Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(57)

It was what I was feeling, and what I knew he was feeling. The little sparky static from the hosiery, the goose bumps covering my leg, the shiver I got when he finally hit the garter.

“You know, there’s something I can’t stop thinking about,” I said, spreading my legs farther.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice strained, his hand on my thigh growing hot.

I flattened my hands on the hem of my skirt and slid it up slowly. Oscar’s jaw ticked in the moonlight.

“Us f*cking in your truck. Pretty sure you mentioned that.”

When we slowed to a halt at the stoplight, I plucked the garter clip between my fingers and pulled it up. His eyes slid to the little black fastener and watched as I released it with an audible snap against my skin.

My hips bucked from the zip of pain. Oscar released a grunt that came from the back of his throat. It was thrilling to watch his knuckles turn white from strain. The hand that stayed on my thigh was clenched in a fist as if he were deliberately trying to not touch me the way we both knew he wanted to.

“Mmm, Oscar, what are you thinking?” I asked, running my hands down my chest before unhooking my belt and sliding the hem of the turtleneck up over my breasts and exposing my bra.

His hand flew to the steering wheel, and he held on so tight that I swear I heard the plastic crack beneath his palms.

I twisted in the seat so my head was leaning against the passenger door, lifting my feet up onto his lap and parting my knees. When I inched the skirt up higher he got a great view of my new panties and exactly what the garters were for.

He growled, and I felt the rumble of his chest right between my legs. I sat up enough to pull the sweater over my head before unclasping the front of the bra.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and looked into the rearview mirror before giving the truck a hard turn to the left. “Hold on,” he said, dropping his hand once more on my thigh and sliding it on home.

Finally.

He didn’t even bother shutting off the ignition before he flung his door open and dropped out of the car. I barely had time to blink before he grabbed my ankle and pulled me unceremoniously to the edge of the car, my legs hanging out of the driver’s-side door, my head conking prettily on the steering wheel.

He was unzipped in a flash, a condom rolled on before I could even rub my head. Oscar took my ankles and placed them on his shoulders, ballooning my skirt, then kissing his way down to my knees while he stroked himself.

“Please,” I begged, pulling at my nipples beneath the bra cups.

“Not yet,” he whispered between kisses.

One finger ran from my belly button to my panties and back up, each time getting just close enough that I thought, Here we go! He was making me crazy, driving me wild, with the sheer insanity of what we were doing and where we were doing it.

When I finally couldn’t take the teasing anymore, I reached down and slid my panties to the side, the chill sending a shock through my body.

“That’s my girl,” he purred, taking the head of his cock and placing it just there. Just enough that my eyes rolled back in anticipation.

There was something so dirty about all of this but I didn’t care. Here we were . . . somewhere. Lord knows who might come pulling up alongside. He couldn’t even take off my panties before he slipped inside and moaned into the darkness.

He held them off to the side with one hand, the other holding my ankle near his lips, where he peppered kisses against it in time with his thrusts.

Oscar wasn’t moving fast, but he wasn’t slow, either. His movements were measured. He was painstakingly taking his time and not just letting loose.

“I could f*ck you like this all night, Pinup,” he said, slapping my ass with his free hand.

“Yes. Please,” I chanted in time with his thrusts, and something snapped in him. His hips slammed into me, the truck literally rocking while he f*cked me.

“Touch yourself,” he begged, reaching forward to pull my bra down, fully exposing me to him. “I love watching the way your body moves when I’m inside you.”

Holding on to my boobs, I pinched my nipples. He liked to watch. I filed that away for later.

“You like this?” I asked, biting my finger coyly.

“I love this.” And he drove into me hard, hitting spots that were making me climb high, so high, wound tight and strung out.

“Fuck, Oscar, that’s it!”

He wasn’t sure and steady anymore. He was erratic, fired up and frantic to make me come. “You make . . . me . . . crazy,” I panted, loving the feeling of him losing control.

Just as I was about to come, he slid both hands to the clasps on the garters and snapped them. “Give it to me.”

I did. Jesus Christ I did, crying out his name on the side of the road, while he chased down his own orgasm, pumping deep inside of me, his own cries matching mine in the dark night.

It was not lost on me that I’d added my own sounds to the country soundscape . . .





Chapter 15

After the scene in the truck, there was a similar scene in his bedroom, this time with the two of us ping-ponging off the walls as we each tried to gain the upper hand, ending up on his bed with first me on top, then him, then finally me once more, with him spinning me at the last minute so he could watch me ride him in reverse, the better to watch that great big ass bounce on my dick . . .