Page 56 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
He looks me up and down once more, and now a grin steals across his face as he wises up to what’s happening. “Saucy little minx, aren’t you?”
I blink innocently at him. “What do you mean?” I ask, in a breathy Jessica Rabbit voice.
He just shakes his head and laughs. “Nothing—nothing at all.”
And so I continue my game.
He makes a left turn, and while he’s focusing on the turn, I tug the neckline lower yet, a fine-tuning adjustment so that the upper half-circle of my areolae are visible. When his gaze returns to me, my hands are on my lap, idly fidgeting. Fortunately, for both of us, there’s another stoplight, and Jesse takes this moment to let his gaze rest on my breasts for a long, long moment.
“Goddamn, Imogen—you’re killing me.”
I just grin at him. “Am I? How?”
He shifts in his seat, and then, with a glance at me, he pivots his hips upward, shoves his hand down his pants, and adjusts himself. I’ve never considered that particular movement to be sexy when a guy does it, but somehow, Jesse makes it sexy, arousing. Enticing.
I want to plunge my hand into his pants, feel him fill my hand, feel him swell against my palm and fill my grip. I watch every moment of his adjustment, picturing the long thick ridge from the underwear selfie, and the erection I’ve felt pressed against me.
“Having problems?” I ask, smirking at him.
“Yeah, I am,” he growls. “I’m about to bust through this damn zipper.”
“How far are we from your house?” I ask.
“Another ten minutes,” he murmurs. “Which is ten minutes too long.”
“Drive faster?” I suggest.
He shakes his head. “Nah, this road is regularly patrolled by Staties. There’s one in particular who likes to sit parked in this little stand of trees where nobody can see him from either direction, but he can pull out in a hurry to pop speeders. I learned that the hard way,” he chuckles. “Got the points on my license to prove it, too. So no, I’ll go the speed limit and just hope either the zipper holds or you quit playing with fire.”
“Playing with fire?” I ask. “How do you mean?”
He glances at me, his gaze hot and rife with promise. “You keep playing your little striptease game, my restraint is gonna snap and I’m going stop this truck and rip that goddamn gorgeous dress off your goddamn gorgeous body and get the taste of you I’ve been craving since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Why don’t you?” I ask, daring him with a lifted chin and a lick of my tongue over my lips.
“Because I want you in my bed for that, so I can take the hours and hours I’ll need to explore every inch of that luscious body.”
“Oh.” I glance at him, watching him shift in his seat, squirming in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure in his jeans. “There’s another option you may not have considered.”
He decelerates to a stoplight, and then looks at me. “What option would that be?”
“This one,” I say, reaching across the console.
He keeps both hands on the steering wheel, and I see his jaw flexing, tensing as I find the button of his jeans and pop it open, and then find the tab of his zipper and tug it down, slowly, inch by inch, until his jeans are sagging open and his erection is bulging against the gray cotton of his underwear to fill the opening.
“There,” I say, resting my hand on his thigh. “That should help relieve the pressure some, right?” I’m intentionally teasing him, now.
“Fuck,” he moans. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”
“How would it be worse?” I ask.
We’re zipping down a two-lane highway now, trees on the right, open fields on our left, the moon high and half-full overhead. It’s beautiful out here, peaceful, serene, quiet. I can’t quite appreciate it, though—I’m far too laser-focused on Jesse.
“There’s less pressure now, so I’m not in danger of popping the zipper, but you’ve only gotten me partway to where I selfishly want you to take me.”
A tactful way of putting it.
I chew on my lower lip, trying to decide how far I want to take this. How daring am I?
I feel the thrill of a shiver run through me, and I know I’m not about to dial it back at this stage in the game. My hand is still resting on his solid thigh; I trace it upward, fingers dragging over the rough denim, across the cold teeth of the zipper, to the soft cotton and the firm-yet-soft bulge beneath. Alternating between watching my hands and his face, I hook two fingers under the elastic and tug it away and downward. The broad pink of him emerges, and I suck in a breath at the thickness of it. Holy mother of wow—seeing it in person, in the flesh is…my heart races, my hands tremble, and my breath shortens.
