Page 8 of Veiled in Brick

He squeezed my right cheek. “I like that.”

“Do you, now?” I ran my hand underneath the neckline of his shirt, across his chest, back up into his hair, and pulled.

He groaned. “You’re gonna make me crash.”

“That would be no fun at all.” My touch grazed over the buttons on his abdomen and to his crotch.

“Fuck, Zoey,” he hissed through his teeth. “Don’t make me pull over.”

“And do what?” I kissed his neck once more, my hand finding his cock struggling to be contained by his jeans, and I tugged at the length through the material. He grunted, flicking his wrist to spank me softly, and I yelped in delight. “Do that again.” He obliged; this time just hard enough to leave a tingling sensation in its wake. “You can do better than that, come on—I won’t break.”

The last sentence came out of me in a purr, and James turned the wheel quickly to bring us down an alleyway. The wheels skidded to a stop, he thrust the car into park, and brought both of his hands to my face, yanking my mouth to his. Our tongues tangled for far too brief a moment, and he tugged at the short hairs on my scalp to pull me away.

“You’re making me want to fuck you in this car like a teenager and I really, really wanted to give you more respect than that.”

His words reverberated down to the neglected area between my thighs, and I craned my neck left and right to examine the area around us.

Finding it dark and deserted, I stated, “Respect is overrated.”

“How did I know you would say something like that?” he asked in a single breath, not allowing me to respond as he pulled my mouth back to his. I sucked on his lower lip, dragging my teeth along the soft skin, and he whispered, “Get in the back.”

I all but launched myself into the back seat, crawling over the center console while James quickly exited, and then re-entered the car from the rear door behind me. He nearly fell in as he slammed the door shut. I was still trying to sit myself up from my venture from the front seat and as I was kneeled facing away from him, he found the hem of my dress and pushed it upwards. The soft fabric of my skirt laying over my waist, the lacy material of my cheeky underwear was exposed. He planted an open mouth kiss directly on the left side of the lace, and then brought his hand down to the same spot swiftly, spanking me much harder than he had just moments ago.

“Fuck!” I moaned and leaned down on my elbows.

James groaned, gliding both of his hands over my backside, caressing it gently until he grasped at my hipbones. “Turn over.”

I obeyed, his fingertips grazing along my skin as I rotated to face him, and he leaned down to kiss me greedily. Our tongues grazed against each other’s more and more aggressively until our hips began to buck, our bodies began to rock, and his touch worked its way up my body. He kneaded my breasts and I arched into his touch, breaking our contact at the mouth.

I mewled, “Yes, please.”

His hands rested on either side of the buttons that went down the center of my chest, and he asked in an exhale, “Are you fond of this dress?”

“Now? Not so much—” I barely managed to finish my snippy reply before he yanked his grip in either direction and the buttons fastening the material snapped free. They scattered on the floor mats, and I gasped, “James!”

He flashed me a sinful grin and mocked, “I’ll buy you a new one,” before he tugged at the cups of my bra to expose my breasts, and his mouth went to work.

“Ah!”

His tongue on my nipples was nearly my undoing. I quivered, letting out many shaky breaths, unsure of how long I’d be able to stand this. When I realized that my loss of control was imminent, I reached down between us to grab the fastening on his jeans and, with deft fingers, slipped my hand beyond the waistband and grasped his cock.

He groaned, “Shit,” and allowed his head to fall against the crook of my neck as I pumped him up and down. I only managed to quicken my pace for a few strokes before James sat up, grabbing me by the hipbones once more, and flexed his grip in a way that could only mean, ‘Flip the fuck over.’

I followed the suggestion of his touch, the skirt of my dress resting over my back once more, and James’ hands were on me as he caressed me from behind. I arched into the feel of his hands on me, stretching as far as I could within the small confines of his car, my chest touching the seat and my ass in the air.

He found the seam of my panties and, with great care, slipped them down to my knees. He cursed quietly under his breath, tracing a finger lower and lower until it was directly outside of my pussy, and he pressed it inside of me slowly.

I begged, “Just fuck me, please.”

He muttered, “Jesus, Zoey.” His finger left me, then, and I heard the twang of a zipper. He hovered over me, leaning down so his mouth was grazing my ear, said, “Don’t need to tell me twice,” and thrust himself into me in one quick movement. I nearly screamed, and he panted out, “Too much?”

“No, fuck, no,” I spoke in gasps, waiting for my body to accommodate for his size. “Not enough, please.”

“Yes.” He slid himself almost all the way out, and then back again.

We moaned simultaneously, and from there we both began to quickly—very quickly—come undone. He moved hard and fast, grunting in my ear as the air around us turned hot and humid.

“Please.” I pleaded over and over again, and once I felt myself tighten like a rubber band, I ordered, “Touch me!”

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