He looked her square in the eye and ripped off her panties in one twist. “Haven’t even started, Hannah.” His knees landed on the soft earth in front of her, rain dripping off the ends of his dark-blond hair, moisture trickling down his cheeks. And he seemed to sense that she was about to float away on a cloud of never-before-encountered lust, because he barred his forearm across her hips, pinning her roughly to the car, and buried his mouth between her thighs, sinking, pushing, pulling his tongue through the split of her femininity.
Watching her the whole time. Observing her reaction to that first perfect, deliberate drag of friction. Fox groaned, his pupils dilating, forearm flexing against her belly.
That absolute, unabashed carnality gave her permission to palm her breasts through the bodice of the dress, chafing the heels of her hands over stiff nipples, enjoying the way he watched her through darkening eyes. She arched her back, allowing him to settle the instep of her foot on his shoulder and go deeper with every stroke of his eager tongue, his lips closing around her sensitive bud, sucking lightly, rhythmically until her muscles began to quicken, pulsing, her vision turning hazy, her head thrashing side to side on the car. “Oh my God. I’m already . . .” She panted, the sound ending on a moan, her fingers twisting in his wet hair. “It’s already . . . I’m going to. It’s coming. I’m coming.”
As if he wasn’t already doing enough, doing the most, he chose the moment of her confession to press his middle and index fingers inside her. Deep. Until he executed that move, she’d loved the light finesse of his touch, but unbeknownst to her, she’d been starving for that rough push. But Fox knew. He knew everything about everything, and God, oh God, he delivered it, standing halfway through her orgasm to thrust his fingers into her clenching heat. In and out, fast. No gentleness in sight. Just his open mouth groaning on top of hers, her moisture spreading down his thick fingers, the sky weeping around them.
“Fox,” she gasped, holding on to his shoulders, almost alarmed by the intensity with which her legs trembled, her flesh constricting, releasing, his fingers entering and leaving her slowly, slowly with the ebbing of her orgasm.
And it wasn’t enough, somehow. The best climax of her existence wasn’t enough. Nothing physical would ever be enough without him—all of him—ever again. That unchangeable knowledge concreted itself inside her as their mouths connected, demolished, her fingers racing down his stomach to unfasten his belt.
“Need you. Need you.”
He caught Hannah’s wrist, dragging her palm up and down his erection, his teeth catching her bottom lip, pulling. “I’m ready for you. Been aching so long.” He yanked down his zipper and planted both hands on the top of the car. “Touch me. Please. Get a fist around it and stroke me hard. Fuck me up.”
How?
How was she continuing to get wet? She’d already hit the peak of all peaks.
The way he looked at her, that’s how. The bald honesty of his words, the crude thrust of his hips when she circled him with a hand and pumped. Firmly, like he’d asked. Her breath growing choppy when his arousal swelled and stiffened more, impossibly, giving her fist even more ground to cover. “Oh. Jesus . . .” she exhaled before she could stop herself.
A glimmer of familiar cockiness in his eyes made her heart spin crazily. “Ah, come on, babe.” He wet his lips, a groan building and breaking from his mouth, his attention fastened on the treatment of her hand, the way she choked him up and down, massaging him intimately. “You knew it had to be huge.”
She breathed a laugh, and he did, too, though the husky sound quickly turned into hot, panting breaths against her forehead, gasped instructions for her to go faster. Faster, faster . . . until his breath began to labor, and he reached for the door handle leading to the backseat.
“In,” he rasped, not waiting for her to comply, just ripping the door open, wrapping an arm around the small of Hannah’s back and dragging her inside, not stopping until her back was flat on the seat, the crown of her head almost reaching the opposite door.
His body came down on top of her, their mouths connecting frantically, her fingertips searching for the hem of his T-shirt, ripping it off so she could feel his chest, touch it, kiss his bare skin. Levering up so he could do the same to her dress, her bra, all their clothes save his pants ending up on the floor in a matter of seconds, his remaining jeans pushed down to his knees by two pairs of eager hands, their mouths ravenous.
“I have to get a condom on or we’re going to be in trouble,” he said in between kisses, his hips moving between her thighs, mouth traveling up and down her neck. “For the record, I didn’t plan on this happening in the backseat of my car.”