Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(32)

“White lace panties,” he murmurs as his finger slips under the edge. “And they’re damp. My favorite kind.”

I can’t help the half sob, half moan that comes out of my mouth, and he tries to comfort me by leaning forward and kissing me on my lower jaw. “Easy, Sweet. We’re just getting started.”

That’s what scares me. I can barely control the raging of my blood and nonsensical sounds that want to pour forth from my mouth. I’m for sure going to wreck this car.

Softly inching his finger closer, he makes contact with my center and swipes his finger up and down. The move parts my swollen lips, and I can feel the slickness of my response coating his path. My hips flex up, trying to push his finger closer, and he doesn’t wait.

His finger sinks deep inside of me. I groan hard from within my chest, and tears prick at my eyes because this is the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. Gavin pulls his finger back, slightly constrained by the material of my panties and tights, and pushes back in a bit rougher.

When he pulls back out again, he moves the tip of his finger and starts circling my clit. His breathing becomes harsher, his lips pressed against my neck, and his breath fanning out gives me additional shivers. He moves faster against me, because we don’t have time to drag this out, and I find I wouldn’t want it any other way.

I’m driving an Italian sports car on a lonely highway with an insanely gorgeous and carnally sinful man with his hand between my legs. There’s no other way for this to go but hard and fast.

“Need you to come for me, Sweet.” Gavin’s words pour out rough across my skin and my foot presses down hard on the accelerator. The needle on the speedometer climbs higher, and the engine cries out for me to give it even more reign.

Gavin’s finger circles, rubs, and presses against me, and I can feel the wetness of my desire slicked all around.

“I’m going to—”

“Fuck yes, you are,” Gavin growls.

“I’m—”

“Come on, Sweet… give it to me,” he urges and stops his rubbing to jam two of his fingers inside of me, hitting me deep and just at the right spot.

“Give it to me, Savannah,” he pants again.

He pulls his fingers out to press down hard on my clit.

“Fucking. Give. It. To. Me,” he practically snarls.

And I do.

Bursting apart from the inside out with a long moan, I give it all to him.





I can hear Savannah moving around downstairs as she cleans, and I’m bound and determined to ignore her. Kind of like the way she ignored me on the ride home yesterday after I made her orgasm all over my hand. I had pulled my hand from between her legs and stuck my index finger in my mouth, licking her off me.

“Delicious,” I said, and she groaned again while her breath came out in sharp, little pants. I wanted to demand she pull the car over to the side of the road, pull her across my lap, and slam her down on my cock. I badly wanted her to ride me there, on the side of Highway 264 in the bright light of day, while other cars whizzed by, but I could tell by the shyness in her eyes and the way she refused to meet my gaze that it wasn’t going to happen.

So I suffered the ride in silence, ultimately pulling out my laptop and fleshing out a new scene between Honey and Max. One where they were in a car together and after the finger f*cking was over, she did, in fact, ride his cock hard on the side of the road. The unfortunate by product to writing that scene with the smell of Savannah still wafting up from my fingers as they moved across the keyboard was that I had a raging hard-on the entire time.

Yes, I want to ignore her, the way she ignored me after, but the monster in my pants perked up eager the minute I heard her walk in. Reaching down, I palm my dick through the rough material of my jeans and squeeze it. I close my eyes and groan as I imagine it’s Savannah’s hand on me.

Just that thought… just the thought of her small hand stroking my cock raises so much lust within me; I stand up abruptly from my desk and mutter a curse. Never… in all those months I visited sex clubs and f*cked my way through London have I ever been this worked up over a woman.

And a woman that shouldn’t even hold any appeal to me. She represents everything that’s the antithesis to my darkness. She represents the possibility of moving myself out of that darkness, and allowing a little bit of bright back into my life.

That thought makes me shudder, not in a very good way, and my erection wanes.

That’s better.

I head out of my office and down the stairs, determined to be able to confront her. To prove to myself that I can be around her and still be me.

I find her in the living room, dusting the furniture. She’s wearing a pair of faded, but well-fitting jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Her dark hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and she’s humming to herself while she works.

It makes me want to drag her down to the couch, strip her, and f*ck her with my mouth.

Spinning away, I walk into the kitchen, my hands balled into fists and my cock hard again.

Opening the refrigerator, I stare blindly at the contents, not really wanting anything but not sure what to do at this point. My well-laid plans to confront Savannah having been blown all to hell.

“Hungry?” she asks behind me, and my cock leaps.

She has no idea just how hungry I am.