spent digging through a tangle of unfolded clothing, she seemed to find what she wanted. He watched in the rear view mirror as she slipped out of her jeans and lifted the T-shirt over her head.
“Don’t stare at me,” she grumbled, glaring back at him in the mirror. “Fake boyfriends who kiss like you do but don’t follow through do not get to ogle my goodies.”
Joey averted his gaze, his ears humming, his face burning hot. “I plan to follow through,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just not in a damn airport. Why can’t you get that through your stubborn, thick skull?”
She made a snorting sound as he stared through the windshield. He felt like his every nerve was on high alert, making him quiver like a tuning fork. Within about half a minute, she was clambering over the middle console, her firm, tanned, very bare legs right in his face. He sighed and watched her, trying to summon anger, but finding only a sort of amused indulgence.
“What?” she demanded, once she’d gotten back in her seat—a seat she could have easily reached by getting out, opening the front door and climbing in that way. She had one knee bent as she fastened the strap of a high, wedge-heeled sandal around her ankle. He reached out before he could stop himself and wrapped his fingers around her ankle. Keeping his eyes fixed on where his hand connected with her leg, he slid his palm up her taut calf, stopping when he got to her bent knee.
“Is this our first fight?” he asked, mesmerized by the spray of freckles on her thigh revealed by the too-short skirt of the sundress she’d put on in the backseat. She lowered her leg, forcing him to remove his hand from it. She bent the other knee and put on her right sandal. The top of his head was burning hot, exposed to the late afternoon sun, but Joey’s skin had broken out in goose bumps.
Once she was done, she put both of her feet on the floor and tried to smooth some of the egregious wrinkles out of the skirt. Joey watched her hands move around randomly with no obvious purpose. He could smell her—the sweat, nerves, and pure femaleness of her. He put his hand on her thigh.
“Calm down, Paige. It’s gonna be all right.”
“Would you . . . I mean, could you kiss me again, right now? Like you did—”
He slanted his lips over hers, shutting her up and bringing a sort of peace to his rattled psyche that he required, lest he spin out into the universe like an untethered satellite. She parted her lips and her thighs at the same time. As he penetrated her mouth with his tongue, slowly but surely, tasting as much of her as could, he slid his hand up to her panties. She grabbed his shoulders as if encouraging him to breach the console barrier and take her, right there in some strange driveway with the top down.
Everything in Joey was screaming at him to stop, to wait, not to touch her pussy, no matter how badly he wanted to right then. This was too much like the sort of sexual encounter he claimed not to like.
Then why did it feel so fucking good , he wondered, as his finger found its way inside her panties, making him groan into her mouth as the warm, wet flesh met his touch.
She shifted forward and spread her legs, giving him more access as he deepened the kiss and got serious with it, his zipper about to explode with the pressure of his raging hard-on behind it. He broke from her lips when he discovered her clit, already plump and ready for him.
Watching her eyes, he stroked it, loving the way her hips moved, thrusting forward into his hand as he lowered his lips to her sweaty neck, then the tops of her half-exposed breasts. Her nipples strained against the fabric of the dress, making him want to blow in his jeans at the concept that she hadn’t even bothered with a bra.
Here he was, Mister Romance, Joey Preston, fingering a girl—a total stranger for the most part, and an annoying one—in some driveway in a small town in Kentucky, and loving every hot, breathless, sweaty
“Don’t stare at me,” she grumbled, glaring back at him in the mirror. “Fake boyfriends who kiss like you do but don’t follow through do not get to ogle my goodies.”
Joey averted his gaze, his ears humming, his face burning hot. “I plan to follow through,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just not in a damn airport. Why can’t you get that through your stubborn, thick skull?”
She made a snorting sound as he stared through the windshield. He felt like his every nerve was on high alert, making him quiver like a tuning fork. Within about half a minute, she was clambering over the middle console, her firm, tanned, very bare legs right in his face. He sighed and watched her, trying to summon anger, but finding only a sort of amused indulgence.
“What?” she demanded, once she’d gotten back in her seat—a seat she could have easily reached by getting out, opening the front door and climbing in that way. She had one knee bent as she fastened the strap of a high, wedge-heeled sandal around her ankle. He reached out before he could stop himself and wrapped his fingers around her ankle. Keeping his eyes fixed on where his hand connected with her leg, he slid his palm up her taut calf, stopping when he got to her bent knee.
“Is this our first fight?” he asked, mesmerized by the spray of freckles on her thigh revealed by the too-short skirt of the sundress she’d put on in the backseat. She lowered her leg, forcing him to remove his hand from it. She bent the other knee and put on her right sandal. The top of his head was burning hot, exposed to the late afternoon sun, but Joey’s skin had broken out in goose bumps.
Once she was done, she put both of her feet on the floor and tried to smooth some of the egregious wrinkles out of the skirt. Joey watched her hands move around randomly with no obvious purpose. He could smell her—the sweat, nerves, and pure femaleness of her. He put his hand on her thigh.
“Calm down, Paige. It’s gonna be all right.”
“Would you . . . I mean, could you kiss me again, right now? Like you did—”
He slanted his lips over hers, shutting her up and bringing a sort of peace to his rattled psyche that he required, lest he spin out into the universe like an untethered satellite. She parted her lips and her thighs at the same time. As he penetrated her mouth with his tongue, slowly but surely, tasting as much of her as could, he slid his hand up to her panties. She grabbed his shoulders as if encouraging him to breach the console barrier and take her, right there in some strange driveway with the top down.
Everything in Joey was screaming at him to stop, to wait, not to touch her pussy, no matter how badly he wanted to right then. This was too much like the sort of sexual encounter he claimed not to like.
Then why did it feel so fucking good , he wondered, as his finger found its way inside her panties, making him groan into her mouth as the warm, wet flesh met his touch.
She shifted forward and spread her legs, giving him more access as he deepened the kiss and got serious with it, his zipper about to explode with the pressure of his raging hard-on behind it. He broke from her lips when he discovered her clit, already plump and ready for him.
Watching her eyes, he stroked it, loving the way her hips moved, thrusting forward into his hand as he lowered his lips to her sweaty neck, then the tops of her half-exposed breasts. Her nipples strained against the fabric of the dress, making him want to blow in his jeans at the concept that she hadn’t even bothered with a bra.
Here he was, Mister Romance, Joey Preston, fingering a girl—a total stranger for the most part, and an annoying one—in some driveway in a small town in Kentucky, and loving every hot, breathless, sweaty
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