up with something new. And while Lauren couldn’t make sense of it, as his fingers caressed the skin of her inner thighs, heat and desire rocketed through her body.
Lauren licked her lips, stared at Rafi’s hand and watched in fascination as he explored the skin of her thigh with seeming leisure. The interior of the limousine was darkened by the tinted windows. The seats, arranged along the length of the car, were plush and comfortable, but Lauren was far from relaxed.
Rafi continued to look ahead, or glance now and then out the window at the drab Midwestern landscape passing by. He appeared uninterested in her as he hummed tunelessly.
His fingers told a different story.
At length they traveled higher and discovered Lauren’s secret. For the first time in her life, she was wearing garters. Her silk hosiery had been an indulgence far beyond her usual sensible underwear, the black garters and matching tiny scrap of a thong from a European shop she’d never before entered.
Lauren had imagined lifting her skirt to reveal these offerings to her lover, when she was ready—not having him discover them this way, when she could neither move nor speak. She wanted to protest, explain.
But the low sound Rafi made in his throat—a rumbling almost guttural in its hunger—stilled her anxiety and replaced it with raw need. Rafi slipped two fingers under the lace-covered elastic, tugged gently. He played with the soft band for a while before abandoning it, almost reluctantly, to renew his explorations.
His fingers neared the cleft between her legs, but stopped short. He sank his fingers greedily in her flesh and kneaded, stroked. Lauren caught her breath as he stroked higher, and frantically glanced in front to see if the two men had noticed.
They had not. They talked on, their unfamiliar language almost song-like in its cadence. If they turned in their seats, they would see exactly what was going on, Rafi plundering, Lauren immobilized with need. The mechanism of the limousine’s screen took up some space, it was true, but the opening was still ample to see everything that was going on.
The screen . It could be closed, ensuring their privacy. But of course, that wasn’t part of Rafi’s plan. The presence of witnesses, oblivious as they were, was what he had meant…the thing he hadn’t done before.
It would have been inconceivable to the old Lauren to let a man caress her in public, even semi-concealed as they were. But now she was not only allowing Rafi to touch her, she found herself parting her legs, straining against the taut fabric of her tailored skirt, and praying that he wouldn’t stop.
As if in response to her unspoken plea, Rafi slid his fingers up to her panties, damp and hot with her desire. He traced their scalloped edges, made his way around the tiny triangle, and she heard a ragged breath escape his lips. She turned and met his eyes. They blazed nearly black with heat and longing, and he did not look away as he found the thin ribbon that held the silk in place and twisted it, almost savagely, in his fingers until she heard the faint rip of the fabric.
Still he held her gaze as he tore them again until they came away in his fingers. She felt them slide against her skin and then they were crumpled in his fist. She couldn’t break her stare even when he folded the black silk into a small square and lifted it to his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and she thought she saw him tremble slightly.
Lauren glanced again to the front, but the two men took no notice. The unfamiliar sensation of her own nakedness under her clothes was maddening. Rafi tucked the silk into a pocket, then rested his hand on the seat between them. He teased her with a look, an unspoken question; she responded by moving her hips closer to the edge of the seat. She had to have his touch, or she would fly apart.
He did not disappoint her. His fingers glided once more along her thighs, and this time they stopped only to shove
Lauren licked her lips, stared at Rafi’s hand and watched in fascination as he explored the skin of her thigh with seeming leisure. The interior of the limousine was darkened by the tinted windows. The seats, arranged along the length of the car, were plush and comfortable, but Lauren was far from relaxed.
Rafi continued to look ahead, or glance now and then out the window at the drab Midwestern landscape passing by. He appeared uninterested in her as he hummed tunelessly.
His fingers told a different story.
At length they traveled higher and discovered Lauren’s secret. For the first time in her life, she was wearing garters. Her silk hosiery had been an indulgence far beyond her usual sensible underwear, the black garters and matching tiny scrap of a thong from a European shop she’d never before entered.
Lauren had imagined lifting her skirt to reveal these offerings to her lover, when she was ready—not having him discover them this way, when she could neither move nor speak. She wanted to protest, explain.
But the low sound Rafi made in his throat—a rumbling almost guttural in its hunger—stilled her anxiety and replaced it with raw need. Rafi slipped two fingers under the lace-covered elastic, tugged gently. He played with the soft band for a while before abandoning it, almost reluctantly, to renew his explorations.
His fingers neared the cleft between her legs, but stopped short. He sank his fingers greedily in her flesh and kneaded, stroked. Lauren caught her breath as he stroked higher, and frantically glanced in front to see if the two men had noticed.
They had not. They talked on, their unfamiliar language almost song-like in its cadence. If they turned in their seats, they would see exactly what was going on, Rafi plundering, Lauren immobilized with need. The mechanism of the limousine’s screen took up some space, it was true, but the opening was still ample to see everything that was going on.
The screen . It could be closed, ensuring their privacy. But of course, that wasn’t part of Rafi’s plan. The presence of witnesses, oblivious as they were, was what he had meant…the thing he hadn’t done before.
It would have been inconceivable to the old Lauren to let a man caress her in public, even semi-concealed as they were. But now she was not only allowing Rafi to touch her, she found herself parting her legs, straining against the taut fabric of her tailored skirt, and praying that he wouldn’t stop.
As if in response to her unspoken plea, Rafi slid his fingers up to her panties, damp and hot with her desire. He traced their scalloped edges, made his way around the tiny triangle, and she heard a ragged breath escape his lips. She turned and met his eyes. They blazed nearly black with heat and longing, and he did not look away as he found the thin ribbon that held the silk in place and twisted it, almost savagely, in his fingers until she heard the faint rip of the fabric.
Still he held her gaze as he tore them again until they came away in his fingers. She felt them slide against her skin and then they were crumpled in his fist. She couldn’t break her stare even when he folded the black silk into a small square and lifted it to his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and she thought she saw him tremble slightly.
Lauren glanced again to the front, but the two men took no notice. The unfamiliar sensation of her own nakedness under her clothes was maddening. Rafi tucked the silk into a pocket, then rested his hand on the seat between them. He teased her with a look, an unspoken question; she responded by moving her hips closer to the edge of the seat. She had to have his touch, or she would fly apart.
He did not disappoint her. His fingers glided once more along her thighs, and this time they stopped only to shove
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