I glance in the side mirror, the road clearing just in time for me to ease up on the clutch and pull onto the street, the tires loud, the engine louder.
But they’ve got nothing on the sound of my wife’s laugh.
I go fast and take corners faster, making her squeal in delight. In horror. She can’t stop laughing and I figure it’s some sort of nervous thing too, because her expression is equal parts joy and terror.
Eventually I slow down, feeling bad that I’m frightening her. She seems to relax, her body melting into the seat.
“You hungry?”
“Kind of.” She blows out a shaky breath. “You’re a little scary.”
“I was actually taking it easy compared to how I used to drive this thing.”
I can feel her staring at me like I’m a complete stranger. “That was taking it easy? I can’t imagine what you must’ve been like when you were racing.”
“An absolute terror.” I say it proudly.
Her laughter is back, and it’s real this time. “There is so much more to you than I even know.”
“You have no idea, wife. We’ve barely scratched the surface.” I glance over at her to see she’s smiling, staring out the passenger side window and looking very pleased with herself. I reach over, pushing up the hem of her skirt so I can rest my hand on her bare knee. “You take my ‘panties optional’ rule to heart?”
She keeps her gaze on the window. “Maybe you should look and see.”
I slide my fingers up the inside of her slender thigh, silently marveling at her soft skin. She parts her legs slightly, giving me better access and soon enough I’m encountering nothing but bare, creamy heat.
“No panties,” she murmurs, her hot gaze meeting mine as I lightly stroke her.
“Is that why you wore a dress?” I brush her clit with my thumb.
She bites her lower lip, nodding. “You like?”
Is it wrong that it makes my dick hard that I’m fingering my wife in my favorite car? Probably not.
“I fucking love,” I answer, steering the car with one hand to the right so I can eventually park along the curb. I haven’t been paying attention to where we’re at. Just driving aimlessly around Manhattan and I realize we’re in a quiet residential neighborhood. Reluctantly I remove my hand from my wife and downshift. “Think anyone would give a shit if I got you off in front of their brownstone?”
Charlotte glances over at the row of homes I’m currently parking in front of. I put the car into park. “Spread your legs wider, baby.”
She does as I ask without hesitation, knowing I’ll deliver. My hand is back under her dress and I slide two fingers into her tight channel. I start thrusting, nice and slow, my gaze trained on her the entire time. The myriad emotions I see streaking across her face. The way she opens and closes her mouth when I stroke her extra hard. The little gasps. The whimpers, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep them open.
Unable to stand it any longer, I lean over and kiss her. Consume her. I thrust my tongue into her mouth and do a thorough sweep before I twist my tongue around hers, her whimpers coming faster now. Her hips move with my hand and she’s so wet, my fingers slick through her noisily, the only other sound our accelerated breaths.
“Perry,” she whispers against my lips, her entire body growing stiff. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I tell her, shoving three fingers inside her, my thumb pressing against her clit at the same time, rubbing it in small, tight circles.
“Oh God,” she chokes out, her inner walls clenching around my fingers just before she starts to shake. “Perrrrrrrry.”
I kiss her hard to shut her up. I don’t need her yelling my name and disturbing the neighborhood, though that would be kind of hot.
That’s my wife. She’s sexy as fuck and so damn responsive. I didn’t mean to take it this far this fast tonight, but damn it, Idoplan on fucking her in this car sometime. Preferably after we eat dinner.
I’m fucking starving.
She moans into my mouth and it’s the sexiest sound. I ease my speed, until eventually I pull my fingers out of her completely, breaking the kiss to push my fingers into her mouth. She sucks them eagerly, her hot tongue licking, my dick surging against the fly of my jeans I changed into before I left the office.
I did not want to drive this car in a suit. Talk about a mismatch.
“What are you doing to me?” she asks when I withdraw my now clean fingers from her mouth.