Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I can’t fight with him again right now. Not after standing so close to him all night, watching him throw darts and study his cards, not after feeling his heated gaze on me. I feel burned by it, hot and tingly.
“Then come here.”
I lean toward him and his hand catches behind my hair. He tugs me in and the moment we kiss, I feel it again, the desire I’ve tried so hard to suppress these last few days. Sawyer’s hungry for me. It’s apparent in the way his fingers tighten in my hair, the low groan he lets slip out as he presses against me.
He bites my lower lip and I come alive from it. Something scary grows in my chest as I climb up and over the center console and seat myself on his lap. His jeans rub against my sensitive thighs and I shift my hips, trying to find the perfect position until, with an exasperated “Madison,” Sawyer holds me steady, his hands squeezing my hips, his mouth covering mine. Our lips part and our tongues touch. A shudder rolls through me.
His calloused hands come up to tease the skin beneath my tank top, bunching it around my waist then pushing it up to gather just below the bottom of my ribs. I like how big his hands are as they cover me, skimming over my sports bra, making me whimper. His fingers dip under the tight material but then he pulls away and kisses me again, cradling my face. He continues like this, pressing the pedal to the metal one second only to back off the next. It’s like he’s restraining himself and he might have good reason for it, but it’s driving me insane. I’m the one to finally yank my shirt over my head and fling it away. It slaps against the passenger window and falls onto the seat. We both laugh, but not for long. I trace kisses down his neck and fumble with the waistband of his jeans.
God, his body is beautiful. I wish I had him spread out on a bed underneath me. I want to see all of him, feel every hard ridge and smooth muscle, but this is it—a golden opportunity—and I won’t let it go to waste.
Logistically, car sex is a nightmare. Too bad this is a standard-issue truck and not one of those super XL RVs with walls that extend with the press of a button. I can barely work my biker shorts off my hips and then I don’t even bother with my thong. It gets tugged provocatively to the side by Sawyer’s firm fingers.
Internally, I scream, Hallelujah!
Our confined quarters strangely heighten the fun, and the same goes for the fact that we’re only partially undressed. Sawyer’s shirt is off (thanks to me), but we’ve only slid his jeans and briefs down far enough to let me settle up and over him.
There’s an “Are you sure”, a “Please”, a chuckle, a groan, a long…hard sigh.
“Jesus, Madison.”
I smile a proud little smile then kiss him again. In an instant, what was fun turns into something dangerous and hot. We forgot to turn the car on and now we’re sweaty and making a mess of each other.
Sawyer’s reservations from a few minutes ago are long gone. He’s the one calling the shots now, directing us both. His mouth drags down my neck and his teeth tug on the top of my bra, exposing me more. All the while, he moves me on him, up and down, higher, lower. He thrusts his hips and fills me enough to steal my breath. His hands are so possessive and tight, concrete on my waist.
I whimper and he smiles devilishly in the dark light. I should have realized from seeing him play softball and darts and cards that Sawyer likes to win, and right now, I’m the prize on the table, me and my sanity, which he strips from me with a few swipes of his fingers between my parted thighs. Dexterous, slow, sensual circles pick up pace until I’m melting into oblivion, begging him to stay there, just like that. Sawyer’s found his own rhythm; he’s chasing his own bliss. Finally, I feel him tense and dig his fingers into my waist. He’s barely finished when—
A sharp rap on the passenger window pulls us out of our sex-filled haze.
I blink my eyes open to see red lights swirling behind the glass. A black car is parked a few yards away and there, at the passenger window, is Officer White—the sweet man who volunteers at the elementary school every year, teaching the kids the D.A.R.E. program, the man who dresses up as Santa Claus in the Oak Hill Christmas parade—carefully averting his gaze.
“Get decent, you two. Party’s over.”
Fifteen minutes later, Officer White and I stand on Queenie’s front doorstep, waiting for her to come let me in. He’s already knocked twice, and this is getting more embarrassing by the minute. Neither of us can meet the other’s eyes. I’m pretty sure this man saw my naked butt cheeks or worse.