“Beth was having dinner, and so were my friends when I called.”
“You told them you were stranded and none of them wanted to leave to pick you up?”
Surprised, she lifted her brows in confusion. His voice had never risen when she had almost made him crash, or when she had cussed him out. He hadn’t even lost his cool when she had nailed him in the balls. Yet, it had taken him to think her friends had ignored a plea for help to get a rise out of him?
“I didn’t tell them I was stranded. When they told me what they were doing, I told them I would call them later.”
“That was a dumbass move.”
“Why? Because I didn’t want to disturb their dinner? I can take care of myself.”
The fight had left her. Exhausted from the long walk and the fight with Train, she sank into the seat. That was when she noticed he had been stroking the pounding pulse at the base of her throat.
The sensuous touch of his fingers against her flesh had her sucking in a deep breath. His eyes grew even darker, and the shadow of his beard on his chiseled jaw gave the appearance of an outlaw who took what he wanted.
She reached out to twine her arms around his shoulders, her lips twisting up into a sardonic smile when he flinched.
“Scared?” she taunted.
“Of you? I don’t get scared.”
Killyama raised her lips to press them against his. Train remained still, not stopping her, but not participating, either.
She pulled back a fraction of an inch to whisper, “Prove it.”
Slowly, he opened his mouth. It was a kiss she wouldn’t ever forget. It was like being reborn in a burst of desire that was almost painful because it wasn’t enough. She needed more from him. She needed him to kiss her harder, to taste her the way she was tasting him.
Her control withered when he took the reins, tilting his face to the side so he could widen her mouth, turning the tables on her as she found herself being kissed by a man who could kiss as expertly as he could ride a motorcycle.
Train’s weight settled more intimately against her. She could feel the bulge of his dick through his denim jeans. The slick leather leggings she wore allowed him to notch himself in a way that made her wonder if he had pulled them down. She surreptitiously slid her hand down to make sure her pants were still on.
“What are you doing?”
There were a few things a woman hated to admit. The fact that she couldn’t tell him just when she had lost control of the situation was one of them.
Killyama moved her hand from the slick material of her pants to his T-shirt, showing no rhyme or reason, other than she wanted to make a lame excuse to herself for more breathing room.
When she tugged his T-shirt up, Train lifted himself, making it easier for her. Then his shirt slipped from her fingers, falling to the floorboard.
“Damn.” She stared up at the magnificent chest she could see when the parking lot lights came on.
Train stared down at her, his face a mask of seriousness. The two were frozen, neither one making a move, time standing still.
Her thoughts were a jumble of emotions. She wanted to push him out of her car and hightail it out of there as if the demons of hell were after her. The parts of her below the waist, though, wanted to jerk him down and fuck his brains out. From his expression, Train was just as undecided as she was.
When he started backing out of the car, she pulled him back down.
“Fuck me.”
Bracing his hands on the seat, he resisted her efforts. “You sure?”
“Dude, you want to fuck or not?”
Train started backing out of the car again. “I’ll pass.”
Perversely, his hesitation had her wanting him more. She wasn’t a slut, but when she usually asked men to have sex, they couldn’t get it out of their jeans fast enough.
Raising herself up, she pulled up her shirt, showing him the black lace bra that cupped her tits. “You sure?” she mocked, softening her voice into a seductive murmur as she trailed her fingertips down the tattoo on his bicep, losing the bitchy expression she usually wore.
Her body wanted him.
Train moved back inside the car, and Killyama gasped at his expression as he sensuously slid between her thighs, catching her mouth with his.
She combed her fingers into his long hair. She usually hated dudes with long hair, but on Train, the clean, masculine scent of it put her pussy in overdrive.
Train reached behind her to unfasten her bra, leaving her breasts free to brush his chest. She could feel the pounding of his heart against hers as their mouths dueled passionately.
Killyama scooted down so she could lay under him full-length. The old car had a big seat, and they took every spare inch of it, both of their feet hanging out of the open car door.