“Want an enema too?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Do you need one?” I counter. “I’d be happy to stick something up your ass.”
“I’ll make you a deal. You can stick something up mine if I can stick something up yours.” He smirks.
Sighing, I put them back on the shelf. Next, I return the condoms and grab for the lube. He wraps his hand around my wrist.
“Leave it. In case you take me up on my offer.” He winks.
I roll my eyes but drop the lube back in the basket. I leave the other items too, because free tampons and chocolate are not things any girl would pass up.
When we slide back into the car, he rests his back against the seat for a second, taking slow breaths. Clearly, he is more pain than he feels like admitting.
“Want me to drive?”
“No. I just need a second, okay?”
“I don’t mind.”
“No one drives my car but me. Ever,” he says, opening his eyes. “Might be the only rule I have.” He sighs, wincing as the air leaves his lungs.
“Let me drive.”
“No. I’ll give into almost every other whim you have, but I draw the line at you driving my car. That isn’t happening.”
“I’ll let you finger my ass.” His eyes drift to me, the slightest hint of desire fills his gaze, under a layer of pain. “I’ve only ever taken one of my fingers. Never let a man play with me back there before.” I smile at him. “You’d be the first to do it and all it would cost you is letting me drive your car.”
“Jesus,” he groans. “No.” He shakes his head, but his hand reaches for the door handle. “No. Nope. Not happening. No.”
“One in my pussy, one in the ass. God, can you imagine how hard that would make me cum?”
“Prue.” His voice is full of warning, and just a spark of lust.
“Or would you put it in as your cock was buried in my pussy? I mean it might not fit. It would be a tight squeeze.”
His door opens and I smile, watching him slip out of the driver’s seat. He walks around the front of the car, pulling my door open. I slide out, smiling smugly at him.
“If you crash my car, my finger isn’t the only thing going in your ass.”
“Oh, that sounds tempting,” I say, walking to the driver seat. Slipping in, I go to adjust the mirrors. “But I think that will cost you more than you can afford.”
“When you think of a price, let me know,” he says, leaning his head against the back of the seat.
“Where should we go now?” I ask, starting the car.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Want to meet my parents?”
“Yes.” He flashes me a grin.
This is a stupid idea. I didn’t think he would agree to it. Driving to my family’s mansion in the Hollywood Hills, I take my time. Part of me keeps waiting for him to change his mind.
“Tell me more about dear ole Mom and Dad,” he says after a bit of silence.
“My father comes a well-off family. His great-grandfather started a finance business and slowly bought up a lot more. Since then, that’s all my family did. Now the company is worth a few billion. My parents met in college. Harvard. My mother’s family is well off too, and once they married my grandfather on her side signed over his wealth management company to my father so he could retire and see the world.”
“Sounds like money is very important to your parents.”
