Page 39 of Sighs By the Sea

"Hmm," I say, half listening. I'm contemplating what she might have been wearing underneath those pajamas. Probably something lacy, or maybe even nerdy underwear. She seems like someone who enjoys a lot of hobbies but is all woman underneath.

Definitely lacy. My cock twitches in my pants, and I tighten my grip on the steering wheel.

"Earth to Gray. Did you hear me?"

"No, sorry. I was, erm, thinking."

"I can tell; your little forehead gets all wrinkled and serious," she says with a laugh. "I asked if I could put on some music."

I nod, and she connects her phone to the stereo. Soon, I'm bombarded with lyrical pop that makes my ears want to bleed.

Then she starts singing along, her voice light and on key. The things it stirs in me are strange, an odd mix of admiration and lust. Her slender throat hums and caresses each word. It's like she's making love to the song. Her tongue forming sounds with expert precision.

I wonder how it would feel against my dick.

"You’re frowning again," Maggie says when the song finishes. "Not a pop fan?"

"Not usually. I like the news."

She scoffs. "No one likes the news. It’s depressing as hell." Another song starts, and she perks up. This one is an indie rock song. "Oh, I love this one."

God, I'm completely hard just from her singing. I clear my throat. "Erm, Maggie. Can we switch it off for a bit?"

She stops belting out a high note. "No way! Just listen to the words, Gray. Long lost lovers, back in each other’s arms. It’s beautiful." She picks up right where she left off, and I want to slap myself in the face.

When the next song comes on, she squeals. This one is a rap number, and her face turns serious as she joins in, matching the quick words without missing a beat. "What mix is this? You have pop, then depressing crooning, and now hip hop."

"My 'Get fucked' mix. I listen to it before going undercover usually, but it seems like you need it." I'm going to die. She cannot say the word fucked around me. Ideas pop into my head. Dangerous ideas. Images of Maggie beneath me, writhing, or hell, singing.

"Maggie, this is driving me crazy."

"Ah, loosen up, Grayson." She grabs one of my hands and waves it around as she raps out a series of complicated licks.

I smile. "Some might consider this distracting the driver. Isn't that a crime?"

"Just keep your eyes on the road, babe. I’ll do all the dancing for us." Babe? Yes, I like that. I've never been so thoroughly turned on by a woman just... being herself. When the next series of lyrics is particularly dirty, I start laughing.

She drops my hand and crosses her arms. "What’s so funny, Mr. Cardenas?"

"Oh Maggie, if I could only describe it."

"Try," she deadpans.

"Hearing a woman that wears Spiderman pajamas say words like pussy and ass, it just confuses me." I lower my voice at the vulgar words, but Maggie laughs.

"And hearing a mob boss shy away at those words is just as confusing." I start to correct her, but she catches herself. "Sorry, former mob accountant."

I raise a single finger up as if to say ‘bingo.’ She turns the music back up and continues singing everything that comes on until my phone rings.

I hand her the device. "Lori?" she asks, her eyebrow raised.

"My in-law, she has George. It’s about time he would come home from daycare."

Maggie answers it immediately. "Hey Georgie!" she says excitedly.

"Miss Maggie? Where’s daddy?" he asks.

"Oh, he’s driving us somewhere. How was daycare?"

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