“Take them out.” My voice is rough and raw. My cock strains and lurches, desperate for completion.
She shoves the bra cups down and shows me her perfect tits. Dusky-rose nipples top the pretty twin globes.
“Squeeze them.” I can barely speak. My eyes are already rolling back in my head with pleasure.
When she obeys, I hurtle over the edge and spurt, christening her belly and tits with my cum.
And then I’m transformed. As soon as the vise of need opens, I freefall into gratitude. Into humility. Even affection. I shove my cock away and rip my shirt off my back with one hand. I use it to mop her clean. Then I put her back together—tucking her tits back in the cups and kissing the top of each one. I trail my lips down her breastbone. Over her belly. I straighten her panties and kiss her mound.
“You okay, baby?”
Her expression goes soft. There’s wonder in it, like she had no idea an orgasm could make her feel so good. Or maybe she had no idea what it does to a guy. How much I want to reward her right now for rocking my world.
She nods.
“You sure?” I stroke the outside of her thigh, all the way to her panties. Her skin is so soft and smooth. Touching her is a goddamn privilege. I lower my head again and kiss the inside of her thigh, down by her knee. I kiss a little higher. “You were so fucking beautiful when you came.”
It’s funny how easy it is to be honest with her in my post-orgasmic euphoria. To drop my armor and let her know the truth—how much I really like her, despite the way this all started.
“Bailey.” She hasn’t answered me. I think she’s probably just incapable still, but I want to be sure. “Talk to me, Pink.”
She struggles to push up on her elbows again. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m good.” She looks dazed and disheveled. Beautiful.
I help her sit up, then pull her onto my lap. This is one of those moments when I fucking love driving a classic truck. It’s totally sex-worthy. Big, long seat. High cab. Perfect. I joked about it’s dual purpose with the guys when I started restoring it.
She sits stiffly on my lap, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “Come here.” I pull her back against my torso until she relaxes and rests her head on mine.
We sit in silence for a moment and reality sets in.
I’m acting like I own Bailey Sanchez, like I marked her with more than my cum. Like I gave her a claiming bite and declared my intentions forever.
But none of that is even remotely true. She’s a human. A relationship with her is forbidden. And she’s not just any human, but the daughter of my dad’s nemesis. He would see this as total betrayal.
“What time is it?” Bailey asks, like her mind has been whirring, too.
I pull my phone out and look at it. “Twelve-thirty. Are you going to be in trouble?”
“Kinda. I don’t know. I should get back.”
“‘Kay.” I open my door. I would make her drive more to make sure she’s comfortable, but I doubt her ability to be clear-minded and focused at the moment.
Another time.
And there it is: I’m definitely seeing Bailey again.
I have to.
I slide out from under Bailey and leave her in the passenger seat before I shut the door gently and walk around. We drive back in silence. I stop the car at the end of our street and hesitate. I can’t pull up with her in the cab again.
“I’ll get out here,” she volunteers, probably reading my mind.
“Fuck that.” I throw the truck into park and hop out. “I’ll walk you to your house.” I walk around to her side.
She tumbles out and I take her hand. She doesn’t move, just stares up at me like she can’t believe it. I guess it does seem like I just had a personality transplant.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be a dick again tomorrow.”
The laugh that spills from her lips rings with relief.
“Come here.” I cup her face and kiss her lips. It’s not the bruising, violent kisses of before, but something different. An apology, maybe. For the dick I’ve been.
The dick I’ll be again.
I kiss her again, then start walking. “Come on. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
I walk along, trying to ignore how comfortable it feels to be her escort. The guy who protects her when she’s walking down the street at night. The guy who holds her hand.
I stop just before we get to her house. “This isn’t over,” I tell her, like it’s a warning.
And it is.
Her gaze is wary.
“You have sins to atone for. And I’m the guy who’s going to make you pay.” I point at my chest.