Buckled (Trails of Sin 2)

“Prison will do that to a person.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” I slide a hand across her thigh for no other reason than to be close to her warm softness.

“I can’t do this.” Her fingers curl around mine instinctively, as if her body is on a different trajectory than her mind.

Can’t do what? Hold hands? Let me between her legs? Be in a relationship? I don’t ask, because I want all those things and refuse to settle for anything less.

“That’s okay.” I pull out my phone and select a song. “I’ll convince you that you can.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” She cocks her head, listening to the lyrics of From The Ground Up by Dan + Shay. Then she laughs. “I never would’ve pegged you for a romantic.”

“I don’t know how this got in my playlist.”

“I just watched you choose this song.”

“And?”

“I like it.” She slips deeper into the seat and rests a hand on my lap.

This time, she doesn’t stop my fingers from sliding along her thighs, molding, rubbing, and easing up her dress. She whimpers as I stroke higher, deeper into the crease of her leg, teasing the edge of her panties.

Her knees part, just enough to welcome me. But I don’t need the encouragement. I’m set on a course to take this slow, to savor the quivers in her thighs and the shallow gulps of her breaths. With a steady hand on the wheel, I use the other to cup her mound and finger her through the material until she becomes damp to the touch.

Halfway through the drive, I still haven’t breached the barrier of her panties.

“You’re cruel.” She moans, even as her muscles tighten, ready to fight me.

“You’re not the only one suffering, darlin’.”

I’ve swelled so tightly and painfully against the zipper I’m distracted by the urge to adjust. But I only have two hands.

“We should stop this.” She rocks against my touch, such a beautiful contradiction.

I hook a finger inside the crotch of her panties. “Open wider.”

“Jarret.”

“Let me in.”

“If I don’t?”

Stallions are easier to break than her resolve, but I’m undeterred. “You will.”

I grip her thigh and force her to spread. She clenches, and I pull, digging in my fingers with a snarl.

“Don’t growl at me.” She shoves at my hand. “And keep your eyes on the road. You’re going to cause an accident.”

I jerk the wheel to the side, roll onto the shoulder, and slam the truck into park. Then I release my seatbelt and turn to her.

She stiffens, breathless, trembling. “What are you—?”

I fist her hair and capture her mouth, ravaging her lips with a need that’s bigger than my skin. It scratches and expands inside me, trying to get out, to get to her, to devour her whole.

Pulling her leg across my lap, I yank at the soaked satin that’s tormented me since we left Sandbank. Removing it requires coordination and patience in this position, neither of which I have at the moment. So I slide my fingers past the obstacle and slip one inside her.

She moans against my tongue, and I groan with her. The warm, tight channel around my touch clenches so hard I stop breathing.

“Oh, God.” She rakes her hands through my hair, knocking off the hat. “Please, Jarret.”

I add a second finger, and she gasps. I thrust deeper, and she chases my kiss with fire, biting and sucking with greedy pulls of her lips.

“This is what you needed.” I rub my tongue against hers, controlling the rhythm and pressure as I stroke the hot depths of her pussy. “You needed my fingers in your cunt, destroying it, owning it, you dirty, filthy girl.”

“No, I’m… I can’t.” She rears back her head and drags in a breath.

“If I hear can’t one more time—”

She attacks my mouth, licking and feasting and grinding against my hand.

Finally. Fucking finally, I have her. Wild and molten, wet and volatile, her fight is beautiful, but her surrender is goddamn exquisite. I consume it with everything inside me, feeding on it and fueling a desire that has never felt this out of control.

Heat gathers at the base of my spine. Blood surges along my shaft. My balls tighten. My tongue plunders, and I sense the rise of orgasm from the friction of grinding against the leg across my lap.

I’m humping her like a damn dog.

I need to pull back, just enough to drive us home. But I’m not stopping. I have no intention of snuffing out this inferno now that it’s roaring.

Holding onto her leg, I break the kiss, remove my fingers from her wet heat, and slowly draw them into my mouth as she watches, panting and dazed.

She tastes like sweet innocence and wild beauty. Blond curls tangle around her flush cheeks and heaving chest, her body loose and primed, trembling for release.

We have time.

I return the hat to my head, straighten behind the wheel, and pull back onto the road.