All the Sweet Move (All The Right Moves 1)
Her lips hover over my jawline, and I feel her rapid breathing on my neck. “Why? Are you planning on defiling me tonight?”
“No! I mean…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to, but no.” Let’s see, how do I put this? “But oh my god, it’s all I can think about—not that I’d want to do it in a Jeep…well, yeah, I would do it in the Jeep if you—”
Yeah, yeah, I know I’m babbling, but not for long, because Molly cuts my words off, devouring my lips before I can say anything even more stupid—hard to believe, right? Her hands rake through my hair, and her fingernails scraping along my scalp feel fucking amazing, almost as good as her lips…but not quite.
We make out like this for who knows how long, until I feel the pressure of Molly’s palms against my chest. She pushes at me, shoving my shoulders into the back of the seat until I’m facing forward, and before I can protest the loss of our contact, she surprises me by easing a leg up over my lap to straddle me.
I grab her waist with renewed enthusiasm.
My hands effortlessly find their way back under her shirt, and my crotch gets even harder, if that’s even possible. I skim the underside of her bra, brushing my fingers back and forth against the lacy obstacle before my index finger lazily trails upward to trace the edge just above the cup.
I briefly wonder what color her bra is before my palm envelops her entire breast. As every teenage boy is wont to do, I feel its weight under my hand and give it a light squeeze, which earns me a throaty moan and a few grinding gyrations from Molly’s hips into my groin.
“Fuck me, that feels good,” I croak out before I can stop myself. “Shit, Molly, don’t stop doing that.” My plea is desperate, even to my own ears, as her denim-clad ass grinds down on my erection, but it’s been months since I’ve been laid, and even longer since it’s been anyone I actually gave a shit about. Okay, to be fair, I’ve never given a shit about anyone I’ve ever had sex with, so this whole caring thing is something new, and I plan to enjoy it.
Even in the back seat of a cramped Jeep.
Molly’s incredible tits are in my face now, the neckline of her tank top dipping so low from the pull of my hands inside it that her breasts are nearly exposed. As Molly gasps out loud from my ministrations and buries her fingers deeper in the hair atop my head, I lean forward the slightest inch to press my lips against her soft, moist neck, trailing hot kisses down her collarbone, toward her cleavage with a purpose.
Unable to stop myself, I lick between the valley of her breasts, letting my hot tongue linger on her salty skin. She smells like citrus, an aroma I’ve come to fully appreciate as being uniquely Molly. I can’t even eat an orange in the school cafeteria these days without getting turned on, for God’s sake.
Somewhere from inside the Jeep, a cell phone rings.
Caught up in each other, we ignore it.
“Oh, Weston, yeah,” Molly mutters. So sexy.
The phone begins ringing again, and through my fuzzy, sex-crazed haze, I recognize the ringtone. It’s my mom.
Fuck shit, double shit.
“Babe, I have to get that,” I gasp into Molly’s plump cleavage. “It’s my mom. She’ll kill me if I don’t answer it.” Groaning, Molly untangles herself from my lap, and I let my palm cup her ass before it lands in the seat next to mine.
Digging in my pants pocket, I extract my cell and make quick work of redialing my parents. Immediately, my mom’s voice answers. “Where are you? It’s raining buckets, and your father was just about to come out looking for you.”
“I’m stranded in a parking lot, waiting it out with a friend.”
Brief pause.
My mom’s not an idiot. “Does this friend have a vehicle that can deliver you home? You can leave the bike and your dad can bring you back to get it later.”
I glance at Molly. “Yes.”
“Okay. Then she can come in and meet us when you get here. I expect you home in fifteen minutes.”
Click.
The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone.
“What did she say?” Molly asks from beside me with wide eyes, cheeks flushed from my five o’clock shadow and lips swollen from my kisses.
Unable to resist the temptation, I lean over and give her an open-mouth kiss before saying, “They want to meet you.”
* * *
Molly
Dear Lord, did he just say what I think he said?
“They want to…meet me?” Stupidly I repeat what he just told me, which, incidentally, I absolutely hate when people do to me. Drives me bonkers.