My fingers travel up the soft flesh of her thighs. Then, higher still.
She tugs her skirt up farther, then spreads her legs.
14
THE GOOD KIND OF TROUBLE
Brooke
Surrounded by cars but totally alone behind tinted windows, this is trouble, but the good kind.
I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve had a hard enough time coming with a guy in bed, so I’ve never tried to steal an O out of the boudoir. But when Drew touches me, I feel daring.
The man is focused on me, on helping mefinallyget out of my head.
His fingers slide along the damp panel of my panties, then he flashes a wicked grin as he slips one under, rubbing against my wetness. I arch into him.
“Oh, honey, I’ve missed this,” he says in a dirty purr.
“Me too,” I admit, my breath coming fast.
“Traffic rocks,” he says, as he paints dizzying strokes up and down my center.
My hips seek out his hand.
I spread my legs wider.
A rumble escapes his lips. “Yeah, do that. Love seeing you get so turned on you spread your legs for me.”
His dirty words are a charge, as if someone plugged me in, and I’m now electrified. The pleasure builds, rippling across my skin.
He drags a finger down me slowly, then brings it to his lips and sucks off the taste. “Fucking delicious,” he murmurs as he returns to me.
I whimper as he strokes.
“If we weren’t stuck in traffic, I’d go down on you.” His voice husky. “Bury my face between those pretty legs.”
“I’d grab your hair, pull you close,” I say, getting into the scene.
“You’d fuck my face hard—wrap your heels nice and tight around me, and I’d devour you,” he says in a low, dirty growl.
I’m lost. I’m absolutely lost as he touches me, faster and impossibly faster still. Every muscle tenses blissfully as an orgasm charges through me.
I cry out as I come undone in his car.
When the release subsides, I blink my eyes open, and wow.
Suddenly, the cars are moving. Traffic is unstuck.
Drew licks his fingers once more then grips the wheel, navigating through moving traffic like a pro. “Maybe you have superpowers. One orgasm and you broke through the traffic jam.”
“Just call me Miss O,” I say, breathless.
A satisfied smile lights his handsome face. “By the way,” he says, his tone full of pride and happiness, “I still owe you.”
“You do,” I say with a dopey grin. Only, I’m not thinking about my pleasure. I’m thinking about his. “But I owe you too.”
“I can think of a few ways you can repay me.”