Page 93 of Burn It Down

Dylan launches himself across the center console. I love that he isn’t mad about what I said. I also appreciate that he doesn’t ask what I need, or treat me like a ticking time bomb. Heknowswhat I need, and he wants to be the one to detonate me.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he growls against my jaw, making me arch my neck, giving him access to my throat.

“Dylan,” I pant. “We’re still on the side of the road.”

“What’s your point?” he asks, working at the button and zipper on my jeans.

“Anyone can see us.”

“That’s not true,” he starts. As he talks, he tugs on my jeans and I lift my hips even though I weakly protested the idea. “You have a twenty-five percent window tint grade on your front windows.” He pauses his movements and looks up at me. “Which I’d like to point out is illegal in the state of North Carolina.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan. “Apparently, breaking rules is my new thing.”

“And also,” he continues, getting my jeans down to my mid-thighs and spitting in his hand. “If you start driving, people are less likely to look in the windows because following the flow of traffic is much less interesting than a blacked-out, luxury SUV, parked on the side of the highway.”

He has a point.

I flip my turn signal on to merge into traffic. Admittedly, this is the first time I’ve been given a hand job while driving, so I’m a little nervous, but not wanting to get arrested today, I set my cruise control and do my best to keep my hands steady on the wheel.

As Dylan slides his hand along my cock, leaning over the center console, I move into the right lane to slow down, already feeling my impending release.

He uses his left arm to brace himself and his right thumb teases my tip. Unable to stop myself, I move one hand to the back of his thick black hair and grip tightly just to ground myself.

“Oh, fuck baby. Your hand feels so fucking good.” I wish it was his mouth, but he was clear about his boundaries.

My cell phone starts ringing through the speakers and I almost hit ignore, but it’s Cora.

“H-hey, Cor.”

Dylan doubles down on his efforts to get me off like he just accepted a challenge to see if he can get me there while I’m on the phoneanddriving.

Driving while impaired? Check.

“Hey, Jacob, are you okay?”

“Mmhm.” My pitch is too high.

“Well, I just got off the phone with my dad. I wasn’t sure what to say because I don’t know if you’ve talked to your dad yet. My dad’s shocked and disappointed you didn’t ask for hispermission to marry me,” she laughs, “so I just told him the paper ran the announcement ear—"

“Oh fuck.” I meant to say it in my head or at most, utter it as a whisper so soft the speakers wouldn’t pick it up, but when Dylan moves his right hand lower and his middle finger grazes my hole, I caneitherkeep us from crashingorhide the fact that I’m about to blow in Dylan’s hand…but I sure as shit can’t do both.

“Jacob, are you…Dylan! Stop servicing Jacob while I’m on the phone!”

Dylan laughs and removes his hand, causing my impending orgasm to retreat.

“Sorry, Cora!”

“Oh my God. I’m hanging up now. Jacob, call me when you get back.”

The line goes dead and Dylan takes that as his cue to get back to work. This time, his middle finger breaches my hole while his other hand pumps my shaft in long, hard strokes.

“Jesus, fuck!” Just like that, my orgasm ramps up, just about knocking the breath out of me.

Dylan takes his hand off my dick again to say something, but before he can start talking, I grab his hand and put it back on my cock.

“I’m wound tighter than a guitar string and you’ve been edging me for three minutes, which apparently, is my max. Now jack my fucking dick until I paint your goddamned hand before I wreck this car.”

I hear him hum something that sounds suspiciously likeyes sirright before he leans over me, his mouth dangerously close to my cock and spits, adding lubrication, before bringing his right hand back to my shaft.

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