“It is, isn’t it?” He arched up into her hand.
His package pressed into her palm and Holy Hannah. Thiswas nota microphone. He was packing a full sound system down there.
She stroked his sound system as it hardened against her hand.
They needed to get out of this car because he had amazing beds inside.
Ah-mazing beds that would be more comfortable than this position. Except, oh God. Actually, he turned his hand against the bundle of nerves at the opening of her entrance and, you know, this spot was just fine. Perfection, actually.
Yes, she wasn’t sure if she said the word or if she only thought it.
It didn’t matter because she was about to have an orgasm in Cedric Lincoln’s Porsche. She gripped his erection through his jeans, and he rubbed against her hand as she arched against his. Stars sparkled behind her eyelids as he grunted and thrust against her hand. She fell over the edge into the orgasm he’d been building for her since that first night at Brek’s Bar.
He groaned a long sound as a wet warmth spread across her hand.
Huh. Okay, well, obviously he’d just gotten his cookies, too.
Linx relaxed against her, not pressing her into the seat any more uncomfortable than she’d been before, but definitely taking a moment to regroup.
“Holy shit,” he said against her shoulder. “That was…”
“Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “That was…”
He moved off of her with a lot of awkward. He took care with her though, drifting slow. Careful not to pull at her hair—which had to have been a total wreck—and helping to adjust her so she sat forward in the seat instead of skewed to the side.
He reached for her other hand, pulled it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles.
She adjusted, moving until she was face to face with him, brushing her palm over his jaw, the light stubble biting into her skin.
She held his face with her hand, running it over his neck to his back. This was nice. The chemistry between them was phenomenal.
“You’re a bit of a mess.” She glanced to the wet spot just below his waistband.
“Shit.” He sat back, a fresh look of horror etched into his expression.
She opened the glove box. “Do you have some napkins or something in here?”
“No, uh…” He held his hands wide. “Shit.”
He was right. There was nothing in the glove box except his registration and an insurance card from State Farm.
“We can go inside and you can wash up?” she suggested. Maybe they could even take a wash-up shower together. That could be fun. More cookies could be had by both of them.
“I can’t walk in my house like this. What if my cat sees me?” He sounded frantic.
She placed a hand on his forearm. “I don’t think Gibson will care.”
A fierce look of determination crossed his face as he ripped off the right sleeve of his t-shirt and wiped himself up.
That was sure one way to handle it. She probably would’ve suggested he use one of his socks before resorting to trashing his tee. But, whatever, he was a gazillionaire. He could buy a new t-shirt. He should also invest in some napkins for his glove box. Just sayin’.
They both let themselves out of the Porsche, her legs a little too much like gelatin as she recovered from her fall down orgasm mountain.
Linx got rid of the shirt sleeve in the garage trash. And then he stepped to her, wrapping her in his arms to hold her with a strength she hadn’t realized she needed.
This was nice. This thing between them.
Nice being the least appropriate word ever. Phenomenal was more like it, but the intensity of that word made her chest feel tight and adrenaline flood her system with the beginning dredges of panic. This. Was. Temporary.
