My eyes slitted as I reveled in the ecstasy throttling through my body thanks to my wife’s filthy mouth. It was onlybecauseof that filthy mouth of hers, however, that I noticed the red SUV behind us.
Had I seen that before? Back in Midtown?
I must have tensed because Savannah’s efforts doubled down, and, as I set off once the lights changed, I knew there was no point in trying to hold back.
Using my grip on her ponytail to keep my cock deep in her throat, I growled as cum slalomed into her mouth.
She mumbled words I didn’t understand, sounds that made me think she was the one getting off, not the reverse, and I grunted as she swallowed every drop I had to fucking give.
When, finally, I was finished, I gently eased her head off my dick, and though it was awkward, I wasn’t altogether surprised that she rested her face on my lap and got her breathing back under control.
I stroked her hair back from her sweaty temple. "Thank you, little one."
"I’m so wet," she rasped.
"I want you to hold onto that arousal." I knew my tone had darkened. "No squirming or touching yourself until we get home."
"No fair," she pouted.
"I think we’re being tailed, baby. I don’t want anyone seeing that expression of yours when you get off. That’s for me alone."
"Don’t say things like that," she hissed. "Unless you want to make me miserable on the ride home."
That she was more miserable at the prospect of being horny for the ride home than being tailed told me how close she was to climaxing. Ordinarily, I knew she’d be thrilled at being tailed.
My wife was weird like that.
"Trust you to focus on that part."
She sniffed then slowly rose, wincing because of the uncomfortable position she’d been in.
As she settled in her seat, she asked, "Which car?"
"Don’t look—"
"I’m not going to look," she scoffed. "What do you take me for? An amateur?"
My lips twitched. "You a full-time criminal now?"
"I live with one," she retorted. "I know how these things work."
Though I rolled my eyes, I told her, "Red SUV. Two cars behind us in the right lane."
She fell silent as she lowered the visor. On the pretense of applying lipstick—because that was what every woman did in the dark and in the glow from the streetlamps—she tilted the mirror just so.
As she smoothed the stain onto her lips, she said, "I see it. But it's more maroon than red. Do you have any clue who it is?"
"No."
Savvie was quiet again. "You mean that, don’t you?"
"I do."
I wasn’t surprised she could tell the difference.
All week, I’d been avoiding speaking about the reason I’d been dragged out of bed in the early hours of the morning to deal with MacMurray.
Her curiosity was justified but that didn't make it any easier to hide the truth.