“Skirt off,” he growled out, pulling it down over my hips. We both pushed at the fabric, our elbows and knees bumping against each other. “Fuck. Okay, back seat.”
He flung himself over the console, in his jeans, bare-chested, and landed splayed over the back seat.
“Don’t do it like that,” he said with a grin and held out his arms to help me over. I wriggled my skirt off, and just in my bra and knickers—my white-cotton serviceable ones because I hadn’t prepared for this night—I climbed over the console to the back seat. Giggling, crouched and poised to jump onto the seat, I toppled onto him.
“Oh my God, I just realized I could have just used the doors,” I said, still giggling, one of my legs up around his neck, the rest of me spread sideways.
“Yes, but I would have missed the show,” he said, rubbing along my leg from my ankle to my thigh. I was laughing so much, he had to help right me. He pulled me back onto his lap. “And I will pay good money for a repeat of that show, Ms. Balfour.”
“Is that right?” I squirmed as his fingers trailed up the backs of my thighs and traced over my underwear, pulling them down.
“That is definitely right,” he said, lifting and circling his hips suggestively at me, his forehead against mine. He kept doing that until I was restless, antsy, gasping.
“These have to come off,” I said, unbuttoning his jeans.
“One for one,” he bargained.
Beneath me, he hooked his thumbs and shoved down his jeans and boxers in one as I unclipped my bra.
“I got the best out of that.” He lowered his mouth to my chest, his clever tongue sending sparks of pleasure into my core and right to the tips of my fingers and toes.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, bucking and writhing on him. “Oh God.”
I traced down his chest and reached farther down, sliding and stroking.
“Ah.” His head shot up. “I’m not going to last long like that.”
“Well then,” I said.
I rose up on him and, with a groan from both of us, eased down onto him. This was different from our night in the hotel, more frantic, with our emotions stripped down raw. I dragged my nails down the hard ridges of his stomach as I slowly, excruciatingly, rode up and down his length, taking my time, bliss coiling and radiating inside me.
“Oh, fuck me,” he growled out. He pulled at my hair with his hands, sending a ripple of pleasure down my back, and he slung his head back against the seat.
Then our lips bumped, our teeth bit, hands grabbed whatever skin they could. He gripped onto my hips and rubbed his pelvis where I needed it most, melting me, then building, tighter and tighter.
Abandoned, we linked our limbs into each other, our mouths crushed together in a messy, fogged-up desperation.
Then he yelled out, and too quickly, we both crashed even harder into each other and tumbled over the edge together.
Panting, he eased me down the seat so I was lying on my back, collapsed on me, and buried his face in my neck. I traced the ridges of his spine, while goose bumps shivered across my skin.
He smoothed my hair and kissed my neck. “You are amazing.” He sighed. “And much as I’d love to stay in the back seat forever draped over you naked, I think we need to get dressed in case anyone happens along.”
“Agreed.” I loved that he was worried about protecting me from prying eyes.
We cast around for our clothes and tugged them on and, using the doors, got back into the front seats.
He turned on the heating and sighed. “I don’t want to face the cameras tomorrow.”
I felt it too, that suspending ourselves from the outside world had ended for now, and we had to discuss the show.
“I know,” I said. “But we have to plan what we’re going to do onscreen.”
“We both want to win this, and Simon made clear our antagonism is the winning ticket. I always thought your designs were, but…”
I giggled, flattered and amused and a little bit gloating. “Interesting. My designs are the winning ticket?Someonehas changed their tune.”
“I’d better appreciate your skills and assets.” He reached under me and gave my arse a good, hard squeeze.
