He groans, hips bucking up to meet mine. The pressure builds—hot, dizzying—but it’s still not enough. My hands movebetween us, fumbling with his belt. I’m shaking, fingers clumsy with urgency and need.
“Is this okay?” I ask, breath catching. “Do you want—”
“Yes,” he says without missing a beat. “God, yes. Please touch me, Carter.”
My name in his mouth—wrecked and desperate—is all the permission I need. I get his belt open, then the button, then the zipper. He watches my hands, breath shallow, and I can feel the heat coming off him, his whole body thrumming like a live wire.
I slip my hand into his underwear—and then I’m touching him. He’s thick and hard in my hand, silky-hot and already wet at the tip despite the cold.
Thomas lets out a strangled sound, his head dropping back against the seat, throat exposed. I lean in and press my lips to it, feeling the frantic beat of his pulse against my tongue.
“Carter,” he gasps. “I’m not going to last if you—”
I ignore him, too caught up in the feel of him in my hand—the weight, the velvet drag of his skin against my palm. I stroke him once, slow and testing, and his whole body shudders.
I’ve imagined this moment more times than I can count. But nothing compares to the way he actually reacts—the way his breath catches, the sounds he makes, the way his hips jerk up to chase my touch.
It’s addictive.
Suddenly, the backseat feels too cramped. I need more space—need to see him, need to taste him. Before I can second-guess myself, I’m sliding off his lap and onto the floor betweenhis knees. It’s a tight fit, my shoulders wedged between his thighs, my back against the front seats—but I don’t care.
Thomas looks down at me, realization flashing in his eyes. “Carter,” he says again, but this time it sounds like a warning. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I interrupt, already tugging his pants down his hips. “I’ve wanted to forever.”
He lifts his hips to help me, and then his cock is free—thick and perfect. I wrap my hand around the base, and the way he twitches in my grip makes heat coil low in my belly. I lean in, keeping my eyes on his, and flick my tongue over the head—getting my first real taste of him. It’s just clean skin and salt, but it makes me even harder.
His reaction is immediate. His hand flies to my hair, gripping tight like he needs something to hold onto. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses through his teeth. “Carter, fuck…”
The desperation in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. I’ve never felt so wanted. So needed.
I take him deeper, sealing my lips around him, tongue tracing the underside as I go. His thighs tense on either side of my shoulders, his breath coming in ragged pants above me.
“Your mouth,” he groans, fingers tightening in my hair. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this. About you. Like this.”
The sight of him nearly undoes me.
Thomas Moore—composed, untouchable Thomas—wrecked and breathless in front of me. His chest rises fast, mouth parted, eyes locked on mine, stunned and hungry. Hewatches me take him in, gaze heavy with want, drinking in every second.
I hollow my cheeks and suck harder, settling into a rhythm that has him cursing and moaning above me. His hips start to move—small, restrained thrusts that tell me he’s hanging on by a thread. I brace my hands on his thighs, feeling the muscles tremble under my palms, and take him even deeper, until he hits the back of my throat. I swallow around him, and his whole body jerks.
“Stop,” he gasps, hands flying to my shoulders, pushing me back. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”
I pull off with a wet sound, lips tingling, and glance up at him. I let out a low chuckle. “Isn’t that the point?” My voice is hoarse, and there’s something deeply satisfying about that.
Thomas shakes his head, chest heaving. “Not yet. I’m not coming that fast the first time I get to be with you.”
The desperation in his voice knocks the breath out of me. Before I can respond, he’s hauling me up, back into the seat beside him. His hands are already at my belt, just as frantic as mine were earlier.
“I need to touch you,” he says, and there’s a rough edge to his voice I’ve never heard before. “See you.”
I just nod and lift my hips, helping him slide my chinos down my thighs and off. The car is cold, but I barely register it—every nerve in my body tuned to the way Thomas is looking at me, like I’m something he’s been starving for.
When his hand wraps around me, I almost lose it. After years of wanting—of imagining this exact moment—the reality isalmost too much. I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in, trying to hold on.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear as his hand strokes me slow. “So perfect. I can’t believe we waited this long.”
“My fault,” I gasp, hips jolting into his grip. “Should’ve jumped you years ago.”
