Out of Bounds(15)

I scowl. “There are people who don’t like football?”

She shrugs. “I’ve heard about their existence. Small little pockets on the outskirts of society.”

“Seems terribly sad to be such a person.”

“It’s woefully devastating, Drew.”

“Horribly dismal.”

“Awfully troubling.”

“Hey, show-off,” I say, raising my chin, as I cut into the next lane when a spot opens up between a white Toyota and a black SUV. “Got a favorite adverb?”

“Hmm,” she says, tapping her pink polished fingernails along the window. Her lips quirk as she considers the question. She tilts her head, and says slowly, like she’s savoring the word, “Blissfully.”

“That’s your favorite adverb?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I like bliss. Do you have something against bliss?”

Fuck me now. The way she says that is like a naughty little taunt. “You’re supposed to be friendly with me, Dani,” I say, in a warning.

“That wasn’t friendly?”

“No, that was naughty. Incredibly naughty.”

“Then perhaps naughtily should be my favorite adverb.”

The taillights of the Toyota wink on and off. As the car ahead of me slows, I press the brake harder. Traffic comes to a standstill. I try to peer around the cars to get a read on the situation. “What’s going on up there?”

“Probably construction. I should have turned on my traffic app. I usually do but I was distracted,” she says, sounding annoyed with herself.

“What distracted you?”

She roams her eyes over me, like she’s cataloguing my face, my chest, my arms, my legs. She shakes her head, purses her lips. Then a soft sigh falls from her lips, a hint of frustration in it.

“You,” she whispers. “That’s the problem.”

So much for the favorites game. My blinders fall off, and my focus on friendship flies out the window momentarily.

I lift my hand, reach for her face, and cup her cheek. She gasps, and before either one of us can say another word—before I can evaluate or analyze—I dip my mouth to hers and kiss those delicious lips. She opens for me. Her tongue darts out, sliding between my lips. She nips, running her teeth along my bottom lip, and out of nowhere a quick kiss turns into a hot, dirty one.

A car horn honks from behind, and we pull apart. But the white sedan in front of me has only moved twenty feet. I drive slowly, running one hand along Dani’s leg, down to the hem of her skirt. My fingers play at the hem, and she murmurs as we slink along. Traffic crawls at a snail’s pace. My eyes drift to her legs, so toned and strong. The whole look she has working tonight is killing me.

More than that, the whole notion of resistance is killing me.

I tell myself just one touch, just one night won’t hurt a thing. It won’t harm the team, and it won’t knock me off my game.

I inch my finger under her skirt, and she lets her knee fall open the slightest bit.

“You’re so not friendly either,” she says in a playful pout.

“I’m completely the opposite right now.” My fingers travel up the soft flesh of her thighs. My dick hardens even more, hungry for this woman. She wriggles in her leather seat, as I drive slowly, so goddamn slowly. Right now, though, I’m grateful for the traffic. Because I can do this to her.

My fingers tiptoe higher, and higher still, and Dani rests her head against the leather, her mouth falling open, her breath catching. As I ascend to the top of her thigh, the pads of my fingers sliding over her soft flesh, she reaches for her tight skirt, and tugs it up higher.

Then she opens her legs.

Dani

I might be crazy.

I might be foolish.

I might be a million things.

What I am for certain is turned on beyond any and all measure.

We’re surrounded by cars, and yet totally alone in his air-conditioned electric vehicle. I know better. I get the risks. I swear I do. But right now with traffic stalled, and his hands on me, my body is in charge and it’s seeking that adverb. I want to be touched blissfully. Stroked tantalizingly. Gotten off powerfully.

Besides, this is just a little sliver of time. It’s a sealed-off moment in his automobile. This isn’t going to hurt anyone.

In fact, it seems the opposite of hurt. His touch makes my skin sizzle. Makes my insides sing with pleasure.

Drew doesn’t need any direction. He’s game and his fingers slide along the wet panel of my panties. He’s got an eye on the road, but he keeps stealing glances at me.

“Told you I didn’t feel cordial toward you right now,” I whisper.

He flashes a wicked grin as he slips one finger under the panel, making me moan. Because it feels so good when he touches me. He flicks the pad of his finger where I want him most, and I arch into him.

“I don’t want you to feel cordial right now.”

“How do you want me to feel?” I ask, my pitch rising as he strokes me. Oh dear lord, his hands are wonderful. His touch is electric. Firm, but tender, as he paints dizzying strokes up and down my center. He teases me, then traces lingering, luxurious lines along my wetness, and I rock my hips into his hand.

“Hot. Bothered. Ecstatic,” he says, as the car inches forward, one of his hands on the wheel.