Page 92 of Sugar Baby Mine

Ben pulls back, thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “There she is,” he says, barely a murmur that has my stomach flipping. “I don’t like it when I lose you like that.”

I like it even less.

My brain is still a jumble of thoughts, a mess of a place to navigate even on the best of days. Somehow, he always finds the center, manages to tighten the reins in my hands, the path looking clearer in his wake. I can’t begin to understand it, but even when I want to resist, I can’t seem to.

“Ben.” I watch his gaze as it pulls up from my mouth while my fingers trace the line of his beard back to his hair, sinking into the strands and holding tight. “I wanna go to the beach.”

Chapter 23

“Are we there yet?”

“No,” Ben says. I can hear the strain in his voice as he fights off a sigh.

I don’t blame him, it’s the seventh time I’ve asked.

I sink further into the passenger seat of the Range Rover, still miffed that he pulled up in this instead of his Jaguar to take us to Southampton.

He reaches a hand across the console, palm upturned for me. And as much as I love the sight of him driving one handed, it sends a jab of anxiety racing through me. I lay my hand in his before grabbing and turning it over to lay on my thigh. The heat of him sinks through my jeans and he gives me a squeeze, his gaze flickering toward me before turning back to the road.

“Sorry, I should have mentioned that I hate long car rides.”

“The entire trip is only an hour and forty-five minutes.”

“And that is an hour too long, obviously.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced.

I shift around, leaning toward him.

A minute later, I shift again. I try counting the cars, looking for specific colors, picking out the clouds in the sky as they rollpast, listening for the hum of the semis that vibrate the road as we pass. But none of it helps organize my thoughts from spilling everywhere all at once.

It’s exhausting.

I shift around again, the inexplicable urge to ask if we’re there yet lingers on my tongue as my restlessness grows with each silent turn of the numbers on the clock.

A teal blue car slides ahead of us in the right lane and I hear the blink of the turn signal, watching the highway disappear as we take an off ramp. The GPS I’ve been ignoring on his phone dings, and I sit up a little straighter.

“What are you doing?”

“Not me,us.”

“Okay, what arewedoing?”

“We’re going to park at the very back of this truck stop to our left, hope that my illegally tinted windows are worth the money, and you’re going to sit on my cock in the backseat.”

“What?”

He gives me a hard squeeze, dragging my leg open and to the side. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His touch drifts up to the apex of my thighs where I’m already burning for him after one sentence. The ridge of his knuckles press against my pussy and I squirm, wishing I’d worn a skirt instead of planning to change when we got there.

Ben turns into the truck stop, and I arch up against his fingers as they brush over me through the denim. It’s such a fleeting touch, though it sends sparks of pleasure up my spine, and I miss it when he pulls away to park the car. But I’m pressing the button on my seatbelt and flinging it over my shoulder to scramble over the center console into the backseat before he’s even finished putting it in park.

“Eager for someone always questioning my orders.”

“I trust you though,” I say, dragging my pants over my hipswith the button and zipper barely undone in my haste. I kick off my shoes, leaving my socks on, and press my legs together as Ben exits the car and opens the back only a second later, climbing onto the seat next to me, the space suddenly so much smaller.

The quiet of the car, the chill of the air with the engine off and doors locked, is intense in the moment as I lift my shirt off while Ben pulls his overhead. I keep my undergarments on, climbing into the space of his lap as he unbuttons and pulls his jeans open.

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