Her mouth moves towards me, and I open my lips, ready, ready, ready…
A card door slams, and the whole car rocks.
“Sorry, Cass,” a woman’s deep voice comes through the intercom. “Long line. Didn’t realise you were ready to leave already, and … oh, wait…shit, sorry, I didn’t know you had?—”
I hold my breath and study Cassie. I brace myself for her instruction to get out. I wait for the sting of rejection that will bring. I’m already thinking about how many whisky sours I’ll need to take the edge off … but then Cassie’s face blends into a slow, wide smile.
“It’s okay, Heather. You can drive now. I’ll heat your tacos up for you when we get home.” Cassie’s voice is so smooth and level. And her eyes are pinned on mine.
“Oh, okay. Right. Yes.”
The car’s engine starts. “And Heather?”
“Yes?”
“No more interruptions.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Heather says with a definite smile in her voice, and then there’s a click and no other noise but our shared breaths.
“Thank God for cars with dividers, huh?” I say, more pleased than I would ever admit that she didn’t tell me to leave.
“I still think I hate you,” Cassie pouts at me, but her eyes are on my mouth again. The car pulls out and starts rolling along Santa Monica Boulevard, but we could be anywhere. I don’t care. As long as nothing or nobody forces me away from this woman.
“Same,” I tell her, and my gaze is on her lips too.
I don’t know who moves first. I don’t know if my lips land on hers before my hands are in her hair or if her grip on my waist is what I feel before anything else. All I know is that in all the daydreams of kissing Cassie Everard that I’ve allowed myself, none of them were this good. Not once in my fantasies have I imagined how warm and supple she would feel between my legs and against my chest. I seriously lacked creativity when I didn’t include how her hips would instantly start rocking up into mine. I was an idiot to not let myself relive the way she sighs into my mouth, the way those sighs turn into moans. And not one of my forbidden fantasies accounted for how fucking turned on I would be just from kissing this woman.
Because I am so turned on. My core is a tight coil, and when her hands slide up my thighs, pushing the hem of my dress up to my waist, I am convinced I’m going to come immediately if she even brushes a finger against my cunt.
That’s why I groan when she stops kissing me and her fingers pause, lost in my pubic hair.
“You’re not wearing underwear,” she gasps.
“Are you complaining?” I tease, desperate for her fingertips just a little lower.
“But your dress is so short and you were outside fighting like a…”
“Finish that sentence carefully,” I warn her.
“God, Pia, you really don’t give a fuck about anything, do you?”
I swallow instead of replying, unable to take my eyes off her bright blue eyes that sparkle every time we pass a bright neon sign outside.
“Can I touch you?” she asks, and I swear to God, I don’t think anybody has asked me that question before. It takes me completely by surprise. “Pia?” Cassie prompts me when I don’t reply.
“I will hate you more if you don’t,” I tell her.
Much to my dismay, she doesn’t move her hand. “Oh, but if this is what you’re like when you hate me,” she says and rubs her nose along my jawline, “maybe I want to keep you hating me a little longer.”
I grab hold of her wrist and shove her hand down, exactly where I need her. “Fuck me, Cassie, or I swear to God, I’ll…”
“What, Pia? What will you do?”
I dive down and bite her nipple through her dress. I know exactly where it is; it’s been staring at me for the last ten minutes. “I’ll keep doing this until you hate me as much as I hate you.”
She moans so sweetly as she throws her head back, but that doesn’t stop her fingers from playing with me. It takes a minute or two, but eventually she has the heel of her palm on my clit and two fingers hooked inside me. It’s not a deep penetration, but it’s enough. I swear all I need is her between my legs like this, panting and sighing as I continue to suck one nipple and pinch the other. I rock my hips into her hand, and I’m not surprised when my orgasm is blossoming out of me like those roses I think about in her garden, which she may have planted from the seeds a fan gave her.
My mouth goes slack on her breast as I spasm and shake and swear my way through more waves of pleasure than I expect for such a quick climax.
