Page 12 of Wicked Dance
Then the back door opens and the driver hands it to me. “I can escort you to the bathroom if you like.”
“I really don’t want to be seen in this,” I say.
“The windows are dark,” Blitz says. “Just leave us to it.”
The driver shuts the door and discreetly walks half a block down.
“You sure?” I ask. He’s right about the back windows, but the front window is clear.
“I’m not going to let anyone get even the smallest look.” He turns and props himself between the two front seats, effectively blocking anyone’s view through the car from the windshield. “Except me, of course. I’m going to stare like a dying man.”
“You’re terrible,” I say, unzipping the bag. Inside is a soft white short-sleeved sweater and my favorite Juicy Couture jeans. “Jerry is a miracle,” I say.
“Your naked body is a miracle,” Blitz says. “Now let me see it.”
I slip off a shoe and toss it at him. He laughs as he catches it.
I’m not shy with Blitz, but we are in a car on an open street and I know what I’m wearing beneath this dress. That is to say, not much.
The diamond cutouts mean no bra, just built-in padding, and only a tiny string thong, low slung to avoid cutting across the belly opening.
I carefully lay out the clothes on the seat so I can grab them quickly.
I get the dress up and over my face when it catches for a second on my hair. Blitz sucks in a breath. “Oh, if I dared to take a picture of this,” he says.
“You learned your lesson on that,” I say, trying to pull the dress off, but several sequins have caught in my wild curls.
“Hold on a second,” he says, and moves forward. More light comes from the windshield.
“Stop!” I say. “People will see in!”
Blitz moves back into position. “Then I’ll just stay here and enjoy the show.”
My arms are still in the tight sleeves, the dress caught in my hair. Otherwise, I’m almost completely naked, only the whisper-thin straps of the thong leading to the smallest triangle of fabric imaginable.
My fingers work to sort out where the worst of the tangle is between my hair and the sparkly bodice of the dress. I’m not particularly well endowed, but I’m jerking hard enough that my breasts sway a little as I try to get free.
“God, I’m not going to be able to go out in public for a year with this hard-on,” Blitz says.
“I’ve almost got it,” I say.
“Take your time,” Blitz says.
Finally, no doubt with a solid swath of my hair, the dress comes free. I toss the silly thing on the floor.
“Oh, just like that, right there,” Blitz says. His eyes are on my body.
“Blitz!” I frantically look out the side window. There’s no one on the street, thankfully, although I know the tint is dark enough for our privacy.
“If we were in a limo, we would so not be going in for pie,” Blitz says. He reaches forward and slides his fingers along my collarbone, down a breast, and across my belly. For the barest second, he delves between my thighs.
It’s intoxicating to have him sitting there, his hands on my body. Thousands of girls were dying to fling themselves at him all morning, but he’s here in this car with me.
My heart races, the hot thudding between my legs impossible to ignore. I wonder what we could get away with in here, what I’m brave enough to do.
Blitz senses my hesitation and raises his eyebrow as he says, “Three more seconds and my face is going to be between your legs.”
A horn honks outside and a car slows down for a woman walking a dog across the street just ahead of us. I let out a little “Oh!” and dive to the floorboard, crossing my arms over my body.
