Page 29 of Most Likely to Match
My mind wants to answer, dully, withfuck you. But I know that’s not what she’s asking for, and I want to give her what she’s asking for. I want it almost as much as I want to do the act itself.
“Tease you,” I whisper and grin when she pouts.
“No,” she whines softly.
“Rub myself all over you.” That feels perilous with our bare body parts already so close to each other, but it’s also exactly why I say it. Because I’d do it right now if she’d let me. “But I wouldn’t go deep inside you until you were begging.”
She grins, her eyes closed, and I hope she can see it the way I see it right now. Both the minutes teased into hours and the relief that would come once I finally sank into her. An appetizer to the orgasm to come.
“Where would you put it?” she asks, and when I don’t answer right away, it’s only because my brain fractals at all the different ways I could get to fuck Chloe, and I have to gather the pieces like my clothes from the floor.
“Wherever you want,” I finally manage to get out. A cop out, I know, even before she stops everything she’s doing— imagining us, jerking me— to stare.
She opens her mouth, and I am ready to receive whatever admonishment she’ll give me, except she is interrupted by three hard raps on the passenger-side window, a distorted flashlight beam through the foggy glass, through it, the dark figure of a hulking man. “Okay, guys, I need you to open the window, please,” he says. ’Cause he’s a cop. He’s a fucking cop, and he’s caught us, caughtme, with my literal dick out.
Again.
5
CHLOE
That is a fucking cop.
“That is a fuckingcop,” Dean whispers. Though I don’t think there’s much point in it. He can probably hear us.
Oh god.He probably heard everything.
“Do you think he heard us?” Dean asks as he tries to pull his pants closed and I somehow manage to roll off his lap and back into the driver’s seat without impaling my ass on the gearshift.
“I can hear you,” says the disembodied voice on the other side of the glass. It sounds exasperated.
I stare at my panties. Mymessof a pair of panties. “I can’t wear these.” I don’t know why I bother to whisper, based on the information we’ve just received, but I do. Dean stops wrestling with the seat recliner lever to put his hands over mine. He squeezes me, then gently pulls the fabric that could destroy a CSI lab’s equipment from my hands and shoves them into his pocket.
“Is everything okay, officer?” I ask.
The shadowy person outside shifts on his feet, the flashlight bobbing with him. “You know the drill,” he says. “I need the windows down. I need to see everybody’s hands, and I need to know everyone is okay.”
I roll my eyes at Dean likeyeah right, and Dean frowns like he has no idea what I’m silently talking about.
“Uh. Okay. Officer. Sorry. We’ll be right there,” Dean says. His hair sticks to his temples and his shirt collar is pulled far to one side. In the dark of the car, the whites of his eyes are crystal clear.
“Have you never been arrested before?” I ask.
His frown deepens. “Have you?” he asks, at full, incredulous volume.
Instead of answering him, I reach across him for the power window switch. I could have used the main control on my side of the car, but keeping in contact with him right now is far more grounding and exactly what I need.
As the window rolls down and the officer, a white man who doesn’t look much older than us, leans into the car, his face morphs from tired and annoyed to surprised. I settle back on annoyed before the window well is even fully empty.
“You’re not kids,” he says.
Perv.
“No,” I say.
Dean shakes his head. “We’re adults, sir.”
I put my hand on his thigh, where it jitters uncontrollably. “Chill,” I say through clenched teeth. I’m still wet, and I haven’t had a chance to look at my hair, but it feels like a wild helmet around my head. This is not how I pictured car sex going.
