Page 28 of Bad At Love

The single passenger settled next to the driver immediately, rattling off in Spanish. The couple had matching white shirts on that said bride and groom in pink and blue glitter. When they frowned at the narrow seat at the back, DP volunteered himself and Chaaru.

“You don’t mind, right?” he said, his large palm unmistakably possessive on the small of her back.

Chaaru shrugged. They settled into the backseat, the black leather buttery soft against her skin as she slid deeper. New car smell filled her nostrils. Whichever way she tried wriggling though, it was an uncomfortable fit.

DP tapped the man's shoulder, and the couple pulled their seat forward by a couple of inches. Pointing his knees to the right, where they nearly hit the other end of the car's interior, he made a motion for her to lift her legs.

Swallowing, Chaaru followed his instructions. The car pulled away into traffic, her legs hanging over DP's. Christ, but the man had tree trunks for thighs.

With his arm around her shoulders, her hands settled on his abdomen. Already, touching him with this wanton abandon was a heady thrill. He was like a wall of rough-hewn muscle she wanted to climb like a monkey.

“You okay?” he said, his exhale a warm puff against the shell of her ear. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but I’ll make it worth your while.”

Before she could reply, a soft, sultry number in Spanish drifted out of the speakers and the couple started kissing. Their mouths clung together and parted, the damp sounds drizzling honeyed warmth through her own limbs.

Hands and limbs locked together like pieces of a Jenga puzzle, it was impossible to quiet her racing pulse. Chaaru wanted to ask DP to kiss her, to touch her, to do something...But ugly, old fears she’d thought she’d beat reared their heads. What if he thought she was wanton for having these kinds of desires, for being so desperate for his touch?

Leaning in, DP skimmed his nose down the arch of her neck. Her breaths came in dull pants as he nuzzled that spot that felt like it was directly connected to her clit. “I want to touch you. Here. Now.”

Her mouth drying, Chaaru searched his gaze. Had he figured out some way to mind-meld with her and see her deepest desires?

“Only if you want to," he whispered, mistaking her quiet excitement for hesitation.

“I was...” she cleared her throat, “hoping you would kiss me. I’m literally panting for it. Earlier, your lips barely skated over mine.”

Just the memory of it made her shiver, even though she was warm from his body heat. She wanted to feel the press of his mouth over hers, taste his need for her so badly that it was an ache inside her chest. “I froze at how good it felt to know it’s you kissing me. Not because I didn’t want it.”

“Noted,” he said with a grin. “Although I have something more than a kiss on my mind right now. You want it?”

When she turned fully toward him, his stubble rasped deliciously against her lips. “Yes. Please.”

His fingers danced over the bumpy skin at her knees. Every inch of her went to red alert when he snuck those broad fingers under her already bunched up dress. Her heartbeat stuttered as they moved upward. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

“I’m trying,” she whispered.

Each inch of her quivering flesh he touched, a wake of heat followed, trailing upward to the juncture of her thighs. His lips lingered over her riotous pulse, as if soothing her.

Then his fingers were there, covering her mound over the low-cut panties she had on. She swallowed audibly when the heel of his palm settled against her clit like some bold explorer staking his patch of land in a new territory.

Her breaths came in little, panting huffs as they sat like that. His fingers fluttered, as if he was taking the pulse of her pussy. Slowly, irrevocably, she became wetter and hotter.

“You getting ready for me, sweetheart?” His voice was a hoarse whisper that betrayed how turned on he was.

“Yes. For you. Ever since that evening. Only for you,” she admitted, shedding each layer of fear and undeserved shame. It had no place between her and this gorgeous, wonderful man.

“Good. Now move up on me a bit. And pull your right leg down.”

She hesitated. “I'm not...light.”

“You’re perfect,” he said, nipping her skin in punishment. “Why don’t you let me worry about whether I’m good enough to hold you, yeah?Youworry about how you're going to keep it down.”

A little more dampness bloomed at her core at his matter-of-fact suggestion. Then he gave a quick tap-tap of his fingers against her soaked folds as if saying get a move on.

With a barely smothered gasp, she climbed into his lap until one of her ass-cheeks was hanging in the air and dropped her right leg. To keep her balance, she wrapped her arm around his broad shoulders and clung to him.

DP turned up the AC. A cool burst of air kissed her heated skin. All the sliding and slipping against his thick muscles turned her breasts achy and heavy, her nipples begging to be played with. She loved rough nipple play, but she always had to beg her lovers to give her what she needed. Apparently, men thought small breasts meant less pleasure.

“Bend towards me and tug that neckline to the side.”

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