Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(75)

Why does he have to leave?

His hand slid under her shirt and found her breast, and heat speared through her as every thought left her except that she wanted him. She twisted closer. He gripped her hips and pulled her firmly onto his lap until she was straddling him and her knees were wedged against the console and the door. It might have been painful, but she was too distracted by the warmth of his hands and his thumbs rasping over her nipples. She kissed him and kissed him and arched her body against him, and then he pushed her shirt up and went for her breast.

She combed her fingers into his hair and tipped her head back. She loved his mouth, his hands, the roughness of his beard against her skin. He’d been growing it out for days now, and the friction of his face against her sent a shot of lust through her.

She pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it away and pressed closer to kiss the hell out of him. She loved the sharp taste of him and the way every time he kissed her, it was a battle of wills.

His hands slid down her back and dipped beneath her clothes. He pulled her against the rock-hard bulge in his jeans, and she was so turned on her skin felt tight, like she was about to burst.

She broke the kiss and pulled back. “Where’s the hotel?” she gasped.

He looked dazed.

“The hotel? How far?”

“I don’t know. Fifteen minutes?” A look of dread filled his eyes.

Fifteen minutes. It may as well have been fifteen hours.

She reached for his belt, and his look of relief was so intense she felt giddy. She fumbled with his buckle and his zipper as he pulled her against him and wrestled her shirt over her head. Then he flung it to the floor, and they were skin-to-skin, their mouths fused, as she slipped her hand inside his jeans.

“I have to touch you,” he said, doing it through her clothes as he kissed her until she was dizzy.

She squirmed away from him, then leaned back against the other seat as she kicked her shoes away and struggled to get her pants off. He helped, jerking them down her legs along with her panties and tossing everything away. In one swift motion, he levered his seat back and pulled her on top of him.

“Condom,” she squeaked, but he was a step ahead of her, digging one from his pocket and tearing it open with his teeth. She darted her gaze around, amazed that they were doing this here, in public, in the front seat of his truck, where anyone might come along—

“Hold on.” He gripped her hips and pulled her down, and she gasped at the pure, shocking pleasure of it.

She braced her hand against his shoulder as he moved under her. The denim of his jeans rubbed against her thighs. His hands were on her breasts, shoving the lace of her bra aside, and then his mouth was on her.

Everything was happening together, all at once, and it felt so good, so perfect, so right. But it was going way too fast.

“Derek.”

He pulled her closer, pressing deep inside her, again and again, and the friction was mesmerizing. She rode the wave of it, higher and higher and higher, until she couldn’t stand it, couldn’t go another second. And then everything broke, and she felt the powerful thrust of his body as they crashed together.

She slumped against him. Her pulse pounded. She rested her cheek against the dampness of his skin until the pounding subsided. Their breathing slowed, and she could hear the cicadas again.

He sighed deeply.

She smiled and looked up at him in the darkness. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back against the seat.

A faint humming noise reached her. Not insects but—

He sat up. “Car.”

Lights flashed across the dashboard, illuminating everything in blinding white as she dived into the passenger seat.

Derek swiveled and cursed.

“What are they doing?” she asked, scrambling for her shirt. She found it on the floor and dragged it over her head. The lights grew brighter and brighter, then dimmed.

“Turning around, looks like.”

The inside of the truck glowed red. She darted a glance in the mirror and saw the taillights receding down the road. A punch of relief hit her.

He levered his seat up, and she heard the rasp of his zipper. She felt around in the dark, searching for her clothes.

“Sit tight,” he said, and shoved open the door.





* * *





When he returned from the trash cans, she was dressed again but still groping around.

“They’re gone,” he said, pulling the door shut. He started the engine and buzzed the windows up, but it was too late to keep the mosquitoes out.

He glanced at Elizabeth. She was still looking for something. He felt around on the floor until he found her shoe and handed it to her.

“Thank you.”

Polite. Not a good sign.

He paused a moment, watching her, then followed his instincts and put the truck into gear. She didn’t seem like she wanted to hang out and enjoy the view anymore.

He made a three-point turn—just like the car that had rolled up on them—and headed back down the road.

She kept squirming in the seat.

He glanced over. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my underwear.”

He braked and switched on the light. He checked the back, and there they were: Elizabeth’s white lace panties draped over his hiking boots. He handed them to her, and her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink as she shoved them into her pocket.