Page 21 of Foolish Games

“Trust me, I can handle you, Princess,” he says, resting a hand on the back of my seat. “The party’s at the quarry. You know it?”

“I’ve been there,” I say, not adding that it was for swimming with my friends over the summer, not for a party or a parking lot hookup like other kids. Chaz is too worried about getting busted by cops in the middle of sex to ever do it in the car, and my friends are more into parties where we don’t have to overcome social anxiety and talk to strangers.

I wait until we pull up at the first stoplight, then look over to see the truck full of his friends next to us. Lexi and another girl wave wildly to us, and a couple guys give us thumbs up and grin, admiring my car. When the light changes, I shoot forward, swinging the car in front of them.

Billy honks, even though I didn’t cut in too close. The truck’s engine roars behind us, and he comes up close, then swings into the next lane to pull up beside me. We both stop at the next light, and some of the others yell to us, though I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Sebastian looks at me sideways. “What are you up to over there, Princess?”

“Nothing,” I say, unable to keep the mischievous grin from my face.

The light changes, and we both surge forward, though I keep the Corvette neck and neck with the truck. We weave in and out of the sparse traffic until we get to the ramp to I-40. I let Billy pull ahead, watching the party in the back pumping their fists in triumph that they “won.” I smile to myself, biding my time. Lexi stands up and starts shaking her ass, while someone else thrusts a liquor bottle into the air.

I gun the engine, gliding up on the tail of the truck until I’m so close I can read the label on the bottle of Heaven Hill vodka. Checking the mirrors, I make sure I have a clear shot onto the highway. The moment Billy’s tires hit the interstate, I shoot around him, flying past in the passing lane.

“Holy shit,” Sebastian curses, grabbing onto his seat.

The engine purrs with joy as I shift again, watching the dial as the speed climbs. Billy’s truck is roaring toward us, moving slow with all the weight but trying its best to gain ground. I shift again and zip forward, streaking through the night as we approach a hundred.

I grin at Sebastian. “I thought you said you could handle the ride.”

“You’re full of surprises, Princess,” he says, reaching over and laying a hand on my bare knee. “But I can handle it. The question is, can you?”

He slides his hand up, and my foot jerks, letting off the gas when he reaches the apex of my thighs.

“Stop it,” I bark, trying to get my legs together and his hand out. “You’re going to distract me.”

“Then you better keep your eyes on the road.”

His fingers massage my silk panties against my flesh, and I feel heat building between my thighs against my will. Billy’s headlights are approaching in the mirror, and I press my foot on the gas again, determined to ignore Sebastian.

“Seriously, quit it,” I growl, squirming in the seat to free myself of his fingers.

“I think you like it, Princess,” he says, slowly stroking the damp fabric. “You’ve soaked through your panties already.”

Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks, and my clit throbs when he traces a finger over the seam of my lips. My whole body feels flushed, and I can barely focus on the road. I grip the wheel with both hands, fighting the urge to close my eyes and moan as his finger toys at the edge of the fabric.

“You want me to finger this sweet little pussy, don’t you?” he asks, leaning in and brushing his lips against my bare shoulder. “You want me to make you cum at a hundred miles per hour.”

“Sebastian,” I say through gritted teeth. “Stop it.”

“Why?” he asks, pushing a finger under my panties and stroking the smooth, bare skin at the edge of my pussy. “I know you like it.”

“I don’t,” I grit out. “And it’s dangerous.”

He chuckles and slides his finger in, pushing it through the thin strip of hair and into my slit. “I think you like the danger, Princess.”

I gasp, swerving a fraction before regaining control.

“I don’t,” I snap. “You almost made me wreck.”

“Then why are you dripping wet?” he asks, his finger gliding through my folds to my clit, where her strokes me in a slow, torturous rhythm.

“Do you know what will happen if I lose control going this speed?” I ask, glancing at the speedometer, where we’ve topped one-ten.

“Live fast, die young, baby.”

“I’m not planning to die tonight,” I say, renewing my grip on the wheel.

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