Drop Dead Gorgeous

“Just stay down for a second. There’s someone coming out of the house.”

I feel the car slow down and don’t dare to breathe.

What if we get caught? What if Yvette Horne is coming out of the house right now, sees Blake, and waves him down?

What if she asks what the hell I’m doing face-down in his lap?

Fuck, the gossip grapevine is going to go haywire again . . . first with Alver’s tale of morgue table oral sexing and now, road head.

“What’s happening?” I whisper, as though Yvette might hear me.

“It’s a guy. Blond hair, muscled, late thirties, mustache. He’s taking out the trash,” Blake tells me.

If anyone saw him, they’d probably think he’s singing along to the radio, right? I can work with that. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.” The ‘duh’ is implied.

“Well, neither do I since I can’t see and all,” I hiss. Then, just to torture him a little, I run my nose along the length of the bulge I can see filling his slacks.

“Oh, fuck, Zoey.” It’s half-warning to stop, half-plea to not. I do it again, adding in a caress against my cheek.

“Tell me what you see.”

Blake moves the car left and right, probably to make it seem as though he’s avoiding something in the road, but really just giving himself longer to look at the Horne house in the rearview mirror. “She’s coming out too. Yvette. Red dog. Guy . . . leash . . . dog. Shit.”

I’ve unbuckled his belt, too excited by the throbbing I can feel behind his zipper and wanting to feel it without that barrier. “Can I?”

“Fuck yeah. Yeah, Zo. Anything you want.”

I hear the creak of his grip on the leather steering wheel, can feel the tension through his body as he forces himself to stay still, and love the feeling of power over him this gives me.

Slowly, I unbutton and unzip his slacks to let them fall open and pull the waistband of his black boxer briefs out and down to free his erection. He’s pretty, not that I’d tell him that.

But as pretty as a dick can be, Blake’s is—long and thick, with one vein running the length up to the mushroom head that’s weeping for me. I stick my tongue out and sample the clear fluid and he moans above me. The encouragement excites me, and I shift in my seat to get a better angle, cursing my seatbelt but not willing to take it off.

He wouldn’t let you anyway. Safety first.

Though I’ve never heard Blake utter those exact words, I can hear him saying them clear as day. They’re so like him—a risk taker, but only after calculating all the odds. I have no doubt that if we were on a freeway, not an empty back country road, he would never allow this.

But for now, he’s mine.

My own fears of the dangers of driving try to creep up my throat, but I swallow them down, along with Blake’s cock, trusting him to keep us safe on the deserted road. He’s salty and earthy along my tongue, teasing past my lips into my mouth. He lets out a deep groan that vibrates all the way down to his hips as he flexes to give me more.

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, and then he reaches over me and I hear him put the car in park. “We’re safe, no one’s around. Please—”

His voice cuts out as I suck him in again, deeper this time. His hand goes to my jaw, fingers wrapped toward my bun, not forcing or guiding me but just feeling me move over him.

Now that we’re still, I unclick my seatbelt and move around to get a knee underneath myself, changing the angle I can take him at. This is better, deeper, and I hum with satisfaction when I feel his tip enter my throat. I wish I could tease this out, take him to the edge and drive him crazy, but this is not the time.

Not when we’re parked wherever it is we are, with a very real chance of getting caught looming. So I speed up, sucking with hollowed cheeks and using my hand, twirling my tongue over his head. It’s not long before he taps my shoulder—such a gentleman—and I nod, doubling down on my efforts. He understands perfectly, and a second later, I taste his release.

Spurt after spurt of creamy liquid fills my mouth, and I swallow reflexively, trying to keep from getting any on his fancy slacks. I lick him clean, kissing his crown and then easing his boxer briefs up over his softening cock.

I sit up in my chair, wiping at my lips and smiling like the cat that got the canary.

“Damn, you look good like that,” Blake whispers, his eyes hazy but looking at me.

“How? Like I just sucked you off?” I tease, figuring that’s every guy’s dream.