Page 46 of Wicked Games

Where will she go?

The answer is obvious. If the Bryans kick her out—and that is my intention to get them to that point, pressing on wounds just enough to make them uncomfortable with her staying—then she’ll come to me.

All part of the process, of course.

“Why are you picking me up?” Margo asks.

I glance at her. “Because I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me plenty last night.”

“Hmm.” I flick my blinker on a second before I touch the brake, swinging my car onto a side street. Then another, until we reach a pull off for the lake. “I think you want a repeat.”

Her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink. And yet, while I was deviating from our course, she didn’t so much as make a peep.

I scoot my seat back as far as it can go and slowly undo my pants. I push them down, along with my boxers, and keep my gaze on her face. Even though my cock, now standing at attention, begs to be touched.

“Sit on my lap,” I order.

Is it a test?

Part of the game?

We’re alone here, with nothing but the water ahead of us, an empty parking lot around, and trees beyond.

She unbuckles her seat belt.

“Take off your panties, first,” I add.

Her lips part. I want to take a fistful of her hair and make her move faster, but the anticipation is working for me, too. I don’t give a fuck if we’re late, because I need Margo’s sweet cunt squeezing my dick right now.

She lifts her hips and reaches under her skirt. Slowly, the black silky fabric appears. She drags it down her pale thighs, over her knees, and removes them entirely.

I point to the gear stick. She loops it over it, then shifts onto her knees. She crawls over the center console and swings her leg over me, settling on my lap. Her skirt fans around her. My dick is right in front of her, pulsing between us.

Leaning my seat back, I grab her hips and tug her closer. She lifts, and I slide the head of my cock through her center. She’s wet.

I knew she liked this shit.

From virgin to… experimenter?

“Hold your skirt out of the way,” I murmur.

She lifts the front, giving me a view of her pussy. She leans back slightly, her knees widening, and lowers herself onto me.

I hiss out a breath. There’s nothing better than this. Her eyelashes flutter, her head tipping back. The smooth, pale skin of her throat disappears into the collar of her white dress shirt.

She rises, then drops back down. The groan that breaks from between her teeth is too fucking much.

I touch her. Palm her breasts through her shirt and bra—too much in the way. I undo the buttons of her shirt, somehow refraining from popping them open, and tug the cups of her bra down. Her breasts are exposed, lifted by the underwire and flipped-down cups, and I lean into her.

My mouth lands on one perky, pink areola. Her nipples stiffen in the cool morning air. I press one hand to the small of her back, keeping her chest arched toward me. I kiss it. Lick. Suck her tender flesh into my mouth.

She rides me slowly, her movements too unsure to belie any experience.

“That’s it,” I murmur, dragging my mouth from her breast up the front of her chest. I nip at her collarbone, then her throat. I hope to leave marks on her that she won’t notice until later, when our classmates are staring and pointing. “Just like that, baby.”

She grips my shoulders.

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