,” he warns.
I rise slowly while dragging my lips upward. Leaving a trail of animalistic desire as I come back to my seat. I leave him exposed as I smooth my hands over his chest like I didn’t just have him on the edge of unraveling.
His eyes are dark when he glances at me.
“So fuckin’ nasty,” he says.
“You love it.”
He reaches over and grips my length possessively. “I do,” he responds as he strokes me head to base slowly pulling a moan from lips.
I lean in and kiss him slow at a red light tasting us mingled together. When the light turns green, he pulls away reluctantly, shifting the car back into motion.
“Soon as we get home,” he murmurs, voice thick with promise, “I’m laying that seat back and making you remember who you belong to.”
A thrill runs through me.
I settle back into my seat, crossing my legs slowly, letting him see exactly how affected I am. My body is hungry for more.
“Drive,” I tell him softly. “I’ll be ready.”
Every glance he throws my way is dark and deliberate. I can feel the promise in it.
The garage lifts slowly—almost teasing—and the headlights sweep across the concrete and steel. When the door rolls down behind us with a final metallic thud that feels like a seal.
Private.
Calil cuts the engine even though he doesn’t move right away. His hand is still gripping the steering wheel like he’s trying to control the sexual energy raging through his veins.
He looks at me.
“Seatbelt off. Clothes off. Heels on.” he says sternly.
The authority in his voice makes my nipples taut and my shaft erect. I unbuckle it slowly as it retracts with a soft hiss. I don’t break eye contact.
He reaches down and pulls the lever. The driver’s seat slides back and reclines in one smooth motion. His body stretches out. I watch his broad chest rise and fall. His shirt slightly rumpled while his dick is hard and pointing north.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
Not loud. Not forceful. Dominant.
I climb across the center console completely nude. I settle over him. My hands brace on his shoulders feeling the strength there along with the tension coiled beneath his skin.
His palms slide up my hips—languid and possessive—gripping like he needs to remind himself I’m real.
“You said you’d be ready,” he says.
His dark eyes rake over me like he’s unwrapping something sacred and sinful.
