Page 56 of DOG Part 2
I quieted down and let him do his thing. After about twenty minutes, he stunned me by reaching a hand to the side of my face and tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. My skin grew warm under his rough yet gentle touch, and then I pulled away and pushed his hand off me.
“If you want me to be quiet, be sure not to touch me. And what are you doing anyway? Are you the president of sending mixed signals or something? You just told me last night was a mistake and now you’re touching me like…well like that.”
The hand I pushed away came to rest on my bare knee closest to him. “Be quiet. It was a mistake, but I don’t regret it.”
I had no reply to that, because that hand of his slid higher up my left thigh under my jeans skirt and distracted the hell out of my ability to think or speak. In fact I had to force myself not to give him the satisfaction of moaning out the pleasure that started to build when that hand made it to the top of my thigh and caused me to part my legs to let him roam over my lacy panties. His fingers found the seam of those panties, which were soaking wet by then, and slid under it. My stomach clenched, my eyes closed and my breathing changed when he cupped my mound, and then a second later he let go.
I opened my eyes.
He was stepping out of the Jeep. Wow. Great timing.
Maybe I was being impatient, because he walked around the front to my side and opened my door as wide as it could go.
“What?”
“Shhhhh,” he said, and undid my seatbelt.
Kane put his hands on my knees again, and this time, turned me gently to face him. I was close to panting when he slid my skirt up my legs, spread me wide, and ducked down, pressing his lips to my mound through those panties.
“God, woman. You’re so wet,” he hummed against my already throbbing clit.
He reached one hand up my back to my neck, and pulled me down to rest my head on the driver seat. Kane was about to make my body buzz. Here behind this abandoned house. Off this dirt road. In the middle of nowhere. In broad daylight. Under the punishing Arizona sun.
Damn risky.
Fucking hot.
He moved his hand from behind my head and cupped it over my mouth while the other slid the fabric of my panties to the side. I hissed when his tongue dipped into my folds.
“Shhhhh,” he whispered.
I have a tendency of being pretty darned loud during the act, so that was a tall order. I was bound to fail miserably at silent sex. Still, I tried to rein in my ruckus.
As he licked and sucked and ravaged my center, my hips ground down on his face, and my right leg rose all on its own over his shoulder, while the other braced against the glove compartment for stability. For the love of all things sexy I wanted to cry out and whimper and sound out my pleasure. That hand he clamped over my mouth was cramping my style, and at some point, I may have bit into his palm.
“Ouch,” he said in a throaty gurgle, not stopping his plundering.
“It was just a little nibble,” I tried to tell him, but as his hand gagged me, the incoherent mumble came out like‘mrm rmm mmmr mrm mrmm mrmm’.
Kane moved his hand from my mouth long enough for me to say sorry, and then I took the opportunity to beg him to let me straddle him and ride his dick. I think he was glad he took the chance and let me speak, because the next thing I knew, he lifted his head and then I heard it. The unmistakable and irresistibly sexyrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrripsound of lace fabric being tugged beyond its tensile strength until it was torn to shreds. I managed to tilt my head up slightly just in time to see him throw the pieces of lace out of his hand. I would have told him he was paying to replace it, but I was too excited about what he was about to let me do to bother. That, added to watching him unzip his pants and free his raging hard-on.
He slid both hands down the sides of my legs and wrapped them around his waist. “Sit up and hold on to me,” he told me.
I did. He held me tight to his chest and stepped back, then turned so his back was leaning against the side of the vehicle. I wasn’t too sure how this was going to work, but heck, I was open to figuring it out with him.
Kane deserved props. He had to be some kind of condom illusionist. A virtual Criss Angel for protective sex, he could make one appear out of nowhere just before getting inside a woman. He already rode a Harley and wore a cut, so all he was missing was the smoky eye makeup, rocker jewelry and long, dark hair.
Just like the name of the Vegas show, I believed.
He held my back with one hand, and with no kind of effort, ripped open one of those lubricated bad boys and put it on.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
With my skirt pretty much all the way up to my waist now, he gripped my hips, positioned me over his manhood, and growled, “Go ahead. Ride.”
Hallelujah.
