I push a finger inside her. She clenches around me, her inner muscles gripping me tight. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever felt.
I add a second finger. I curl them, stroking that spot that drives women crazy. Her hips buck off the seat, riding my hand.
“Look at me,” I command.
She forces her eyes open. They’re dazed, hazy with lust.
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask, my voice rough. “Do you want me to go to Louisiana?”
“No,” she gasps. “No.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You,” she says. “I want you. Right now.”
She practically climbs me. She wraps her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my back. She pulls me down, grinding herself against my hand.
I devour her mouth again. I kiss her like I’m starving. My fingers pump inside her. I can feel the tension coiling in her belly, the way her thighs are starting to tremble.
I want more. I want everything.
I pull my hand out of her pants. She whimpers at the loss, a sound of protest that goes straight to my head.
“Turn around,” I order.
She hesitates for a split second, then she obeys. She turns, bracing her hands on the seat of the truck, her ass presented to me.
I reach for my belt.
“Well, I can’t see her anywhere!”
The voice cuts through the fog of lust like a knife.
The side door of The Salt Lick flies open. Light spills out into the parking lot, accompanied by the roar of music and laughter.
I freeze. My hand is on my belt buckle. Saramaria freezes, her forehead pressed against the back of the driver’s seat.
Dot stands on the porch, clutching her binoculars. She’s looking right at the truck.
I hold my breath. If she sees us...
Saramaria sucks in a breath. She pushes herself upright, frantically buttoning her jeans. I retreat, hopping down from the running board, adjusting my shirt to hide the massive erection straining against my zipper.
Dot scans the parking lot, her gaze sweeping right over us. “Saramaria? Saramaria, honey? Are you out here?”
Saramaria opens the driver’s side door. She leans out, her face flushed, her hair a wild mess.
“I’m here, Dot,” she calls out. Her voice is breathless, but steady. “I was just... looking for something in the truck.”
“Oh!” Dot lowers her binoculars. “There you are. We’re about to start the raffle. You need to be inside for the drawing.”
“I’ll be right there,” Saramaria says.
Dot nods and goes back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I stand there, looking at Saramaria. She’s gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles are white.
