Page 25 of S.O.S. Billboard

His were soft at first, exploring, nibbling, encouraging her to open slightly; their plumpness being fully caressed by his. When his foray turned harder, more intense, O’Shea’s breathing sped up.

Where at first he’d coerced and cajoled, his new goal seemed to be claiming.

Then after a split second of hesitation, he fully possessed her.

She groaned as his tongue demanded entry, twining her hands around the back of his neck to anchor herself, wanting to give back as good as he gave.

Like a cat, she rubbed her breasts against his hard chest while their mouths fused, the friction on her sensitive nubs increasing her rise toward a fully clothed climax; something that she’d never experienced before.

Seriously? She was going to come, just from getting kissed?

Except…who could call this “just kissing”? Billboard wasowningher, freaking body and soul.

She mewed deep in her throat, and wiggled to get closer.

Billboard groaned, and she took that as permission to scootch her legs around to straddle his hips. It was a tight squeeze, positioning herself between the steering wheel andhis hard body, but who cared if she couldn’t quite breathe. Breathing was overrated.

And she needed more.

Dragging her hands from his head, one went to his chest, gripping the material of his shirt to twist it into a rucked-up bunch, while the other palm headed south, toward the good stuff.

She’d just about made it to her destination when—

“Nope,” Billboard rasped. His breathing was ragged as he reached down and pulled her hand away. “No more. Not yet, and not here.”

O’Shea groaned and dropped her forehead down to his nose, purposely bumping against it rhythmically while lamenting. “You are such a killjoy, Billboard. If you’d just let me get my hands on your big cock, I would have orgasmed on contact.”

He let out a splintered laugh. “Yeah. Well. Me, too. And that would have been messy.”

She drew up her head and looked him dead in the eyes, drowning in the lust she saw there. This was no time to back off. Instead—at least verbally—she needed to double-down. “And if you’d come all over yourself, I would have licked you clean,” she purred, giving her lips a slow, provocative swipe of her tongue.

He groaned, his eyes momentarily closing. “Shit. You are so fucking potent, O’Shea.” His voice sounded as if it were scraping across rocks.

As if he couldn’t help himself, Billboard went in for one more, swift kiss, before lifting her off him with a sigh.

O’Shea found herself back in her own seat, but…

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Now she could see Billboard’s chest heaving, and his enormous cock straining behind the zipper of his jeans.

“That,” she pointed at the bulge, “looks totally uncomfortable.” O’Shea reached over as if to help him.

He grabbed her wrist, stopping her a mere inch away from nirvana, and gave a strangled laugh. “Hands to yourself, O’Shea. If you touch it, it’s going to get even more painful.”

Reluctantly she backed off, then watched as he lifted his hips, reached down into his pants, and straightened himself out.

He gave a sigh of relief, and she laughed.

“Look at you. Content and giving a sigh, when you could have been screaming unintelligibly as you came,” she mock-pouted.

He huffed, but clearly became amused as she intended. “I don’t know about screaming, but I’m feelingall kindsof unintelligible right now, with or without the orgasm.”

O’Shea gurgled pleasurably—which was something she was sure she’d never done before—and leaned over to rub her cheek on his. “If it’s any consolation, I’m feeling pretty darned brainless, too. I— “

A knock on the driver’s side window had them leaping apart.

“What the fuck…?” Billboard cursed and turned his head to see Sarge’s face inches from his on the other side of the window, smirking like a fool.

Brigid was standing right behind him with the biggest, shit-eating grin on her face that O’Shea had ever witnessed, and that was saying a lot.

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