Page 86 of Pride and Protest
“Your driver. He has two kids. I may have told him you would tip him an insane amount.”
“When did you have time to get the driver’s life story? And exactly how much did you promise him?” Dorsey asked. When she shrugged, he continued. “Yes, I informed him I would be returning you safely to Alexandria.”
“Shall we?” Liza asked.
Dorsey smiled a wolfish smile. “We shall.”
Park lowered his chin and made no move to join them, and Liza felt a flutter low in her belly. With Park gone, they had nothing but themselves and the attraction between them, which still flowed and crackled like an electrical current. Dorsey closed his loft door and showed her to the car idling out front. And just like that, they were alone.
Why was the atmosphere suddenly different? The molecules and atoms had re-formed themselves as soon as Dorsey closed the doors. They always did this—boil the air around them. Walls closed in. Lights dimmed. Dorsey’s scentfilled the car. He seemed to take up the whole other side of the vehicle.
She could finally look at him as long as she wanted. Liza had only ever allowed herself short, sidelong glances—so afraid that someone would pop up out of nowhere, screaming, “I knew it!” But lord, Dorsey looked like the king of this town car. But what would that make her? A serf, a concubine, a jester, a queen?
Liza touched his lapel. Maybe if she focused on tiny details like this and not this whole gorgeous man in front of her, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself tonight.
“Gosh, the stitch detail on that shirt is amazing,” she said absently.
Dorsey looked down at his shirt. “Is... is this shirt turning you on?” He smiled a wicked smile.
“A little.” Liza laughed. “My grandmother is a seamstress. You get to notice fine detail work and high stitch density.” She ran her index finger up his collar. Then she unbuttoned the third button of his cream shirt, which exposed the muscular divot of his collarbone.What would it feel like to kiss him there?
“Want a trick to know if your shirt is outstanding quality or not?” she asked. Her eyes danced playfully. The way he had looked at her tonight. The way he touched her. It told her everything she needed to know. She was drunk off more than the drink tonight. It was a heady thing to be the center of a man like Dorsey’s desire.
“I’m not sure how I would happen upon a low-quality shirt.” His breath had taken on a measured slowness as Liza fiddled with the button.
“Thick mother-of-pearl buttons. Do you feel this?” She ran her hand down the length of buttons until she touched his beltbuckle. Liza was pleased to feel his stomach tighten. “Four millimeters thick, I would estimate,” Liza murmured.
Dorsey began rapidly unbuttoning his shirt.
“What are you doing?” Liza saw smooth pecs with taut brown nipples. Rigid abs flexed and corded muscles moved under smooth skin as he dispensed with his shirt. Liza’s tongue clicked. She wanted to put her face on his chest. She took a moment to absorb the sheer tangible certainty of him being here tonight and not in her daydreams and night dreams. There were so many false narratives flying around about them. Right now, though, his heat, his smell, that same cologne that had her spraying sample fragrances at every men’s perfume counter in DC, was the truest thing in the world to her.
“I’m going to just give you the damned thing. I should be obsessed with your shirt tonight,” Dorsey said. He crawled over her in the back seat. His biceps rippled on either side of her head and the hard length of him rested heavy and pulsing on her thigh.
“Let’s switch.” She pulled her own shirt over her head, freeing her breasts, but trapping her arms in the material. He kissed the space between her breasts. Once the shirt passed her eyes, she opened them to find Dorsey’s lips just above her own. She saw his mouth coming like a freight train. His huge hand cradled her neck; the other arm pulled her so close the air rushed out of her lungs. The kiss burned right through her.
Liza’s belly flipped as he deepened the kiss. She tasted the rich wine on his lips and kneaded the soft skin of his shoulders. His mouth covered hers, and she struggled to pull him closer so she could feel the weight of him. Damn this car. Not enough space. Liza ground her middle into his hardness.
“Partition,” Dorsey growled out, and a black mirrored separator pushed itself up from the driver’s and passenger’s seat. His voice was gravelly in her ear, and his breath was hot against her collarbone. Then she moved her mouth, letting his prickly chin drag gently across her face until she found his mouth again. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world. But Liza knew they didn’t.
She broke the kiss. “We’re not that far from Alexandria.” His mouth wandered down her face, and he nuzzled at her nipples, which had gone hard as pebbles underneath his attention.
“Plenty of time.” His hands kneaded her breasts, and his mouth flicked her nipples mercilessly.
“I’m not gonna come in five seconds,” Liza warned. He kissed her again. She wasn’t sure if it was to shut her up or not, but this time it was more urgent. Good, she needed him to know that it was now or never. But he seemed to mistake the warning tone in her voice for a challenge.
“You want to go all the way? Liza, who told you I was that type of man?” Dorsey bit her collarbone.
“I won’t fake it. And you have fourteen minutes now.”
“Fourteen minutes is an eternity. You’re gonna come in seven.” He peeled her tight jeans from under her hips. They had never come off in such a fluid motion. Her own pants wanted to obey this man. For a minute, he just looked at her. The pads of his fingers touched the scalloped lace of her panties. His knuckles grazed the wet heat at her center. Liza sucked in a breath and clenched her teeth. If he started now, she just might finish. No foreplay, no sweet words, just carnal grinding, squeezing, thrusting, grunting.
“You’re still wet.” He said this almost like an accusation. Like he didn’t think she would cop to being turned on by him more than once.
“Damned sexy shirt,” she joked, raising her hips in impatient insistence.
“Where did you get this scar on your knee?” He pointed his chin toward her knee, then kissed her there.
“Roller skates are deadly instruments and should never be given to kids.”
