Page 43 of Please, Sir

There’s a heated burn between my legs that makes my pulse skip.

He smells a bit tangy, but it sets a warmth across my skin and puts a heaviness between my hips. My body radiates desire–one singular desire to feel this man push inside me, hurt me, burn me, stretch me so wide that I gasp to breathe and tears leak from my eyes. I want to absorb whatever pain he needs to rid himself of. I want to alter my body to fit his every carnal need, to show him that when he is between my thighs there is no place he will feel better, safer, more desiredor more loved. I am his to take, to rebuild himself, to fill the needs left broken from his jagged past. I want to open my legs and replenish this beautiful, broken man.

“Are you smellin’ me?” He gruffs just as he approaches the passenger door of his truck.

Icannotfeel all those things from smelling him. No.

It’s one time. Giving into my deepest desire and getting what I wantjust this once.

“Yes,” I reply, shamelessly honest before I can stop myself.

He pops open the door, and holds me firmly against him with a strong hand on my ass, rustling around a moment. Jake stretches me out along the bench seat, ducking to fit his frame inside the cab. My legs curl around his waist instinctively and the fiery warmth of his body heat makes my pussy tender and achy.

“Why,” he starts, letting his sentence intentionally hang as he props one of my heels against his shoulder. Jake runs a rugged palm down my leg, from ankle to thigh, heat surged through my belly in reaction. “...do you keep calling me sir?” he asks, his words powerful and potent, like amber whiskey, strong and heady.

He curls his fingers around the waistband of my running pants, and the rough graze of his fingers–the gentle scrape of his neatly trimmed nails, so soft yet utterly electrifying. My pussy swells, stickiness coating my panties, my clit pulsing. His eyes crawl over every inch of me like a man in the desert finding water. The way he wants me dances in his eyes, promising every perfect inch of him is going to be mine. At least for tonight.

He tugs them down, but leaves my panties on.

My cotton panties. Plain and unexciting, because it’s been so long since I’ve had the desire to look beautiful in underwear. I’d want to die a little inside if it had changed the wayJake looked at me at all, but it doesn’t. His eyes hover at the apex of my legs, no doubt eyeing the dark spot. I’m dripping. I’ve been wet so long, I’m starting to grow cold and desperate. My body wants him. I’ve never so unexplainably known something. And despite how foreign the overwhelming desire is, I don’t even struggle with it.

I don’t answer his question, which earns me a frustrated growl, which never makes it to his lips. “Why, Miss Riley?”

I let my legs drop from his waist and press my knees apart, begging without words. But he’s not going to let me choose. If he wants me to speak, I will, and his eyes tell me we both know it.

Curving up off the seats, I balance on one elbow as I tug his zipper down, one short pull at a time. His hard cock falls out once there’s just enough room, the weight and length of him making it impossible to stay tucked away. Reaching down, he wraps his hand around himself just below the head, and my stomach quivers when I notice his fingers don’t quite come together.

And his hands are huge.

I look up, my eyes searching his, looking to see what he needs, what I can give him back tonight. Right now, he wants an answer, and if that’s what it takes to get him inside me, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything he wants; I’m throbbing to feel his skin slippery and hot against mine. My clit is literally thrumming.

“I just, I don’t know,” I breathe, trying to put words to all the irrationality that comes over me when I’m in his presence. My eyes move between his beautiful dark ones and the way his rough, filthy hand holds himself over the apex of my thighs. “When I’m around you, I just, I feel like I belong to you in some strange way and… all I want to do is honor that ownership.” Flames lick at my cheeks from humiliation, but also, pride that I managed to speak such a vulnerable truth. If heisn’t riding the same wavelength, if he doesn’t understand how I feel—such a truth could be strange, weird, off-putting.

His eyes search mine as a rogue grumble rattles around his chest. He moves the cap of his cock against the wet spot on my panties, making my toes curl. I almost can’t believe that Jake Turner has me laid out in his truck, and a small laugh escapes me when I think about the craziness of this moment.

“What?” he questions, eyes on me as he moves his cock over my clit. How can he stand there with a casual expression when he’s edging me to the brink of explosion? Restraint keeps his features locked in, his eyes unmoving as they hold mine.

His expression alone pulls a response from me, as if not answering a direct question posed by Jake Turner is a crime, a punishable offense.

“I can’t believe you want me,” I breathe, hating how insecure those words sound. But hating more that they’re true. Michael left me feeling so many things I hate feeling, and one of those things is insecure. “You’re the hottest cowboy in Bluebell,” I tell him, reciting Leah’s title.

He says nothing, and his stoicism while teasing me drives me wild.

“I need to feel you,” I tell him, the admission coming from my lips without hesitation. “Please, sir,” I moan.

“There you go again,” he says, and finally, his eyes lower to my panties. His chest inflates as he pulls in a deep breath, using his thumb to tug the damp fabric aside.

Still propped on one elbow, I look down at my body to see exactly what he is seeing. Blonde curls, cropped short, shaped just above my lips. He runs his fingers through it, a groan rolling through his muscled chest.

My eyes lift to the triangle of exposed skin beneath hisflannel work shirt, and suddenly, I can’t go another second without seeing his body again.

“Take off your shirt,” I tell him as he continues to stroke his fingers over my pubic hair, his thumb falling onto my swollen clit. He strokes slow circles, and eyes me.

“You gonna run at dusk alone anymore?” he barters, his voice rough and husky, making my insides clench. His voice, his hands, his cock–I’m almost drunk and dizzy with need.

I shake my head, willing to say anything to get more of him right now. “No. No, I won’t,” I breathe, a whimper creeping into my tone. “I need more of you.”

Rain plunks down on the windshield and hood, thudding heavily against the bed liner. Jake’s breaths are weighted and slow, and between the sound of his breathing and the sudden rainstorm all around us, this is officially the hottest, most perfect moment of my entire life.

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