Along for the Ride by Ruby Laska Page A

her skirt roughly higher, allowing him access. She was exposed now, not only to his touch and to the view of either man who might turn around, but also to the cool air circulating in the car. The sensation was excruciating, the air laving the wet heat of her longing.
    In the next second his fingers had found and entered her, gently but boldly. The suddenness of his move shocked her out of her semi-stupor and she startled, but he did not yield, and in seconds she stopped resisting and moved against him. A second finger joined the first, and then his thumb found her nub of pleasure and began circling slowly.
    Lauren gasped. She couldn’t help it. She longed to cry out, but the cry strangled in her throat by her sheer will.
    “Take your pleasure, Lauren,” Rafi whispered out of the corner of his mouth. Lauren barely heard him at all above the whirring air conditioner and the conversation from the front seat. “Take it, here. I want to watch.”
    Lauren let her eyes drift closed, sank a little lower in the seat, and let the sensation wash over her. His skilled touch brought her to the edge and then, magically, he somehow knew exactly when to pull back, teasing her and drawing out her longing until she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.
    The sound in the car blurred together as Lauren felt tears of frustration wet her lashes. When she could bear it no more she lifted her hips to Rafi’s touch, met his gentle thrusts with her own urgent ones, not caring who might see. She gritted her teeth together, and then she came, sensation shattering her ache until pain and pleasure mixed together and she pressed herself against his palm, taking him as far as she could and drowning willingly in her own thundering gratification.
    Dimly she was aware of her skirt being tugged gently into place, of Rafi’s arm supporting her shoulders. She heard him clear his throat.
    “Gentlemen,” he said, “the lady has a migraine. I wonder if you would mind closing the screen for her.”
    Benito only glanced back briefly before murmuring his assent and then the opaque screen slid noiselessly into place.
    Rafi gazed, with no small measure of satisfaction, at Lauren’s face. It was flushed with pleasure and exertion. Her eyelids gleamed with the sheen of her effort, and a few strands of her hair clung to her cheek, her parted lips.
    He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her against him and murmur in her ear. Damn it, for some insane reason, he wanted to tell her he loved her when she was like this, vulnerable and satiated and pliant in his arms.
    Instead, he chose his words carefully. “Did that please you, Lauren?”
    She opened her eyes and stared up at him. “You know it did,” she accused.
    “Of course.” He allowed himself a small smile; his little scenario had been successful beyond his hopes. “I could not disappoint you, after all.”
    “You certainly didn’t.” Lauren’s eyes widened as she looked at him, and then she reached up a hand and caressed his face, lingering at his lips, rubbing a thumb slowly between them, parting them. “The screen—is it soundproof?”
    Rafi raised his eyebrows, caught his breath. “Yes,” he said, “completely.”
    “Good,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him, tugging him toward her. He went, willingly, ready to take her full lips in a hungry kiss, but at the last moment she ducked, pressing her face to his throat instead.
    “When you…take me that way,” she said, softly, uncertainly, her breath hot against his skin, “it makes me need you. Again, inside me.”
    Rafi felt his mouth go dry at her words. He had been prepared to forego his own satisfaction to see her pleasure, but it had been more difficult than he imagined. His engorged shaft strained painfully against his pants.
    “Lauren,” he began, kissing her hairline, but she only burrowed closer against him.
    “Not…”
    He felt her swallow.
    “Not gently,” she finally whispered.
    Rafi froze, then willed himself