Arrogant Devil(91)
And I will be. Tonight, my fantasy is coming true.
We kiss like that, standing in the bed of his truck until I’m panting and writhing and acting like I’m going to spontaneously combust if he doesn’t fulfill my every want and need ASAP. My hands have done the heavy lifting, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them off as fast as possible. His shirt is gone too, hanging limply on one of the cornstalks after I tossed it out of the truck bed impatiently.
He tugs me down to sit on his lap as his back rests against the cab of the truck. I straddle him and smile.
This is exactly what I wanted.
My bra is gone as quick as his shirt and then there’s the most blissful few seconds of skin on skin, soft breasts against hard muscle. We both sigh against each other and he winds his fingers in my hair, tilting my chin until my mouth is perfectly positioned for him. I want to keep kissing him until my lips stop working, until they’re so chapped that I can’t even talk, but I want something else even more. I roll my hips against him like the beginning of a lap dance.
There’s a deep groan from the base of his throat and it’s like I just sparked a match. I like that sound. I want to coax that sound out of him again and again.
It’s just us in this field with nothing but time. I kiss my way down his chest and then stand.
He stares up at me, and his expression does all the talking, replacing all the hatred Andrew filled my head with. His expression is love, and need, and adoration. His eyes are smoldering as I gently push my underwear down and step out of them.
The moon is nearly full and bright enough that I’m pretty sure he can see every inch of me.
I smirk and point down. “Your turn.”
He laughs. “Oh yeah? So I have to put my ass cheeks on cold metal? Interesting how that worked out.”
“Oh!” I snap. “That’s why I brought the jacket!”
I’d almost forgotten about it.
He stands and I situate the fabric. He tugs off his boxer briefs and my mouth waters. I fist my hands by my sides and do a nice, slow once-over of him. It’s a lot to take in, like a whole lot. He chuckles under his breath and reaches for my hand, tugging me down onto him again. This time, though, he spins me around so my back hits his chest. It’s a new angle, and now we’re both facing out to where the starry sky meets the horizon.
“Lie back against me,” he says, easing me toward him until my head rests against his shoulder. He cradles me there with one hand around my waist and the other tugging my thighs apart. My knees splay out like butterfly wings and then he traces soft circles up the inside of my thigh.
Suddenly I feel exposed. Suddenly I feel like we’re out in the middle of nowhere and anyone could wander up at any second.
“Are you sure we’re alone?”
He chuckles. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
Oh god, what have I done?
He kisses my cheek. “Relax.”
The second half of that word coincides with his finger sliding inside me. My back arches and can we get this man a slow clap because he really knows what he’s doing. He adds a second finger while his thumb skims little circles across my most sensitive area, the spot where all my hopes and dreams live. I wrap my hands around his neck and hold on for dear life. His other hand (the one not currently BLOWING MY MIND) wraps around my chest and palms my breast. Details hit me from every sense: warm, floral summer air, callused hands, hard muscle, smooth wetness. Any residual shyness has flown out the window. I’m splayed out on top of him like I’m on a pool float, basking in the summer sun, but this is better. I’m basking in Jack and I tell him that. He laughs and his chest rumbles and then his fingers start sliding faster.
I was ready for him as soon as we turned off the main road. I was even more ready for him after we started kissing in our underwear. Now—now, I’m a puddle, barely sentient. I’ll come any second if he keeps moving his fingers, pumping them into me like that. My hands turn into tiny hooks as he drags his fingers out slowly and brushes soft circles. It’s like he’s giving me a preview of what’s to come. My toes are already curling. I can feel the warning signs—those first delicious sparks—and then I realize I’m speaking. I’m begging him to stop. I know what it feels like to have him bring me to the brink of oblivion like this. It’s so good—applause-worthy—but I will not be distracted from my end goal. I AM GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH THIS HOT COWBOY IN THE BED OF A PICKUP TRUCK LIKE IT’S MY CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT.
I tell him this, too, and now we’re both laughing, but I’m not distracting him enough, because he’s teasing my breast in a way that’s making it hard to form complete sentences. I know what he’s doing. He likes this position where he’s in charge and I’m nothing but a gasping mess of want. He promises me he’ll make me come again, but NO. I am done waiting. I push his hand away and spin around, reaching for his crumpled jeans.
“Please tell me you keep a condom in your wallet.”
If not, I’ll fashion one out of something—a corn husk, perhaps woven grass.
My aim is to get his wallet from his back pocket, but I’m so impatient, I just end up pawing at his jeans like an animal who lacks opposable thumbs. We’re laughing as he yanks them away from me and extracts the condom, tears it open, and rolls it on with such precision, such grace. He could go to the Olympics for condom application. It’s obvious he’s done this before, and I know I’m in for a treat. I’d rub my hands together like a little evil mastermind but they’re currently occupied with his very tempting pectoral muscles.