Only for You (One Night of Passion 3)

“Help me,” she insisted.

Gritting his teeth, he raised his head. With the aid of the dim dashboard lights, she thought she glimpsed grim resignation etched on his rugged features. He lifted his hips, assisting her in shoving his jeans down his thighs. She banged her elbow against the console when she jerked at the stretchy fabric of his boxer briefs.

“Ouch,” she mumbled, but she hardly registered the pain.

“Maybe we should get a room,” he said thickly. He inhaled raggedly when her fist enclosed his cock. “Jesus,” he gasped.

He was enormous with need, teeming with pulsing life.

“I don’t think this is going to wait for a room.” She began to pump him, if not as forcefully as she’d witnessed him pounding himself in the stall, every bit as fast and twice as eager. This wasn’t a moment for lingering caresses and foreplay. He was in a fever of need, and she was rabid to bring him relief.

With a choked sound, he pushed his underwear down below his balls, cupping them as she pumped the rigid staff. She felt his stare on her as he watched her, hell-bent on jacking him. Her awareness of his observance made her clit prickle with amplified excitement. He lifted his hand and covered hers, guiding her, showing her exactly what he wanted without words. When she followed his lead, tightening her strokes on the stalk just below the fat, delineated crown, his hand dropped to his testicles again. It aroused her, the way he touched himself in front of her without a trace of hesitation. Her pumping grew more forceful. He growled tensely and cupped his balls, massaging them. Wild with arousal at the viral image h

e made, she strained toward his lap, but the console got in her way. She hungered to feel the rigid, warm flesh parting her lips, the hard pressure of him straining in her mouth. He groaned and halted her with one hand at her nape.

“Not now. It’s too late. I’m going to come,” he grated out, sounding agonized. He groaned and grabbed at the hem of his T-shirt, jerking it up his taut belly. He began to ejaculate as she pumped him, white jets of semen spilling down to her fingers and shooting onto his belly. Just when she thought he was slowing, his muscles tensed again hard. She jerked his cock with force, and he heaved a guttural moan. Another jet erupted and fell back onto the swollen crown, seeping onto her fingers. His male scent entered her nose, slightly salty, musky . . . heady.

She stared up into his face while he panted and his muscles clenched, continuing her strokes with force until he was emptied. He finally sagged in the seat, the tangible tension in his big, long muscles dissipating at last. His eyes were closed.

He opened them slowly as her movements gentled.

“So much for not giving in,” he said.

She smiled. “Restraint is overrated.” She glanced down to his come-damp belly and cock. “Highly.”

His mouth quirked slightly in amusement, but she still sensed his grim resignation. As always, she experienced the strength of his character. He was not a man used to submitting to need once he’d decided there was reason for restraint. Maybe that’s what had made his surrender to it so intoxicating to her.

He reached around the seat with one arm and retrieved a box of tissues from the backseat floorboard. She took several and mopped up her hands, his belly, and then, very gently, his cock. When she’d finished, she lifted herself slightly over the console to get the angle she hadn’t achieved earlier. She pressed her lips against the moist, pulsing shaft. He made a rough sound in his throat, and his hand cupped the back of her skull. His fingers clutched at her head when she slid her lips over the still turgid, moist crown.

She leaned up, slicking her tongue along her lower lip, capturing his taste. “I hope that means that my boy look isn’t what got you all hot and bothered,” she told him. His nostrils flared slightly and that lean, hungry look—the one she most associated to Seth—shadowed his face again.

“You hardly need a ‘look’ to get me there,” he declared grimly. He reached across the console and rapidly unfastened her shirt. The cool air of the cab tickled her sensitive nipples when he pulled her T-shirt up her chest unceremoniously. He jerked the fabric of the shirt and her jacket open forcefully, exposing her bare breasts to the dim light and his blazing, possessive stare. “It’s knowing what’s under the disguise that’s making me crazy.”

Gia held her breath as one hand shifted, gliding across her heaving rib cage and caressing the side of her right breast. His other hand rose. He cupped her breasts from below and massaged them firmly in his big hands. She whimpered, as aroused by his deft hands as she was his fixed stare while he watched himself touch her.

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered. Which I would think was an impossibility,” he muttered. All ten of his fingers slid to her nipples. He rubbed at the tightening crests and pinched them lightly. “Such pretty nipples.”

“Seth,” she whispered tensely.

He glanced into her face and something shifted in his expression.

“Are you hurting as much as I was?” he asked, a trace of incredulity in his tone.

She nodded. “I think so, yeah,” she replied with a shaky laugh.

Without another word, he lowered his hand over her ribs and belly and slid it into the opening of her jeans. He continued to watch her face as his fingers slipped beneath her underwear. A spasm of sensation tightened her face as he began to rub her clit.

“Christ, you’re wet.” She moaned as his finger agitated her. The sound of him moving in her lubricated flesh reached her ears . . . his, too, she guessed, because that feral expression tightened his face again as he stared at her. She reached for him, overwhelmed by the intimacy of what was happening, but he backed away slightly, eluding her. “No. I’m going to watch you come.”

His proclamation amplified her arousal. He continued to rub her clit until she burned and clenched her teeth. The sound of him moving in her lubricated flesh was subtle, but seemed to roar in her ears. She bit off a cry when he massaged a breast in his hand and plucked at the nipple with his fingertips, making it pinch tight in pleasure. “That’s right,” he said quietly, leaning forward and nipping at her lips with his. “That’s what I remember. Too well. How responsive you are. There was never really a chance of me being able to resist you, was there?” he said in a harsh tone, as if he were questioning himself and resigning himself to his weakness all at once. She strained toward him, trying to deepen their kiss. She’d be cresting soon—it felt so good.

“No, lean back,” he instructed. She followed his demand, groaning in mounting agony, her head thumping against the back of the seat.

“I burn,” she mumbled.

“I’ll say. Lift your hips for a moment. I want to feel that heat.”

Gritting her teeth, she complied. What he did next made her eyes spring wide. He palmed her entire sex, sending his forefinger into her channel. She gripped onto his shoulders, her mouth gaping open. He moved, shifting his hand, vibrating it very subtly. The pressure on her clit made her eyes spring wide. It took her a dazed second to realize why it felt so good. He was agitating her most sensitive flesh with that half-inch round stone at the bottom of his ring, the one he used so deftly to smooth his makeup applications. The pressure wasn’t hard, but it was firm, precise . . . sublime.