“Um, I have to step out for a minute,” I said to Miguel.
“Okay,” Miguel said, not really looking up.
“I’m taking a . . . smoke break.”
His hands stilled and he turned to me. “You smoke.”
“Sometimes. Yeah. Nervewracking game and everything. Anyway, I’ll be back . . . soon.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Tell him I said hi.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I threw over my shoulder as I sped toward the parking lot, my purse on my arm. It was mortifying enough that Miguel caught us getting handsy in the galley, and now he had new fuel for messing with me. Guess that beat the alternative, which was blabbing to someone.
Harlan had a few cars, but today he was in his Alfa Romeo, leaning a hip on the hood. “‘Bout time.”
I took my voice a little higher than normal. “You wanted me to look at some knives?”
He smirked and pressed his tongue into his cheek. “Right this way.”
He opened the door to his backseat, ushering me in before sliding in behind me. He barely had the door shut before we were all over each other, with me straddling his lap and our mouths fused together.
“Can’t believe you think I’m hot in a polo shirt,” I laughed against his lips.
“You’d be hot in a fucking grain sack, Emma,” he growled, kisses spreading under my jaw and down my neck until he sat back. “Take it off.”
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I whipped my shirt over my head, my elbows grazing the ceiling. Harlan’s hands clawed up my thighs to my ass, kneading while he lodged his face between my breasts. “Did I tell you how hot it was watching you play?”
“You didn’t tell me. But you can show me.”
“How’s that?”
He shoved the cup of my bralette to the side and sucked freely at my nipple. I was just starting to get absorbed in him when he pushed me back again. “Pants off.”
I fumbled with my tab and zipper, having chosen my polo and pants combo rather than my chef’s coat with elastic waistband pants for this day. Harlan took over, but I had to flop into the seat next to him to drop my pants and remove them at the ankle. In that time, Harlan took his shirt off and shoved his shorts and underwear to his knees. His cock slapped his stomach, the piercings glinting in the low light of the parking garage.
“This backseat is tiny,” I said.
“I wasn’t exactly concerned about baby seats when I bought the thing,” he shot back.
I straddled his lap again, now just in my bralette and otherwise naked. “Were you thinking about fucking the chef from work when you bought it?”
I raked my fingers through his hair, suspending my face over his and relishing in our closeness: his arms sealed around me, one hand tracing up my spine, his cock pressing against me, his head resting on the seat behind him, similar to the angle he had in my hot tub. Harlan’s lips hooked upward and his eyes softened. “It might have crossed my mind.”
“You’re such a liar,” I said.
A spank cracked across my ass and a jolt of lust filled my veins. “Quit berating me and ride my cock.”
“I finally get to have it?” I asked.
“All yours, princess.”
I winced. “Is it going to hurt? All the piercings?”
“Not if you’re wet enough,” he said, dipping to tease my nipple with his mouth. “You get wet for me?”
His fingers crept from my lower back to my ass until he found my center, wet and waiting. “Very good, Chef. Now show me how my princess rides.”
Nerves tingled in my stomach. This was our first time having penetrative sex, and I had to be the one in the lead. “It’s been a while,” I warned, reaching to line us up between my legs.
