Calm. Composed. Shirt collar open. One hand loose on the armrest, the other resting on his thigh like he doesn’t know exactly what that mouth and those fingers do to me.
I hate that expression. I want to ruin it.
So I unbuckle my seatbelt, push myself up on shaky legs, and cross the small space between us.
His eyes follow me the whole way. “What are you doing?” he asks, though he already knows.
Instead of answering, I lean down and kiss him.
He makes a low sound in his throat, surprised for half a second before his hand closes around the back of my neck and he kisses me back with equal force. But I don’t let him take over yet. I climb onto his lap, knees bracketing his hips, and kiss him until his breathing changes.
That gets his attention. That getsallof it.
His hands settle on my waist, steadying me, but he lets me lead for once. I kiss down his jaw, his throat, the open line of his shirt, and when I feel his body tense beneath me, satisfaction flares hot in my chest.
I want him wrecked too. I want him desperate.
I sit back just enough to look at him and then drag my hands down his chest, over his stomach, to the buckle of his belt.
One brow lifts. “Careful.”
I meet his eyes. “Why?”
His hands tighten fractionally on my hips. “Because you’ve already had your first time. Don’t push your luck and lose your nerve.”
The challenge in it goes straight through me.
I unfasten his belt. “That sounds like a dare.”
“It is.” He says it so calmly, but his eyes are dark as sin.
My fingers move to his trousers. I tug the zipper down slowly, watching his face the whole time. The control is still there, but only barely now. His jaw is too tight. His breathing too measured.
I slip my hand inside. He’s already hard again. Completely.
His eyes close for one brief second when I wrap my fingers around him. “Fuck,” he mutters.
I smile before I can stop myself. “That bad?”
His gaze snaps open. “Don’t get smug.”
I stroke him once, twice, marveling at the feel of him in my hand, at the way his whole body reacts to so little. I expected him to be more in control. I expected him to be impossible to shake. Instead, his hand slides up my spine, possessive and hot, and his mouth brushes my ear.
“Now who has complete control?” The words burn.
I pull him free fully, and the sight of him, heavy and hard against my palm, nearly unravels me all over again.
He watches me watch him and says, low and dangerous, “Keep staring like that and I’ll forget this is your idea.”
I kiss him instead. Deep. Messy. Urgent.
My body is already ahead of me, already moving on instinct and need. I push his shirt open farther, drag my nails lightly over his chest, and then reach between us to guide him.
He stills.
I look at him.
He looks back, all heat and restraint and something almost unbearably attentive. “You can stop,” he says quietly.
