Page 124 of When It's Us
Ginger:Yep. What’s up?
Hutch:Boys asleep?
Ginger:Finally.
Hutch:Good. Come outside. Bring that smart mouth I can’t stop thinking about and don’t bother with panties.
Bubbles pop up and disappear two times before her reply comes through. And I chuckle because it’s exactly what I expect from her.
Ginger:You think you can just show up here and snap your fingers and I’ll come running?
I can picture the little smirk tipping her lips as she types that. I grin as my cock thickens in my jeans, loving this game we play. The one where she tries to pretend she doesn’t want this, even though we both know it’s an act.
Hutch:No snap needed. You and I both know you’re already halfway downstairs. Now get your sexy ass out here.
A couple of minutes later she steps out on the porch, bathed in moonlight, in an oversized hoodie skimming her thighs, bare feet whispering across the wood. Curly hair a mess, sleepy eyes—and fuck, I’m a goner. Just the silhouette of her getting closer to my truck has me leaking in my boxers. She’s so damn beautiful. Inside and out. I can’t wait to be inside her.
Warm yellow light spills into the cab when she opens the door and hoists herself inside with a little huff. She brings the scent of pine-soaked night air with her and something purelyher—peaches and vanilla.
The second the door shuts behind her, I grab her wrist and drag her across the seat. It’s clumsy—she’s all long legs, wild breath and grasping hands when she hits my side with a little oof, and I’m already on her, my mouth crashing into hers, swallowing her moan. My tongue dives deep, hungry to taste and to claim. Shetastes like mint and mayhem and every damn thing I’ve been too scared to want.
Fisting the front of her hoodie, I jerk it up, letting it bunch at her hips, and my breath hitches at the smooth bare skin of her thighs, giving way to her perfect pussy. Her warm skin under my palm, the way she came out here like this—just like I asked—hits me hard.
“Shit, California. You’re such a good listener for me.”
She bites her lip, eyes hooded and lets out a breathy chuckle. “Turns out Iama sucker for a big cock and a pretty face.”
I lean back, enough to unbuckle my belt, the sound of metal and leather loud and deliberate in the cab. But instead of opening my jeans, I grab her hand and press it to my cock, wrapping her fingers around it through the denim.
“You feel that? How hard you make me?”
Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips and her fingers flex on me when she nods, breathless.
“Take care of it,” I rasp out, almost a whisper. “Please.”
Blinking at me, her eyes search my face. Whatever she finds must be enough because she flicks the button on my jeans and drags the zipper down. The usual teasing in her gaze is gone, just a quiet understanding like she sees through my desperate want and into the ache underneath. Ache for what I don’t even know—but it’s like she knows I’m handing her something I’ve never given to anyone else.
She wraps her fingers around my length, giving me a few short strokes over my boxers before pulling my cock out. I watch her stroke the length of me, and when she swipes her thumb across the swollen crown, I shiver.
“F-Fuck,” I mutter, eyes slamming shut for a beat, my jaw clenched. My hips jerk at the delicious friction, chasing it, needing more. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me, baby.”
Moving her hand in confident, slow strokes, she pulls another deep, groan from me—raw and broken, and I can’t help the iron grip I have on the steering wheel.
When my eyes meet hers, I’m undone. Every wall I’ve built to keep myself from feeling too much comes crumbling down, spreading dust in the rubble. I feel so much just looking into her eyes, not just because her hand is on my cock and she’s working me over like she was made to do it, but than I ever imagined.
I reach up, cupping her face, hoping my eyes convey everything I can’t seem to say. Leaning in, I run my nose along her jaw, feeling her shiver with the contact of my breath on her skin.
Pressing a soft kiss to my temple, she whispers, “What do you want?”
“I need your mouth on me.” The words come out desperate and choked, but I don’t care because I am.
She nods, moving back a bit so she can help me slide my jeans down under my ass. Then she’s on her knees on the bench, leaning over my lap, beautiful as ever. She gathers her hair in one smooth motion; fingers looped into a fist at the nape of her neck. But instead of holding it herself, she tips her head up, eyes focused on me and nudges my hand toward it.
My hand closes over that handful of silky red curls and something inside me damn near breaks.
Not because it’s hot as fuck—which it is.
Not because she’s on her knees for me, but because she’s keeping me grounded to her while she does it, like she somehow knows exactly what I need. Sure, she could have grabbed a hair tie, of which there are plenty lying around this truck, but she didn’t because she knows what this moment means to me.
