It Started at Christmas...

That made two of them. Her willpower was in a shambles. How she’d gone from teasing to totally turned on she wasn’t sure, but she had. So much so that she wiggled against the seat again, causing his hand to shift on her thigh and make goose bumps on her skin.

“I have no doubt that you’ve never failed a test.” She placed her free hand over his and guided him beneath the hem of her dress.

“There’s always a first.”

“Not this time,” she told him, gliding his hand between her thighs to where she blazed hotly, and not from the car’s seat warmers.

“You sure about that?”

“Positive,” she assured him, “because if you lose your willpower we have to stop, and where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun being where my fingers are?”

“Exactly.” She shifted, bringing him into full contact with those itty-bitty panties she’d put on earlier.

“If I get pulled over for speeding to get us home quicker?”

She squeezed her buttocks together in a Kegel, pressing against his fingers. “Not sure how you’d explain to the officer why you were going so fast.”

“I’d tell him to look in my passenger seat and he’d understand just fine.”

For all his talk, the speedometer stayed at the speed limit, which she kind of liked. Safety mattered. Even when your passenger was seducing you. That he wasn’t gunning the engine of the sports car surprised her, though. She’d have bet money he’d be a speed demon behind the wheel, but she couldn’t think of a time she’d been in his car when he’d been going too fast or pulling any careless stunts.

His thumb brushed lightly over her pubic bone and she moaned, forgetting all about safety.

She gripped his thigh and squeezed. “That feels good.”

“I couldn’t tell.”

He didn’t have to look at her for her to know he was smiling, pleased with her body’s reaction to his touch. She heard his pleasure in his voice, felt it in the way his fingers toyed over the barely-there satin material.

“Might be time to turn that seater off since you’re already steamy down there.”

She tilted her hips toward his touch. “Might be, but I’m sure I could get hotter.”

“You think?”

“I’m hoping.”

He slowed the car and turned into her street. “Thank God we’re almost there.”

“Not even close,” she teased. “But if you move those fingers just so, maybe.”

“McKenzie.” Her name was torn from deep within him. “You’re killing me.”

His fingers said otherwise. His fingers were little adventurers, exploring uncharted territory, staking claims in the wake of his touch.

She closed her eyes, holding on to his thigh, spreading her legs to give him better access. Gentle back-and-forth movements created cataclysmic earthquakes throughout her body.

Yearnings to rip off her clothes hit her. To rip off his clothes, right then, in the car, to give him free access to touch with no material in the way.

Why couldn’t she?

Why couldn’t she take her panties off?

That wasn’t something she’d ever done before, but she was an adult, a responsible one usually. If she wanted to suddenly go commando, she could do that, right?

She hiked her dress up around her thighs, looped her fingers through the tiny straps of her thong and wiggled them down her legs. She probably looked ridiculous raised up off the seat to remove them, but who cared?