Page 43 of Filthy Rich

“So, stop means stop?”

“Not really, but I wish you would. I can’t think when you touch me. How am I supposed to drive?”

A throaty rumble of satisfaction from him. “You’re right,” he says, his fingers now tracing lazy circles around my clit. “Pull over and find a discreet spot where I can fuck you.”

What a deliciously scandalous idea. “What, now?”

“Now. And later. We’ll start with now.”

“Do you have a condom?” I say, already skimming the horizon for a likely spot.

“I do,” he says, his voice purest silk.

“Then you’d better put it on.”

I don’t know who moves faster—me, parking the car at a shady little lookout spot that’s just secluded enough for a few minutes of privacy, or him, with his wallet, zipper and foil pack. All I know is that the next thing that happens is me hitting the parking brake, killing the engine and swinging around to straddle him in his seat as I hike up my skirt.

Our mouths find each other, hot, hard and urgent. We nip and bite. He pulls my hair in his frenzy to angle my head the way he wants it. And then his hands slip down to my hips, nudging my panties aside and guiding me as I sink down onto him, inch by slow inch. Our lips curl with mutual pending ecstasy. Our breath hisses. And then there we are, fucking each other in broad daylight. In a convertible. On the side of a road where literally anyone could arrive at any second. On a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

It’s the most fantastically illicit moment of my life. My recent turmoil mixes with the risk of being caught and his unbearable sexiness, creating the most volatile possible combination.

I circle and grind my hips against him, lost in the thrill of that thick dick inside me. I’m a fast learner on this whole sex thing if I do say so myself. My body just seems to know what to do when he touches me. He grips my hips and presses his face to my throat, urging me to go faster. Fuck him harder. He scratches my ass and smacks my thighs. I scrape my nails over his nape and scalp. We make our way back into each other’s mouths, stifling our cries inside each other. It doesn’t take long. Just looking at him gets me more than halfway there already. The sensations spiral and crystallize in that one exquisite point between my legs. And then all that pleasure overtakes me in a blinding burst of sensation that makes my head drop back and my spine arch.

He bites the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, his hands covering my breasts and circling my nipples, wringing more pleasure from me. And then he follows over that same sensual cliff, his shouts louder than mine.

“Yes… Yes… Yes.”

I recover enough to straighten and scan his eyes as he comes, savoring the face-to-face intimacy of our position because it lets me see his every reaction. The way he gasps for air, hot color flooding his face. The way striations of black, gold and white glitter in his eyes. The way he stares back at me with absolute focus, as though there’s something wondrous about me when I know that it’s all just him.

“I could stay like this forever,” I whisper, too high on endorphins to censor myself.

“Same,” he says quickly, as though he wants to prevent me from having enough time to regret the confession.

Which I was just about to do.

Another kiss, a quick smile and then we disconnect quickly, mindful of the fact that we could be discovered at any second. Fabulous as this day has been, I really don’t want to end it behind bars in some Monte Carlo jail cell. He gets rid of the condom and adjusts his pants. I fix my panties, wipe my mouth of its remaining bit of lip gloss and smooth my hair. When it’s all said and done, I’m back in the driver’s seat, and he’s in the passenger seat where he always was. And it’s like nothing ever happened. The sun still shines overhead, the breeze filters its way through our little patch of trees and the birds still sing. Nothing has changed from five minutes ago.

Except that my body feels as though it’s been remade, spun with molten gold and priceless diamonds.

Sudden laughter overtakes me. I lean back against the headrest and let it come, pressing my hands to the sides of my head because this is also ridiculous. So crazy.

“What?” he says.

“This isn’t me,” I say, dropping my hands and turning to him. “I just want you to know that. I don’t know what happens to me when I’m with you.”

“Same.” He looks a great deal less happy about the whole situation than I do. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

He hesitates, his expression darkening as he shakes his head. “Touching you makes me hotter. Fucking you makes me hotter. There’s no cooling off. I just want more.”

He’s just perfectly encapsulated the way I feel.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s bad.”

“What are you?” His gentle fingers run across my bottom lip before withdrawing. “Siren? Sorceress? Help me out here. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

“None of that,” I say with a faint smile at the compliment. And a tinge of sorrow that one of these days he’ll realize the truth, namely that there’s nothing special about me. He won’t look at me like this when that sad moment comes, will he? “I just follow your lead.”

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