Page 7 of Tempest

Ardyn swivels, her hip batting against mine again and sending a zing of pleasure to my groin. “Excuse me? Where do you propose I do that?”

“Right here. In this car.”

The whites of her eyes grow larger in my periphery and I chuckle. Mila scoffs as she looks out the passenger window. “Ardyn would never.”

“Just—drop me off at a Starbucks or something.”

“And risk someone seeing you?” I drawl. “C’mon, princess, everyone here knows you’re hanging out in public by a thread. The minute your old man drops a pin on you, you’re dead meat. Why risk further exposure before you see the impressive sword you’ve been waiting for?”

There are so many dick innuendos in my sentence, even I have trouble stomaching my words, but the simple joy in her expression of disgust makes it all worth it. Fuck, she is all too easy to rile up. And I’m taking way too much pleasure in it.

Ardyn’s mouth works. “I’m not … I’m not getting changed with you next to me.”

“I’ll be a good boy.” To demonstrate, I keep my eyes straight ahead and my hands at ten and two on the wheel. There’s no way my posture communicates how much the ache in my cock grows at the thought of Ardyn taking off her clothes so close by.

Sweet, innocent, and completely untouched. I’m dying to take in the color of her nipples. Pale rose or deep scarlet? What color would they turn if I tongued them hard enough?

It’s always the forbidden fruit that tastes the sweetest, I rationalize as Ardyn fidgets next to me. That’s the only reason I’ve taken on a sudden interest in this wisp of a girl who barely speaks above one decibel.

Mila rolls her eyes. “Ardyn is as proper and upper-crust as it gets. There’s no way she’d even bare a shoulder to you, Tempest.”

Ardyn glances at her best friend, her forehead wrinkling like she’s torn between rebelling against Mila’s point and proving it.

“You only got so much time,” I say, coasting into the second lane on the West Side Highway. To enunciate my point, I press on the gas.

Ardyn’s head falls back. Mila and I have the joy of a headrest. She doesn’t.

She drops her chin forward and glares at me. Oddly, I don’t think it’s because the increase in speed bothers her.

“Fine,” she mutters, digging through her tote.

She pulls out a flash of shining black, shaking it a few times as if that’ll make it suddenly formal-worthy again.

“Christ, have you ever been outside your fortress before?” I ask her. I’ve never seen a woman so blasè about her designer gear. I gain a modicum of respect for her. Not enough to prevent a sneer in her direction, however.

“Eyes on the road,” she snaps.

Amazing how she’s so sassy with me yet so capitulating to Mila.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t worry, baby dove. I’ll make sure he doesn’t creep on you.” Mila angles in her seat, but her slitted eyes are on Ardyn.

I dismiss the intricacies of their relationship with a shrug. If I’m to make it through this ride with Ardyn stripping next to me, I have to key into the whole “chauffeur” thing and not the “sister’s best friend” thing.

Ardyn starts off shy, experimenting with her top button before the whites of her eyes move to me like this is some kind of test.

Fuck, it is. It’s not every day I’m next to a woman who takes her shirt off and expects me not to touch her.

Like the Boy Scout I lied that I am, I keep my gaze forward, counting the painted traffic lines in an effort to stop the growing bulge in my pants.

Ardyn moves to the next button, then the next. After what seems like the most painful cocktease strip ever, she shrugs off her shirt and passes it to Mila, who takes it with two fingers and drops it in her footwell.

Sadly, I’m only able to see a flash of cute, pert globes before she slips on the top half of the dress.

A subtle, closed-mouth smile lifts my lips as the answer presents itself. Pale pink.

She pauses after she hooks the top of her pajama shorts.

---