Page 147 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“Why don’t you open the glove box. I think you’ll like what’s in there.”
Her expression brightened. “Any hints?” she asked, eyeing the dash.
He shrugged. “It’s not a popsicle.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Darn, you know how much I like popsicles.”
He adjusted himself. Yeah, he knew.
Charlotte pressed the button, and the slim door popped open. “Chocolate!” she cried.
“I put it in there this morning, thinking Oscar might want a treat on the way to camp, then forgot about it.”
“What do you want to do with a chocolate bar, Chef?” she asked, her playful tone returning. “Were you planning on whipping up a soufflé in the car?”
He plucked the bar from the glove box, tore open the wrapper, then broke off a piece. “Close your eyes, Charlotte,” he said, resurrecting his hothead chef tone.
“Someone is feeling bossy,” she answered with a naughty twist to her lips as she complied with his command.
“Someone’s camping supplies are available for use,” he corrected as he slipped the bite of chocolate into her mouth. Charlotte hummed her satisfaction, and the sound went right to his cock. He unzipped his pants and freed himself from the confines of his khakis. Pumping his hard length, he stroked himself as he concentrated on the beauty next to him.
This was the face he saw in his dreams. This was the face of his future.
She closed her eyes and parted her lips, ready for another bite. But he had something better in mind. Tossing the chocolate bar onto the dashboard, he cupped her face in his hand and kissed her deeply, tasting the sweet chocolate on her tongue. She sighed again, feeding his desire, then pulled back and glanced down.
“That’s quite a tent pole. I better help you test your camping supplies. It’s always good to make sure everything is in working order,” she remarked, wrapping her hand around him. She tightened her grip as she set the pace, working him in slow, sensual strokes, before leaning over and taking him into her mouth.
“Charlotte,” he hissed, tilting his head back as this woman sent his senses into overdrive. He tangled his hand into her hair, surrendering to her rhythm, to her touch, to her heated breath. Hovering on the edge, he inhaled a sharp breath. He wasn’t about to leave her behind. “Wait, I want you with me,” he growled.
She sat up, wiggled in the seat, then slipped off her panties and removed her bra in no time flat.
“You’re really good at taking those off in a tight space,” he remarked, genuinely impressed.
“It’s something I picked up as a former professional mermaid,” she answered, then climbed onto his lap.
She straddled him, and the whole situation was hot as hell, but there wasn’t much room to move.
“Why don’t you shift your left leg forward?” he suggested as Charlotte lifted her right leg and nearly knocked him in the balls.
“Oh, Mitch! Are you okay?” she asked, giggling.
“Let me move the seat back a little,” he offered, reaching down and hitting the button that moved the seat up.
“Whoa!” she cried, grimacing as she arched into him.
“Are we bad at this?” he teased.
The mischief in her eyes turned to pure desire. “There’s one way to find out.” She lowered herself, closing her eyes as she took every inch of him. And it never got old. Making love to this woman got better every time.
He rolled his hips, and she gasped, their bodies coming together as the friction between them went from hot to scorching. What started out as a slow and sensual dance quickened into a furious pump and grind session.
The intoxicating scent of sex engulfed them. In a fury of breaths and lips and teeth and tongues, he reached between them and massaged her most sensitive place as she rode him, bucking and writhing, owning his pleasure.
The need to hold on to her, to anchor his soul to hers, tore through him. Higher and higher, they reached the peak, and hand in hand, they took the plunge.
Crying out, his voice rough and primal, they met their release, spiraling over the edge into a sea of orgasmic bliss. There was no beginning and no end. Only Charlotte. Only this woman who’d made him whole. He held her close, working her sweet bud as she cried out, surrendering to the passion that burned white-hot. Panting, they clung to each other. It didn’t matter that they were screwing each other’s brains out in a car. They could be anywhere. But one truth always remained the same.
She was his.
