Page 47 of Counter Bet

He drives a red and rusty old mustang, far different from my Range Rover. I sweep my eyes over the cracked leather interior. Ben keeps it tidy, and it smells of him—cinnamon, citrus, and leather mixed with something uniquely him.

I studiously ignore the pulse in my ear while I watch him drive.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and drags his free hand through his green hair, mussing it up. He glances at me. “Not quite the horse and carriage you’re used to, huh?”

“I like your car,” I reply honestly. It may not be a sports car, but that’s the charm. It has character.

Ben shoots me a dubious look. I don’t miss the brief flash of vulnerability in his eyes before he slams his mask back down. “It works, and it gets me where I need to go.”

We fall silent, but it’s a comfortable silence.

I gesture to his stereo. “May I?”

He keeps his eyes on the road as he nods. “Sure. CDs are in the glovebox.”

I look through his collection of rock albums and settle for Closer by Kings of Leon. I press play and turn up the volume, then lean my head on the window.

Ben keeps glancing at me. I pretend I don’t notice, but I secretly love how his attention makes me feel. I like that he’s intrigued by me.

We pull up at a lookout spot about half an hour’s drive from home. Ben parks the car, cuts the engine but makes no move to exit the car. He leans back against the driver’s door, puts his foot on the seat, and rests his elbow on his knee.

I shift in my seat, mirroring his body language.

Ben searches my face before dragging his eyes down my body and then back up again. He sweeps his gaze over every inch of me—my eyes, my lips. The soft curve of my breasts, my bare legs, and back up to my eyes.

My panties are damp. I squeeze my thighs together to relieve the ache.

Ben is drinking me up, undressing me with his eyes. The tension-filled silence stretches on. We are entirely alone out here in his car, and there are no sounds except for the occasional bird caw in the distance.

I bite my lip and decide to take something for myself for once.

I want Ben.

I hold his gaze as I slowly crawl to him and straddle his lap on the bench seat. He doesn’t object. The rough fabric of his jeans feels delicious against my bare thighs beneath my cheer skirt.

My heart beats loudly in my ears, pounding in time with the throbbing between my legs.

He leans his head back and looks up at me through lowered eyelids. The intensity in his dark eyes makes my nipples harden.

I grab his tattooed hands, place them on my hips, and grind down on him, feeling the heat of his palms burn all the way down to my core. He digs his fingers into my flesh as I roll my hips again.

I whimper with need. His hard cock in his jeans rubs against my throbbing clit. My head falls back on a moan. I grip his shoulders and begin riding him through our layers of clothing. “God, Ben…”

He lets go of my waist. His tattooed hands disappear beneath my skirt, and he drags his fingers up my thighs, then hooks them in my damp panties and teases my wet slit.

I make a needy noise in the back of my throat.

I never felt like this with Rick.

“What do you want, princess?” His voice is thick with lust, but he won’t take things further until I ask him to.

I want him to destroy me with his touch.

“I want you!” I whisper, brushing my lips against his ear.

His cock twitches in his jeans.

God, I might die if he doesn’t touch me.

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