by Alisha Rai
“No surprise. You love it when I suck on them.”
The muscles in her thighs clenched. “I do.”
He shifted in his seat. “Keep going.”
“It’s usually not enough to touch myself outside my clothes.” She smoothed her hand under her shirt, and then pushed her bra below her breasts so she could get to her nipples easily. “I love pinching my nipples.” Suiting actions to words, she did just that and didn’t bother to disguise the moan that emerged.
“Does it feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Is it enough?”
She shook her head. With one hand alternating stroking her hard nipples, she slid her other hand down to the elastic waistband of her panties. “No. It’s never enough. But you know what I need to come. So when I’m alone, I unzip my pants…”
“Skirt.”
“Huh?” She glanced at him to catch him, true to his word, with his gaze fixed firmly on the asphalt. There was a high flush of arousal on his cheeks.
“Tell me that sometimes you’re wearing a skirt. And you push it up to reveal your tiny white panties.”
Only Taylor could make her laugh during an illicit verbal peepshow. “Okay, a skirt. Do you want me to keep going or are you going to interrupt me?”
He shuddered. Flat-out shuddered. “Please.”
“Of course, right now, I’m not wearing anything. Only these lacy black panties under this blanket.”
Out of her peripheral vision, she caught him turning his head to look at her. “Nuh-uh-uh. I’m not wrecking. Eyes in front of you.”
He turned back, his throat working. She noted that he was very careful to stay under the speed limit. “You’re killing me here.”
“Like I said, you’re the one who started this,” she shot back. Yeah, he was the one who had opened this vault, unlocked her heretofore hidden desire to…
To masturbate in a car with him listening?
Okay, so it was a rather niche kink.
Though it wasn’t just the kinky aspect. It was a power rush to know that she held his arousal in the palm of her hand, to know that she was both shocking and arousing him while he was powerless to do anything about it.
She should have been cold. But between their combined breathing and the heat blasting from the vents, she felt like she was in some humid forest and not their boring old minivan. Caught up in the hazy, hot atmosphere, Ana pushed her hand under the blanket, stroking over the rapidly dampening silk of her panties.
They were a new pair, and she felt a trifle bad he wasn’t getting to fully appreciate them. But then again, this game of peek-a-boo was rather fun.
“Are you wet?” His voice was hoarse.
“Very much so.” She tipped her head back against the headrest and finally, finally allowed her hand to slip below the elastic band of her panties.
She’d waxed herself bare to give Taylor a nice little hands-on thrill for the upcoming weekend. That would remain something for him to discover on his own.
Generally, she ladyscaped her parts for Taylor’s enjoyment…but there was a definite bump in her arousal to feel her fingers smoothing over the bare mound of her vagina, nothing to impede access to her clit, which poked up through the folds as if it was begging for attention. “I usually just go for clitoral stimulation,” she breathed as she rubbed the tight nubbin. “Normally that makes me come the fastest.”
“Do you use a vibrator?”
“You would have come across it if I did.” Her fingers had traditionally worked well enough for her between boyfriends, and since she’d met Taylor, she’d always had him for penetration.
“I’m buying you a vibrator.”
She imagined that, lying on their bed at home naked while toying with a vibrator. Slowly using it to rev up her clit and then sliding it inside of her.
As Taylor watched from the edge of the bed. Or even better, used it on her.
This time, she shuddered.
“I want to see what you’re doing.”
“I know.”
He growled. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you? First time you’re masturbating in front of me, and I can’t even watch properly.”
Yes, there truly was a lot they hadn’t explored. Hell, she hadn’t even shown him the dirty websites she peeked through when she was feeling particularly needy. That just wasn’t right. Things would most definitely be changing. She kept her tone light. “I thought the whole purpose of masturbating was to get off.” She spread her legs and scooted forward in the seat, canting her hips to get a better angle.
“Funny.”
She rubbed her clit harder. “Hey, you—”
“I know. I started this.”
Some imp of seduction had taken over her usual circumspect mouth. “I’d like to finish it.”
“So do it.”
Freedom and power coursed through her as she allowed her fingers free rein, roving over her breasts and the slippery wet place between her legs.
“Does it feel good?”
“So good,” she murmured. “But I wish it were your fingers inside of me.”
“Give me two minutes, baby. It will be.”
“Mmm.” She stroked the slick folds of her labia, careful not to touch her clit. If she did, it would be all over, and she wanted to save it for him.
She didn’t know quite how long she rubbed up and over herself, the snow softly falling on the abandoned road to the cabin all around them. He must have been feeling the heat as much as she was, because she was vaguely aware of him flicking off the heater and switching it to defrost.
They’d fogged the windows up.
The jolt of the car halting pushed her back to reality, and her fingers fell from where they were lazily stroking between her legs. Languidly, she turned her head to find him watching her, his hand stopped on the key in the ignition, not quite turning it off. “Let’s get inside, you little wench.”
Oooh, wench. Note to self: possible pirate fantasy must be put on the to-do list sometime this weekend. She considered his order, and then shook her head. “Nope.”
“What?”
She whipped the blanket off her legs and crawled over the center console to straddle his lap. “Here.”
“Are you…what?”
“Surely you can say more than that, sweetie.” She tried to scoot backwards to give herself room to unbuckle and unbutton his pants, but the steering wheel dug into her back a second before she heard the loud horn sound. “Oops.”
“You wanna have sex in the car? Let’s go in the backseat where it’s a little more comfortable.”
“No. Here.” Here was dirty and tight and spontaneous.
His lips set in a hard line before he reached down and adjusted the seat, pushing it back so the wheel wasn’t leaving an imprint on her ass. She stopped him when he tried to recline the back of his seat. “No, wait.”
“I don’t want you to bang the top of your head.”
“If I wanted to recline, I’d have taken you inside.” Though she had been doing this for a while, she fumbled unbuckling his belt. Oh good, there it went.
His zipper gave way next, and the bulge of his penis filled the opening, covered by a pair of fine knit boxers. A heartbeat later, the heated length of him filled her grasp.
He was fully erect and so big and strong in her hand that her mouth watered. If she hadn’t been quite so desperate for him to be inside of her, she might have been able to tease him further.
Luckily, he didn’t seem like he was in the mood for any more preliminaries either. Probably realizing that she wouldn’t be dissuaded, he gripped his cock with one hand and held her hips steady with the other, guiding her to him.
As always, she had to take him in small increments, his cock too thick to slam down on. This was possibly the first time she’d resented that, and she may have put extra force in her downward slide, despite the presence of his restraining hand on her waist.
Finally, finally though, she had taken him to the very root o
f his cock, and she began sliding up and down, bracing one hand against the roof of the van while she ground against his body harder and faster.
“Fuck, yeah.” He groaned, leaned forward and bit at the hard point of her nipple through her T-shirt. The scrape of the cotton, the muted feel of his mouth, was too much for her. She slammed her body down on him with a keening cry as she came, the hard club of his penis almost too intense for her to stand.
She came back to reality to find him kissing her neck with soft, worshipful licks and nibbles. The wetness between her legs told her that he’d had his own orgasm, which made her a tad gloomy she’d had her eyes closed, locked in her own pleasure. She loved to watch his face as he came.
She drew back from him. “Are we there yet?” she asked drowsily.
He laughed, a quick bark. “Yeah. We’re here.”
It took all of her energy to turn her head so she could stare out the window at the picture-perfect, deceptively rustic-looking home sitting in the middle of a clearing. Eli was loaded, so though she hadn’t been inside yet, she was certain that the sprawling vacation cottage was luxuriously appointed and filled with comfortable amenities. Shaky confidence bloomed inside of her.
A month ago, she would have said that Taylor’s and her story was already written—they’d fallen in love and gotten married. Honestly, what was left?
Their book was lacking, though, and it had taken a little shock therapy to make her see it. That little house would mark the scene of a new page in their relationship.
Quite possibly an extremely naughty scene.
Chapter Two
At some point, when he wasn’t looking, a pod person had crawled into Ana and taken over her body.
Granted, the pod person’s agenda wasn’t quite clear yet, but surely anyone who studied their society for long would know that a wild and sexy act was a good way to lull a male into a false sense of security. In order to eat his brains.
No more midnight sci-fi movies for you.
But seriously, something was up. Something more than his cock. Taylor grimaced as he zipped his jeans over his already half-hard erection. The cold shower he’d just taken hadn’t done much to dispel his arousal. All he had to do was think of that smoking-hot car ride up the mountain to get all bothered again. If he was a superstitious man, he might think that the hedonistic memories contained in these mountains were affecting Ana as well.
He threw on a plain white T-shirt and left the big bedroom he’d been using at this cottage since he was sixteen and Eli’s family had unofficially adopted him, following his estrangement with his own father. Though it was barely seven, the winter night had begun to creep across the sky, filling the spacious vacation home with shadows and the warm orange of the setting sun.
To be fair, Ana’s out-of-character behavior wasn’t sudden. She’d been acting a little oddly for the past couple of weeks, but he’d chalked it up to holiday stress. When they’d returned from spending Christmas with her loud, huge family and she’d informed him she wanted them to go away, just the two of them, before her vacation ended next week, this place was the only location he could come up with on short notice. All it took was one phone call to Eli for permission.
The permission had been granted immediately, and Taylor had gone hunting in the junk drawer in his and Ana’s sunny little kitchen. The key to the cottage’s front door had been buried all the way in the back, tarnished, forlorn and forgotten, not even on a keychain. It was the same key he’d used throughout his teens and young adulthood to come and go from this home whenever he’d pleased. Until he’d stopped needing to come here anymore.
He hadn’t cut this place out of his life the way he had his father and the majority of the pack. Still, it had been years since he’d been here, and he had to admit, part of the visit was pure curiosity as a test of his willpower. Would this once-decadent den of pleasure stir him? Had he mastered his ability to abstain from his hedonistic leanings?
A week ago, smug in his cozy suburban Buffalo home, he would have said yes. Going cold turkey over a decade ago hadn’t been easy, but his choice had either been that or a fate worse than death: a slow descent into madness and loneliness, until he either pulled the trigger on himself or his best friend was forced to do so, for the good of the rest of the pack.
In other words, no choice at all.
Yeah, but he’d come out on top. A faint smile curved his lips as he followed his nose and the slight ring of pots and pans to the kitchen. He passed through the luxuriously appointed living room. The open floor plan and excellent utilization of the square footage of this house had always appealed to his architect’s eye. The décor had changed since the last time he’d been here, but that was no surprise, given his best friend’s quicksilver moods. He stroked a hand over the back of the wide leather couch, perfect for fitting two—or perhaps more—people. One thing that hadn’t changed was the way everything was geared toward hedonistic pleasure.
Pleasure he’d partaken in, happily. He pressed his hand against the wall. Though he knew it was his imagination, he swore he could feel the drywall pulse with the debauchery of his youth. He drew his hand away quickly. Ana knew some of his checkered past. Sexual history was important, and he hadn’t lied or misled her about the number of partners he’d had in his misguided teens and twenties. Though she’d been obviously nonplussed, the fact that he’d significantly slowed down and even abstained for a couple of years for the greater part of his adulthood had seemed to redeem him in her eyes.
However, he hadn’t told her about the exact nature of what he’d done with those partners. His slightly nostalgic smile fell away as he entered the kitchen. He didn’t know how to begin to tell her everything.
He stopped as he caught sight of Ana standing at the stove in the gourmet kitchen which, knowing Eli, had probably never seen a real cook.
About seven years ago, Taylor had briefly dated an antique store owner. He remembered seeing a small cameo in her shop with the profile of a woman garbed in lace and pearls.
When he’d done a favor for his assistant and picked up her son from kindergarten a couple of years ago, he’d watched Ana wrangling a bunch of little people, and he’d wondered if she’d somehow stepped off that cameo and switched out her flowing dress for a pair of slacks and a button down. Talking to her that first time, he’d even felt the same way he had when his big hands had clumsily picked up that old necklace. Like he was in the presence of something delicate and lovely, something he could easily break if he mismanaged it.
He cocked his head and studied her. He’d never been attracted to frail-looking women before Ana, but she made the crick in his neck and the extra care when he touched her worth it. Her dark, pixie-cut hair curled around her flushed cheeks, a strand clinging to the corner of her incongruously full mouth. Those lips were his hot button—they tempted him to forget the fact that she was a quiet, sheltered, reserved woman who had probably never imagined half of the things he’d done.
That sounds like some wistfulness for the good old days…
No, he and Ana had a great sex life. The fact that they loved each other automatically made every encounter hot. Who cared if it was mostly done in the missionary position in their bedroom? There was a certain age when sexual acrobatics had to end. They were grownups and they were married.
So you won’t admit that car ride was the hottest thing you two have ever done?
He shook his head to clear that thought. The vague shame the answer brought made him uncomfortable.
She was his. He’d braved the dragons—Ana’s three moderately insane and very overprotective older brothers—and captured the princess. He wouldn’t let anything jeopardize that, not even his own abnormal cravings. Even if it meant he was doing a hell of a lot more working out lately to keep those cravings under wraps. The car ride had been hot, yes, but he’d still retained control of himself. He wouldn’t let it slip, no matter what.
He leaned against the doorframe. “Something smells good.”
“Not me.” He walked over to where she stood stirring a pot of red sauce on the stove. The aroma of garlic and tomato filled his nostrils and whet his appetite. Placing his hands on her waist, he brushed a kiss on her neck. A whole different kind of appetite sat up and took notice. She’d showered while he’d caught a nap, and he inhaled the scent of vanilla, the lotion she used after every bath. It had gotten so bad he couldn’t smell that scent anywhere and not get hard for her.
He pressed openmouthed kisses down her neck, making her giggle and lean back against him. He could almost span his hands around her waist, and he wanted nothing more than to smooth them up and cup her sensitive breasts. Unfortunately she was wearing The Apron, and he feared what would happen if he started something.
To be fair, he assumed she’d found this one in a drawer somewhere, since it didn’t exactly look like the one she wore at home. It was pink and frilly, though, and it was close enough to be The Apron to be dangerous to his mental health.
Every time she slipped it on, all he could think about was having her wear that, handcuffs and heels and nothing else. Then he’d have her come to the breakfast table where he sat and bend her over at the waist and feed every inch of his cock into those full, bee-stung lips…
He removed his hands from his wife and stepped away hastily. God, maybe he’d been too overconfident, thinking he would be able to win out over the memories this place carried.
“I’ll set the table,” he blurted out, eager to have his hands occupied with something that wasn’t Ana’s soft skin or perfect firm tits or round thighs…
His grandmother. Baseball stats. A snowdrift.
His jaw clenched. It was a lost cause. He should have done some pushups or something before coming downstairs.
“It’s already set,” she informed him, all cheerful and unaware of his seething—yeah, seething—lust. “Why don’t you help me bring the food to the table?”