With my hand on the small of her back, I press my lips against the side of her neck and whisper, “I don’t know if I can wait another second. I have to fucking have you.”
“Unless you want a quickie in the stairwell, you don’t have a choice.”
That’s what she thinks …
Slipping my hand into hers, I lead her out the private exit, to a reserved parking space behind the building. Pressing her against the passenger door, I slide my hand against her soft cheek and claim her Aperol-tasting mouth before working my way down the side of her neck and stopping above her ample cleavage. Dragging my fingertips down her outer thigh, I tug at the hem of her dress, inching it higher and higher until I find the lace trim of her panties.
“Are you crazy?” she whispers, breathless. Her eyes are bright in the dark. “Right here? Right now?”
“It’s going to take at forty minutes to get home. Another twenty until Carina gets out the door. By my count, it’s at least another hour before you’re screaming my name, and honestly, I don’t know if I can wait that long.”
I graze my lips against hers, which arch up at the sides.
“For the record, I’m not a name screamer,” she says. “And you’re going to have to wait because I’m not trying to get arrested for public indecency.”
Reaching for the rear passenger door, the locks click open.
“Get in,” I say.
“What?”
Sliding across the buttery leather, I pull her into my lap and slam the door shut. “The windows are tinted dark enough no one will see us, and as long as the car isn’t bouncing like a seventies van, we should be fine.”
“Here?” Her eyes widen as I tease my finger along the inside of her leg, stopping to shove her panties aside. Rossi bites her lip, tossing her head back as she grinds against me.
“You’re so fucking wet …”
With her hands on my shoulders, she steadies herself, rocking against me until we settle into a playful rhythm.
“Slow down,” I whisper against her warm skin.
“But it feels so damn good.” She winces, exhaling hard.
Guiding her lips to mine, I claim her mouth before tasting her tongue. A second later, her fingers are working my zipper and her palm is wrapped around my shaft. Moaning, I sink back into the leather as she pumps my length.
“Did you bring a condom?” she whispers. “I’m not on anything …”
Fortunately, I’m nothing if not prepared for these things.
This thing, in particular.
I’d actually stopped at a pharmacy earlier today in preparation.
A second later, I’m ripping a gold foil packet between my teeth before unrolling it over my throbbing cock. Rossi straddles me, impaling herself with my hardness one torturing inch at a time.
“Oh my god,” she exhales when I’m all in. “I forgot how good this feels …”
“After this, you’ll never forget again.” Gripping her ass, I pull her taut against me as I thrust into her.
Gasping, she rocks back and forth.
“Slower,” I whisper into her ear as she buries her head against my neck. The rocking steadies, but the car is still bouncing. Anyone walking by with half a brain cell will know exactly what’s going on.
“I don’t know if I can …”
“Yeah, you can … like this.” I guide her hips into a circular, grinding motion. “Take your time, enjoy it. You deserve this..” Tugging the top of her dress down, I take a nipple in my mouth, gently sucking the soft bud. And for the endless hour that follows, slow and steady wins the race.
Chasing off the inevitable, we lose ourselves in sweet anticipation.
She isn’t just a mother.
I’m not a world famous athlete.
In this moment, she is mine—and I am hers.
“I can’t hold off any longer,” she whispers, grinding harder against me. My cock strains, my balls tighten and I let go, my explosion meeting hers until we collapse against each other with stolen breaths and dizzied heads.
“Good God, woman.” I cup her face, holding her pretty eyes captive in the dark. “I could do this all night and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
Swatting my chest, she climbs off and adjusts her dress into place. “We should get home before it gets too late.”
Home.
That word on those lips makes me feel some kind of way.
And I’m here for it.
Chapter 23
Rossi
* * *
I wake with a sweet soreness between my thighs, the smell of fresh coffee in the air, and the opposite side of my bed made. My bedroom door is cracked a few inches and the sound of Saturday morning cartoons trails from down the hall.
Last night was nothing short of insane—for a myriad of reasons. One of which being I’m pretty sure I set a world record for most amount of orgasms in one night.
Grabbing my robe off the hook in the bathroom, I slip it over my shoulders, cinch the tie around my waist, and head to the kitchen.