“As if Onyx wasn’t clawing at your junk under it!” Chantelle paused for breath, surprised that this man could have gotten her so mad that she could begin spewing invective with such passion. What was it about him that drove her to the edge like this? “Also, let’s not forget that I’m not really your wife!
He smirked.
She went on. “I was enjoying my conversation, and you butted in. He was a nice guy. I was looking forward to spending a nice evening with him.”
He slammed on the brakes, veering off the road onto the verge. “You what? You were planning on sleeping with him?”
After regaining her breath from the minor fright, it took Chantelle a moment to realize Dustin had completely misinterpreted her words and struggled to revise them. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”
“How would I know it?” Yanking up the emergency brake, he turned to face her. “I know literally nothing about you!”
“Well, I’m not a whore if that’s what you’re inferring from my comment—”
“Nobody called you a whore—”
“It’s written all over your face.”
He blanched as if she reallyhadsmacked him. “You don’t mean that,” he said. “Surely you couldn’t believe I would think of you in that way.”
“How would I know,” she mimicked. “I know literally nothing about you!”
“Well,” he said with deceptive softness. “Maybe we should fix that.”
Across the cramped space of the car, which suddenly seemed ridiculously small, Dustin leaned over and kissed her. The last time he’d done so, on their wedding day, she’d been shocked and affronted—although yeah, a little turned on, too.
This time, she had been expecting it. Looking forward to it. Hoping for it. Because immediately she responded, opening her mouth to him, closing her eyes against the eyes that now loomed near hers, in case she spotted a glimmer of ‘I told you so’ within. The stubble he’d trimmed for their wedding had grown back and was rough against her lips. And yet she wanted nothing more than to feel it under her fingers.
Chantelle reached up to stroke his jaw and his hand closed over hers. Probably holding her fingers there in case she tried to pull away.
She breathed out, then in again, shocked by how good he smelled. Amazed by how good he tasted. When he released her hand at last, she let it fall to his shoulders, sliding them along their breadth. He was so toned that his build was deceptive; he gave the appearance of being slender but was in fact solid, dense, and hard.
Her hands traveled to his chest. He was wearing a good quality cotton shirt, the first two buttons undone, and she could feel just a hint of his chest hairs crinkling at the opening. She wanted to feel more, and made haste to pop two, three more buttons, so she could explore him further. Enjoy him more.
And enjoyable he was. His chest was toned and his nipples flat under her fingers, and yet when she scratched one brown tip idly with a fingernail, she felt him suck in a lungful of air.
Sensitive nipples, she thought wickedly, and scratched them again.
“Goddammit,” he muttered.
Then, with easy strength, he lifted her, carefully negotiating the gear lever and emergency brake that was all that stood between them. He hauled her over onto his lap, shooting back the seat to give them room.
She straddled him easily, one knee at each side of his hips. Her jeans-clad thighs clenched as he let his hands fall to her ass, pressing her down so she could feel the ridge that had risen between them. It was thick, and even through the denim she could feel the warmth of his desire.
That ridge connected easily, seamlessly, with the space between her thighs that had begun to ache, and it was only the pressure of him against it, as he lifted his hips to her, that brought her any respite from that ache.
It felt good, but she hated the thought of letting him know how good it felt. Hated the idea that this knowledge would give him power over her. Turning her face away, she squeezed her eyes as if trying to distance her mind from what they were doing.
He took it as an invitation to flick his tongue against the side of her neck, to nibble and pinch, all the while pressing down on her hips, trying to learn her rhythm as she began to move, vaguely conscious of what she was doing.
It felt good. And the better it felt, the less embarrassed she was, especially when Dustin pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered into the tendrils of hair curling from her temple, “Go for it, beauty.”
Go for it she did, aided and abetted by his strong hands, until the sensation within her grew so great, her internal rhythm so demanding, that he ceased trying to guide her, and instead just let his hands rest upon her body as it tensed.
Down and down and hard against that rigid bump, which seemed to throb in answer to her own vibrating body. Down and harder and harder… and yet the respite she sought eluded her.
There was pleasure, almost too much of it. But she couldn’t reach what she was straining for.
This didn’t surprise her, because she never had. Never in her life had she achieved an orgasm with a man; two fiancés plus a couple of other boyfriends and still nothing.