I instantly feel sexy and desired. Something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
His fingers relax around me then begin to slide up, stroking along the inner flesh of my thigh. The higher and higher they explore, the more it feels like he’s testing me. Pushing the boundaries.
Seeing how far I’ll let him go.
How far will I let him go?
I don’t know. There are so many possibilities, so many unknowns…
Never in my life have I ever thought, or dreamed, I’d end up in the car of a stranger and things would progress like this. He hasn’t done anything but grip my thigh, yet his voice, his words, his actions, his mere presence, have awakened a hungry need inside me I can’t repress.
There’s something extremely thrilling about not knowing where this will all lead. About not knowing what he’s capable of doing in bed. Something tells me he’s not a sweet, gentle lover. No, he’s a man used to getting his way and bending others to his will.
“Well?” he asks, his fingers reaching the apex where my thigh meets my sex.
I want him to touch me there, I realize. I want him to do it with a deep, visceral desire that resonates in the very marrow of my bones.
“I don’t really have any rules,” I finally answer him.
Especially for this situation, because I’ve never been in a situation like this before.
He sucks in a sharp breath and his head jerks towards me as if I’ve surprised him. “No rules?”
Once again, reason tries to rear its ugly head as I realize this could be the point of no return. But I push it away. I tuck it deep in the back of my mind.
I want this, no, I need this. I didn’t know it before, but I know it now. I don’t need a shit-ton of booze, or the sad sympathy of my friends. With all the shit that’s been going on in my life, with all the cold, lonely nights I’ve spent alone in my bed, I need what only he can give.
A night of wild, passionate, no-strings attached sex with a beautiful, thrilling stranger.
I can pretend I love him. I can pretend he’s everything I ever wanted. I can pretend he’s the one that fills the hollow hole inside me that hasn’t stopped throbbing since I watched Clara and Mason wrapped up in each other on the dance floor.
“No rules,” I repeat more firmly, hoping, aching, that it will get his fingers moving again.
“Fuck,” he groans out and then he hits the gas, pushing the car faster. “Are you sure?”
The fact that he seems to care so much makes me even more determined.
“I’m sure.”
His hand squeezes around me hard suddenly, so tight it’s nearly pinching me.
Reminding me, “I’m not really into pain, though.”
His grip instantly relaxes and he growls. “That’s good to know.”
That husky growl of his causes goosebumps to break out all over my skin. And then his fingers are moving again. Finding and tracing the hem of my panties.
I freeze. Afraid to move again. Afraid to stop him. I want this so bad the anticipation is nearly killing me.
My clit throbs, aching to be touched by him, to be claimed by him.
His fingers begin to push their way under my hem then pause as if he’s waiting for me to stop him.
No, hell no. I’m not about to stop this.
A second passes. A heartbeat. A breath. Just long enough for him to glance over at me. His eyes blazing as they watch my reaction.
His fingers move. The tips grazing lightly over my lips then my clit.
They’re so big, so warm.
I moan, my hands clutching at the seat. My nails digging into the leather as I fight the need to rock my hips.
It’s been so long. So very, very long since I’ve been touched by a man.
Something in his eyes flashes and then they narrow with determination.
His fingers brush across my clit again, rubbing and rubbing, somehow scratching the itch yet creating a new, hungrier need.
All the while his eyes hold mine, not letting me look away. Forcing me to completely open myself to the stranger intimately touching me.
Somehow it only turns me on more. I don’t know him. I don’t. He can be anything I want him to be in this moment.
Then his fingers slide down, exploring my entrance.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re soaking wet, baby.”
His fingers tease me, circling my entrance, and I long to know what it would feel like to have them thrusting inside me, spreading me open.
He yanks his hand back and I make a little throaty noise at the loss.
“If I keep touching you, I won’t be able to stop,” he explains and returns his attention to the road.
“And that’s a bad thing?” I find myself saying.
My voice is so breathy I sound like I just ran marathon.