Page 103 of Mexico Can Choke On It
He kicks the ATV into high gear and shoots forward.
“Try not to grab my ass when we hit that bump,” Bryce says into the headset.
The next thing I know—we’re airborne.
My body flails like I’m in zero gravity.
Then—WHAM!
“What the hell, Bryce?” I shout. “You always drive like this, orare you trying to make me hump you like a jungle koala?”
His laugh is feral. “If the koala moans like you do, I’m all in.”
We zip around Nigel’s ATV like we’re in some billionaire-themed Mario Kart taking first position. Miss Muffy’s ears flap in the wind, her tiny pink tongue hanging out in pure bliss.
I need a photo of this madness, or I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince people I didn’t hallucinate the whole thing.
But right now, I’ve got more pressing matters. If I want to crack Mr. Perfect Control and get him to confess he’s secretly craving round two, it’s time to deploy the nuclear option.
I dig my fingers into his abs and let out a soft, breathy, “Mmmm,” right into the mic.
His shoulders go tight.
I moan again, longer, dirtier. Add a soft sigh. A little inhale. Like I’m being touched in all the right places.
The ATV bounces over a root the size of a telephone pole, and I strike like a cobra.
“Oh! Yes! Right there. That’s the spot.”
Every muscle in Bryce’s body locks up like he’s been flash-frozen. “Pip, what are you doing?”
“I’m giving you feedback on your driving technique. This seat really knows how to work a girl’s pressure points.”
I start panting. Little gasps between the moans. Each one a little louder. A little more… persuasive.
“Oh… oh my… yes, just like that…”
“Petra, stop.”
“Stop what? Having a good time?” I moan loudly. “I thought you liked hearing me enjoy myself?”
The ATV suddenly veers left, crashing through a giant wall of tropical leaves before he jerks us back onto the path.
“Son of a—!”
Music to my ears. Mission Scramble Bryce’s Brain Eggs is succeeding.
“Bryce! Can’t you go any faster? These vibrations are getting me off!” I purr with manufactured lust.
I create a symphony of breathy gasps—louder, needier, filthier.
“Cut it out.”
“It’s building… Almost…” I dig my nails into his sides. “Oh fuck, yes—”
“That’s it. I’m pulling over.”
“No!” I gasp dramatically. “Don’t stop! I’m so close. Faster, Bryce!Harder!”
