“I’ve always had to be. So is that guy a client?”
“Kind of. You could say I’m trying to branch out on my own, get out from under my brother’s shadow. Can’t make a clean break yet, but I’m working on it.”
I think of my own small savings account and the struggle to be less dependent on Dad. “I understand.”
“I know you do.” He yanks open the truck door for me. “Get in, girl. I need to take you home.”
Unease crawls through me as I climb into the truck. When he gets in on his side, I say quietly, “I wish we could just drive. I don’t even care where, as long as it’s far from here.”
“Real freedom takes money.”
“That’s such bullshit.”
He chuckles. “The worst.” He punches the button for the stereo, flips through a few channels until he lands on Jackson Dean’s “Don’t Come Lookin’.”
As we roll out of the parking lot, I reach over and grip his thigh. “Take the long way home?”
“Always.”
My hand on his muscular thigh gives me a very naughty idea, especially since he’s still wearing his swim trunks from yesterday. He rinsed them out at the hotel last night and let them dry, so they’re not sandy, but they still smell like the ocean.
I wait until we’re on a long, straight stretch of road, and then I slide my hand up Heathcliff’s thigh and settle my palm over the generous bulge between his legs.
He’s soft when I touch him, but instantly he jumps a little and says, “Aw, shit.” His cock flexes under the shorts, stiffening against the pressure of my hand.
Smirking, I stroke my thumb along the fabric, over the ridge of his length.
“Earnshaw,” he says warningly.
“Eyes on the road,” I murmur. My fingers work their way into his waistband, tugging down the swim trunks and the bit of netting inside that’s supposed to hold his package in place. His length pops free, and I hold the waistband of the swim trunks away from his body, giving his cock space. Slowly I unbuckle my seat belt and lean over. He lifts his right arm and mutters “shit” again as I duck under it.
My lips find the head of his dick, and I tease him with my tongue for a second before taking him into my mouth.
A groan ripples through his body, and the truck swerves slightly.
I pull my mouth off him. “You got this? If you can’t handle it, I’ll stop. I don’t want to die in a car crash with a cock in my mouth.”
“I got it, I swear.”
“Good.” I lick along the veined underside of his dick and swirlmy tongue over the tip, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum. Then I run him into my mouth again, deep as I can manage.
“Not gonna lie, Earnshaw,” he says thickly. “I’ve always wanted a girl to do this while I’m driving.”
I hum around him and start bobbing my head.
“Fuck,” Heathcliff chokes out. “Fuck, fuck—”
He takes a turn, managing it smoothly in spite of the tremors I can feel shuddering through his body.
Drawing back, I leave just the head of his dick in my mouth. There’s a spot right beneath it, where it joins to the shaft, that’s especially sensitive for most guys, so I let my teeth scrape lightly through that groove before exerting a few pulses of pressure on it with my tongue.
“God, Cathy,” gasps Heathcliff, and his cock jumps between my lips. I smile and reward him with several long, firm licks before I swallow him again.
He hisses out a breath as his dick slides into the heat of my mouth and throat. His right hand finds the back of my head, and he pushes down, like he can’t help it. I don’t mind—I love the loss of his control, his compulsive need to come.
And come he does, bursting with salty heat inside my mouth. His heavy groan reverberates through the truck, and though his steering wobbles a bit, he keeps the truck on the road, as far as I can tell. I take my time swallowing and sucking, so I won’t gag and he’ll get every last bit of pleasure.
There’s a wicked satisfaction in knowing his come is in my belly, his flavor on my tongue. I savor him for another second and then withdraw, carefully pulling his swim trunks back into place over his damp cock. He adjusts himself, still panting.
