Page 52 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
His hands slide under the fabric of my dress, dragging it up until it pools around my hips. I tug at his shirt, desperate to touch skin, and when he helps me yank it off, I run my hands down his chest, feeling every solid line, every muscle. His body is perfect with those strong, taut muscles that are mine to explore and squeeze.
He pushes my panties aside with one hand, and his fingers slide between my folds.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked.”
“You always make me like this,” I whisper into his ear, nibbling his earlobe.
When I pull away, his mouth crashes against mine as two fingers sink inside me, slow and deep. I gasp against his lips, arching into his touch. He swallows the sound, but I’d bet people a county away can hear me. I grind against his palm, greedy for more, and he groans low in his throat.
“Look at you,” he says, pulling back to watch my face. “So desperate for me. You’re so fucking perfect.”
My whole body is shaking. I cling to his shoulders as he thrusts his fingers in and out, curling just right, and I can feel myself hurtling toward release.
He knows it too. I can tell by his satisfied smirk. He’s very pleased with himself.
“Come for me, Nicole,” he commands. “Right here on my fingers.”
His voice alone nearly sends me over the edge. A few more strokes, and I’m falling, head back, body trembling, a cry ripping from my throat that I don’t even try to muffle. My orgasm crashes through me like a wave, leaving me wrecked and panting. I accidentally lean back on the horn, blaring it for a long moment, and I don’t even care.
He carefully pulls me against him as I continue to come down, and we both burst out laughing. But the brief distraction isn’t enough to make us stop.
We pause only long enough to be sure no one comes to investigate the noise. When we’re both satisfied that we’re still alone, he lifts me slightly, undoing his pants with one hand. My legs are still shaking, but I help him, pushing the fabric down just enough to free him. His cock is thick and hard and perfect, already glistening with his desire.
He groans, grabs my hips, and lowers me onto him. My slick pussy clenches around him instinctively, and we moan together.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You feel like heaven.”
I can’t speak, so I just groan in response. I start to move, rocking my hips slowly, and his head drops back against the seat.
It’s awkward and messy at first. My knees keep slipping on the leather, and the steering wheel digs into my back, but I’ve never felt anything so good. Every time I roll my hips, he thrusts up to meet me, and the angle is perfect, hitting me right where I need it.
I brace my hands on his shoulders and ride him harder, faster, chasing another release.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
I don’t. I can’t. We’re a tangle of limbs and breath and skin. His hands move up to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples through the fabric of my dress, and I cry out again. His mouth finds mine, and he kisses me through it, desperate and filthy and sweet all at once.
“I’ve never felt like this,” I start to say, but the words dissolve into a moan. My orgasm builds again, sharper this time.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, lips at my ear. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp.
He thrusts up hard once, burying himself to my hilt, groaning loudly. He pulls out slowly and then shoves himself inside even deeper, causing myself to shatter.
The second I fall apart, he follows, growling something low in Russian that I don’t understand but feel all the same, as surely as I feel him filling me. For a long time, neither of us moves. I collapse against him, our bodies still tangled, our skin damp with sweat. His heart hammers against mine, and I realize I’ve never felt so close to anyone in my life.
Eventually, I shift, and he hisses softly as I ease off him.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“Don’t be,” he says, brushing a hand through my hair. “That was perfect.”
“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes searching mine for any sign of regret.
I nod, stroking his face. “I’ve never been better,” I whisper in the small space between us.
A smile tugs at his lips. He leans forward, presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and then rests his hand on my thigh.
