One-Eighty (Westover Prep 1)

“You want me to describe in detail how wet my panties are?”

He groans again, head rolling on the headrest before he focuses outside of the car.

He suggested the park, but I’m driving, so we ended up in the most secluded place I could find. The lone woman walking her dog is so far away, I can’t even tell what breed is on the other end of her leash.

“I’d love to find out how wet you are,” he says after a long moment.

I bite my lips, on the verge of offering him just that, but he seems both tortured and turned on by the suggestion. I don’t want to pressure him into anything, not that I think he’d turn me down, but it’s the sting of possibly being rejected that makes me take pause.

“We can just make out,” I offer instead. “Kissing and above the waist stuff.”

He rolls his head back in my direction. “And that may still be enough to make a mess in my jeans.”

“Okaaay,” I draw out. “Then, I’m up for suggestions.”

He shakes his head as if he’s battling inside of it. “Come here.”

He holds his arms open wide, and I lean in closer.

“No,” he says when I pucker my lips playfully for him to kiss. “Straddle me.”

“What?”

That doesn’t seem very conducive to preventing what he doesn’t want to happen. My core throbs at the suggestion, but I don’t move.

“Come here,” he repeats. “Just kissing, promise.”

“And what about your problem?” I point to the thickness in his lap.

“That’s not going to go away until I take care of it.”

“Then take care of it.”

His eyes widen as his frantic eyes dart back and forth between mine. “You want me to jack off in your car?”

“Eww!” I swat his chest. “No. That’s gross.”

“That’s the only way to make it go away,” he grumbles.

“Go into the bathroom over there.” I motion my head to the concrete building at the beginning of the trailhead.

“That would be pointless because I’m always hard around you. Plus, I’m not going to rub one out in a public bathroom.”

“Then what—”

“Hush.” He presses his fingers to my lips. “Come here. Let me worry about it later. Climb on my lap.”

I realize I should exercise more, or at least stretch more often, because climbing into his lap in my car is clunky and not as easy as I’ve seen it done in the movies. I nearly knee Dalton in the face, but he has quick reflexes and somehow prevents my leg from making contact with his nose.

“Sexy, right?” I mutter when I finally settle on top of him.

The door is digging into my left knee, and the other one is crammed in beside the gear shift, but the warmth of his body is a lovely reward.

“Everything about you is sexy.”

“I’m already in your lap. Don’t get corny now.”

“Lower,” he urges with his hands on my lower back.

I drop down, coming to rest exactly where he wants me. His thickness is to the left and under my leg, and it doesn’t seem like it would be comfortable for him, but he doesn’t complain.

“Mouth,” he whispers, and I move without a second thought.

His lips are warm, teasing, and slow against mine. There isn’t a hint of the frenzy filling my own veins, and I let him lead, willing to follow him anywhere at this point.

I whimper a moan, my hips moving of their own accord.

“Stay still,” he whispers. “Just let me kiss you.”

Need as I’ve never felt before thrums through my body, and even though I want to rub myself all over him like a cat desperate for attention, I stay as still as possible.

His hands flex on my back, kneading my muscles in all the right places as his tongue explores my mouth with sensual licks that begin to drive me crazy.

“Touch me,” I beg, and I’m not sure where I want him to start because I need him everywhere.

I want his hands and mouth on my breasts, but my core is also craving attention.

“Where?” he asks, his lips trailing hot kisses down my neck.

I don’t answer him, afraid of sounding too reckless at this moment, but he must be a mind reader because his lips leave my neck as he begins to lick and kiss the swell of my breasts.

“Is this okay?” he asks on a pant as his tongue teases the seam of my tank top.

“Yes,” I moan.

My nose scrunches up as I cringe with the need evident in my voice, but I don’t spend long worrying if I sound like a fool because Dalton hooks a finger into the top of my tank, pulling it down to give his mouth more room to explore. The top of my lacy bra is exposed to him, and I can see what he’s talking about when I look down to watch him. My chest is flushed with my arousal, and from this angle, my boobs look spectacular. Now I know why so many women take selfies from a higher angle. It’s very flattering.