Page 105 of Bad at Love
“You have that effect on me,” I say, leaning forward and kissing along his neck, taking in his woodsy, spicy scent that throws me into another wave of lust. I could live my whole life with my face buried here, feeling the pulse along his neck, smelling every ounce of this man, my man.
“I’m not complaining, sweet girl,” he says, grabbing my tank top and pulling it and my bra down so my breasts are exposed. “I want to see those brilliant tits of yours.”
Fuck me. Even the way he says “tits” is nearly enough to make me come. Then again, Laz’s voice is especially suited for dirty talk with that deep, warm growl of his.
His eyes rake over my chest, hot with desire I can feel. In some ways, this gaze of his feels more intimate, more penetrating than sex. I feel like I’ve been handed over on a plate for him to savor and enjoy.
Then he’s leaning over, cupping my breast with large, warm hands, and pulling my nipple into his mouth. My body becomes a roman candle, fizzing, burning, begging to go off.
I moan loudly, grinding myself into his cock, desperate for him.
“Slow, we’re taking this slow, greedy girl,” he murmurs, sending more shivers along my spine, his tongue lapping at my nipple until it nearly hurts. My other breast is practically aching, needing his touch, and when he moves his wet, hot mouth over, my body shakes in relief.
“Fuck,” I say with a moan, throwing my head and shoulders back, trying to push myself into him, wild, crazy, and desperate for more. I reach down and around, grasping his cock and pulling it out of his pants.
“Easy,” he warns, pulling his mouth away from me. “I’m a hair trigger these days,” he says, gazing up at me.
And I love that I have that power over him. I grin, bite my lip, and grip him harder.
He pinches his eyes shut, his full, luscious mouth dropping open in a moan. God, his sounds completely undo me, a thread being pulled looser and looser until there’s nothing holding me together anymore.
“You’re trying to ruin me again,” he says, cupping my face with his hand while staring feverishly at my lips. He leans in, kissing me lightly, lips brushing lips, until I roll my hand up and down over his thick, wet head. The sound is so loud in the car and when I look up from watching myself squeeze his shiny tip, the windows are already fogged.
Then the kiss deepens, a slow, hard pull that reaches deep inside me, feeding the hunger. Our mouths, lips, and tongues dance like savages with each other, violent and ravenous and wild.
He suddenly grabs my waist and hoists me up a few inches, positioning his cock just so before lowering me. I gasp at the intrusion, my body so fucking ready yet so unprepared that I have to remember to breathe. If it wanted a break after New York, it’s not getting one.
“Fuck me,” he mutters against my neck as he deliberately drives his cock upward and into me, my muscles expanding around him as much as they can. “So fucking good, Marina. You feel so fucking good.”
I can’t even answer him. I’m sucked under a wave and all I can feel is him pushing, spreading inside me, taking over every thought and feeling. I’ve never felt so full, so thoroughly complete before.
I try my best to pump myself up and down given how my knees and shins are perched on the seat but I can’t get much lift. Instead, I’m at Laz’s mercy, his hands holding onto my waist like I weigh nothing. He lifts me up, just an inch, while thrusting upwards, deeper and deeper until I can’t control the sounds that are coming out of my mouth.
I’m so close to coming, and so fast, just on his cock alone as he rubs a sweet spot deep inside and?—
There’s a knock at the window.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelp, flinching so hard I almost fly off Laz’s dick.
A flashlight comes through the fog.
“It’s a rozzer,” Laz says and I don’t even have time to wonder what a rozzer is because I’m quickly, awkwardly, climbing off of him and onto my seat, pulling my top up and my skirt down.
Laz tucks his dick away, glances at me with wide-eyes, a hint of a crazed smile, then rolls down the window a crack.
“Can I help you?” Laz says to the flashlight.
A face lowers into sight and looks at the both of us. It’s a cop. Which must be a rozzer in Manchester speak.
The cop clears his throat. “We don’t allow cars to be parked here this time of night. You’ll have to get moving.”
“Right, didn’t know that,” Laz says. “I’m foreign.”
“Uh uh,” the cop says. “Just be on your way now.”
He turns and walks away and now I can see his car. Not even a cop, he’s a park ranger. But he has a gun, so we probably should listen.
Laz rolls the window down further and laughs wildly, starting the car and turning on the air to disperse the condensation.
