Page 77 of Coerced Kiss

“Don’t put yourself out,” she says quickly. “Sacrificing your driver is already more than generous.”

I flash her a smile as I grab a piece of toast from her plate on my way to the door and bite into it. “It’s no trouble at all.” Walking from the kitchen, I add, “By the way, we’re going out tonight.”

“Where to?” she calls after me, sounding apprehensive.

“After Dark. Be ready at eight.”

Silence follows me down the hallway.

The strenuous workout did little to alleviate the sexual frustration that leaves me with a permanently hard cock. Not that I’m complaining. On the contrary. After my long unresponsive spell, I’m only too happy that my equipment functions normally again. I relieve my blue balls with a hand job in the shower, thinking of Anya’s tight ass and pert tits as I come in my fist.

I’m downstairs in ten, ready to drive her to work. Instead of taking the car Kevin uses, I opt for the 1967 Chevrolet Corvette L88 Coupe that I keep in the double garage. With a fire-engine red exterior and matching leather seats, it’s one of my favorite toys. Only twenty L88’s were built in 1967. It’s the crown jewel of the Corvette collection. The vintage sports car set me back just under four million.

I open her door, seat her, and fasten her safety belt. After testing the hold to make sure the clip locked properly, I hop in beside her.

Particularly proud of this baby, I ask, “What do you think?”

“Impressive,” she says in a neutral tone.

I start the engine, enjoying the powerful roar of the motor. “Would you like to drive it?”

She looks at me quickly. “You’d let me?”

“Sure, once you get your driver’s license.” At the arch of her brow, I add, “And before you ask how I know you don’t have one, I know everything about you that matters.”

She huffs. “I’m not going to get a license.”

I steal a quick glance at her as I pull through the gates. “Why not?”

She shrugs. “I’m not going to buy a car anytime soon.”

“I’ll teach you. It’s not difficult.”

She stares at me as if she’s trying to figure me out. “Why?”

Always appreciating the fast acceleration, I change the gears and step on the gas. “It’s important to be autonomous. What if, one day, you’re in a place or a situation where you don’t have access to a driver or public transport?”

“Are you always such a doomsday prophet?”

I grin. “I prefer to be prepared.”

“For what?”

This time, when I take my eyes off the road for a second to look at her, my tone is serious. “For everything.”

She ponders that in silence.

Outside her office building, I get out to open her door. We’re ten minutes early. A few of her colleagues are arriving, carrying disposable cups with coffee shop logos. They shoot curious glances at us as I help her from the car.

“Thanks,” she says, ducking her head before trying to scoot around me.

I lock my hands around her hips. “Not so fast.”

She looks up with a question in her eyes. In the bight fall sun, those amber pools glitter like gold. She’s wearing one of her old dresses, a long-sleeved lilac one, and her flat ballerina shoes. Standing there in that simple dress that falls softly around her curves with the sunlight reflected in her flaming red hair, she’s the most beautiful sight I’ve seen.

I drag her flush against my body. “You’re not leaving without saying goodbye properly, are you?”

She glances over her shoulder at the people who slowed down on the sidewalk. “Is this necessary?”

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