Page 134 of Brazen Mistakes

So hot.

Unbuckling, I kneel on the seat next to her, leaning over to lick and nibble along her ear, my hand slipping into her pants.

“Jansen,” she gasps. “I’m driving.”

“I was too. Fair’s fair.”

She glances at me for a split second before moving her attention back to the road. “That was different.”

I sneak my fingers into her panties and her little whimper tells me I’m on the right track. “I fail to see a difference, beautiful. You’re already high, let me anchor you.”

When she doesn’t say no, just taps her fingers against the steering wheel, I shove her leggings and snow pants down,hooking her panties and pushing them down too, wishing she was wearing a skirt so I could sneak them off those legs and into my pocket.

Later.

My first brush against her warm wet heat has her holding back another whimper, her fists too tight on the wheel.

“Do you know how to get back to the car?” I ask, teasing slow circles around her, getting my fingers slippery with her arousal.

“Mmhmm,” she says, shooting me a side-eye that has me grinning.

“Good. Better get us there in one piece. This car should be worth a butt-load, and I’d hate to lose the money because you wrapped us around a tree as you came.”

“Like you’re that worried about the money,” she says, then squeaks as I plunge two fingers into her without warning. Panting, she continues her thought, “You’re in it for the thrill, Trouble, and we both know it.”

And with that, she sets my goal for the night: to make her mindless. Dangerous?

Hell yeah.

But we’re both excellent drivers. We’ll be fine.

And if nothing else, this fucker has one of the highest safety ratings on the books. Sensors and correctors, airbags and seat belts. We’re golden.

Even if I’m not wearing mine.

Running my nose along the rim of her ear, my fingers drenched between her legs, I respond. “You’re not wrong, beautiful. The thrill is exactly why I want to make you scream.”

I bite her earlobe, and she shivers. Pressing my thumb against her clit, she hums.

Not enough.

Pushing her hair to her other shoulder, I nibble down her neck, my thumb and fingers working her over, the squelching sound making me grin against her skin.

We take another left, this time inching through the intersection, the only sound Clara’s labored breathing and the click of the wipers.

The next turn, I slam a third finger into her, and her moans make me chuckle.

“Fuck you, Jansen,” she manages, and I laugh.

“Later.”

“I’ll get you back for this,” she warns, and damn. That’s definitely something to look forward to.

“You’d better,” I say, digging my teeth into the juncture where her neck and shoulder meet, and she groans, my whole hand coated with her.

So close.

I pound into her, my thumb coaxing out her chant of “shit, shit, shit,” as her pelvis rocks with me, the car slowing with each murmured curse.

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