Page 90 of Faking It Right
He shook his head. “No, the road trip part. We could make it fun.”
Something in his voice raised my suspicions. “What kind of fun?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them.Harley’s eyes sparkled with mischief, warning me I’d walked right into whatever trap he set.
“Well,” he drawled, “I was thinking I could make the drive more exciting for you.”
“Do I even want to know?” I asked warily.
His hand slid from mine to rest on my thigh, fingers dipping between them while trailing upward. “I could give you a blow job while you drive.”
I jerked the wheel so hard we almost swerved into the next lane. Thankfully, no other cars were nearby, but my heart raced as I straightened out our path.
“Fucking hell, Harley!” I yelped, shooting him a wild look. “Are you trying to kill us?”
He burst into laughter, throwing his head back against the headrest. “Oh my god, your expression is priceless right now.”
“It’s not funny,” I insisted. “That’s dangerous, not to mention illegal!”
He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Is there a law specifically against road head?”
“Yes! No? I don’t know,” I spluttered. “It would fall under distracted driving or public indecency or something.”
“You’re adorable when you’re all scandalized, like a 1950s suburban housewife clutching her pearls after discovering her neighbor uses store-bought pie crust,” he teased, still chuckling. “Look at you, all flushed and flustered.”
I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. “Harley, we can’t do that. I could crash the car. Someone could see us. We’d definitely get arrested and end up on the evening news.”
“I love how you’re listing practical concerns instead of just saying no.” He snickered at my protests. “For the record, I was mostly joking.”
“What part of that was a joke? The illegal bit or the part where we die in a fiery crash?”
“Well, if a blow job is off the table,” he conceded, as if making a heroic sacrifice, “how about a hand job instead?”
Before I could respond, his hand drifted higher between my thighs. I yelped and swatted it away, the car veering toward the shoulder again.
“Damn it, Harley! I’m serious. I don’t want to have an accident and become a headline.”
He held his hands up in surrender, though his expression remained unrepentant. “Fine, fine. Safety first. Can’t blame a guy for wanting to get handsy with his boyfriend, though.”
Despite my exasperation, a warm flutter went through me at the word “boyfriend.” It still felt new and surreal to hear it.
“On the upside, at least the anticipation will make it better when we return to our apartment.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Who says anything’s happening when we get back?”
“The way you moaned my name last night says plenty,” he shot back with a smirk.
My face went hot again. “That’s—you can’t?—”
“Use your words, snookums,” he teased.
“You’re the worst,” I grumbled, fighting a smile.
He stretched in his seat, looking pleased with himself. “Face it, you’re stuck with me now.”
I glanced over at him and felt something suspiciously like a kitten purring in my heart. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Chapter Eighteen
HARLEY
