Page 117 of The Persistence of Thornes
“Have you ever had sex in a car?” I ask, tugging at his shirt.
Eyes hooded, he breaks into a lazy smile, not even bothering to help me divest him of his t-shirt.
“Yes,” he says, finally lifting his arms so I can yank the fabric over his head. Humming, he brushes my hair out of my face and tenderly tucks it behind my ear. “But I’ve never had sex in a car with you.”
“Smooth recovery,” I quip.
He chuckles, lips ghosting over my cheek. “Is this your way of telling me you want me to fuck you in your car?”
An electric current sparks to life inside me. “God. Yes. Please.”
He wets his lips, his eyes dark with amusement. “So fucking eager. I like that.”
“You bring it out in me.” Sex has always been a release, nothing more. Last weekend, Caleb opened my eyes to how much deeper the connection can go.
He cups my jaw, kissing the underside of my neck. “Is that so?”
I nod, my breaths coming faster. We may be new at this, but he’s already discovered several sensitive spots like this one.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” His tone turns serious as he pulls away. “But I didn’t bring a condom.”
I bite my lip, but there’s no hiding my smirk. “I guess that makes me the bearer of good news. I picked some up when we stopped for gas this morning.”
He laughs, his body shaking beneath mine and causing the seam of my jeans to rub against me in just the right way, creating a mix of pleasure edged with the tiniest bit of hurt.
“You planned this,” he accuses, pressing his thumb into my bottom lip.
Without my permission, my pelvis rolls over his, sending arcs of desire through me. “No, but I?—”
He cocks a brow and forces my hips to still.
With a sigh, I mutter, “I hoped.”
“Naughty girl.” He nips at my neck. “Where are they?”
I scramble back to the driver’s side and pull the plastic bag from beneath the seat, then dig out the small package and hand it to him.
He looks them over, his entire face lit up in a combination of need and amusement.
“You make me horny,” I whine. “Stop judging me.”
With a groan, he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m not judging, sweetheart.”
I pout, head lowered. “It feels like you are.”
His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “Get back over here so I can show you just how nonjudgmental I can be.”
I don’t have to be told twice. Quickly, and a little awkwardly, I maneuver my way back over and settle into his lap.
He opens the box and sticks a condom wrapper in the empty drink holder, then tears my shirt off over my head. With nimble fingers, he pops the button on my jeans and lowers the zipper. When he slips his hand past the waistband of my panties and finds my pussy already wet for him, he groans.
“All this for me, baby?” he asks, stroking his fingers through my folds.
My hips rock against the friction, desperate for more.
He slaps my ass with his other hand, and I cry out, bracing my hands on the seat on either side of him, cheeks burning from the combination of pleasure and pain.
“I asked you a question, Halle.”
