In his hurry, he knocked my hand away from his zipper and gripped my leggings, the snug fit of cotton reluctant to slide past my hips. He seemed to give up on stripping me, his fingers shoving beneath the fabric, and with the absence of panties, sliding directly over my clit and the steel ring that adorned it.
“Jesus. Are you serious?” His modulated groan penetrated my chest as he worked his fingers. “Had it in my head you were a soulless Stepford bitch, sneaking away from a boring husband in the middle of the night. But this?” He pinched the piercing and used it to drive pressurized circles around my clit. “You’re not a cookie-cutter rich girl, are you?”
I stifled a flinch. “Wow, I hope not.” Some of what he’d said cut too close to my sensitive self-image. “You’re kind of a dick for thinking it.”
He laughed, and the complex sound magnified the tremors ricocheting through me. My legs turned to rubber. I fumbled for his zipper, bumping his erection and making his hips jerk against my hands.
With one arm braced on the wall, his head dipped toward me, knocking our helmets. We both groaned in frustration.
I reached into his pants, and the back of my hand brushed a trim patch of hair. I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose. Commando. Of course, he was. “Still won’t remove your helmet?” I lowered his zipper and swallowed my next breath as his length jutted into my hands.
“Fuck.” He leaned closer, trapping me, his fingers slipping inside me. “Yours first.”
His touch swirled through my folds, slow at first, dragging along my inner walls. Then he accelerated his movements, sharpening into a savage pounding of fingers and flesh. Unyielding, intense, almost angry. I felt his reach so fucking deep. Waves of pleasure crashed through me, the wildness of it pouring from his skin and clipping his breaths.
The vicious thrusts of his fingers drove my back against the wall and my need way past go. His sturdy frame wrapped around me, his unfettered strength teasing my release closer, faster, then pulling back, only to start again.
My arousal slicked over his hand and down my inner thighs. My spine arched, and I closed my eyes, focusing on keeping my feet on the floor.
He fingered me to the edge of oblivion, over and over, arousing images of my knees on the ground, his fingers around my throat, and his powerful thighs bracketing my body, caging me in, controlling me.
Goosebumps rose across my chest, and a hum shook beneath my skin, trembling deeper, coiling inside me. Was it fear? Hunger? A collision of the two?
When I looked up, the answer was there. I felt it sliding over me, all six feet and endless inches of dark mystery and sexy confidence. The passion, the fire, the something more I would do anything for.
His hand slipped from my pants as I dropped to my knees, eye-level with his arousal. His wide length as glorious as it was intimidating, the broad, circumcised head drawing me closer, rushing saliva over my tongue. I placed a hand on my visor, a fuck it all away from shoving off my helmet.
If I kept my head down, loosened my hair around my face, would he see my features? If he did see me, maybe he wouldn’t recognize me. Collin had the famous face, and unless Evader followed televised politics, he wouldn’t know who I was. But without an investigation and a signed NDA, it was risky. He could blackmail me or leak our affair to the media, to my parents. Would he do that?
His fingers curled around the underside of my helmet. If I didn’t remove it soon, he’d probably do it for me.
He used the grip to hold me an inch from his erection. “Do you want to stare at it or suck it?”
I held onto my helmet. “I don’t know.” I did, more than anything, but I hadn’t thought this through. “I— I have a…career to protect.”
“A career, huh? Beyond auctioning stolen merchandise?” His head jerked toward the metal card in the slot, and in the next heartbeat, every button on the panel lit up.
Blood drained from my face. “How did you—” Oh my God, he had access to every floor. “That’s how you got through the garage door?”
“That was luck. Slipped in behind a Bentley.”
Yeah, that didn’t make me feel any safer. I started to stand, but his hands came down on mine, holding my helmet, and my body, in place. My heart pounded. “What are you going to do?”
He swiped a finger over his jaw—or along the edge of his helmet?—the movement done with blurring speed. “Yes.”
“Yes? That’s not an answer. Who are you talking to, dammit?”
His warm hands squeezed mine, using his hold to tilt my head back. “You want to wrap your mouth around my cock?”