Page 53 of Crossing Every Line

She rolled her hips under his hand. “Inside me, Shane. I’m so fucking close.”

He smoothed his fingers over her panties ever so lightly. “That’s not what I asked. I wanted to know why you’re so fucking wet.”

She stared straight ahead, every muscle locked. “I liked your taste. I loved hearing your growl through your chest and it vibrate on my tongue with your cock in my mouth.”

“Jesus.” His hand slid back into her panties, followed by two fingers curling deep inside her.

She sucked back a breath and fought the need to jerk her hips up for more. “Watching your face, knowing that I was the reason—” He ground his palm into her clit, and she couldn’t speak around the cresting bliss. With his chin buried in her neck and both of them facing the parking lot, the world fuzzed around the edges. She slammed her eyes shut and let the pleasure take her.

His name a prayer, an oath, and a promise.

She sagged against him and dragged in oxygen. His chest heaved behind her. They were going to kill each other before New York. She slid across the bench seat and reached for her bag. Everything was swollen and sensitive. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his arms and soak in the afterglow.

Because she wanted it so bad, she made herself move. Made herself open the door and take a shaky step out onto the pavement. This was supposed to be good fun. Nothing else.

Nothing else.

Ten minutes later, they were back in the truck with drinks, snacks, and another five hours ahead of them. More desert, more flat roads and the endless dotted line, more time in Shane’s truck. More time to want him.

Shane’s music was hit-or-miss. As the desert swallowed hours and the sun streamed through the cab of the truck, her sound track included an obscure Rush album, Def Leppard, and a double live album from Metallica. She managed to fall into a book on her iPhone. This time it was a companionable silence instead of awkward.

At least she assumed so. Shane wasn’t talking, but he did tap along to the beat on his steering wheel. Nevada melted into their rear view.

“Are you sure we can’t go to Red Rock?”

“It’s a little bit outside of Las Vegas. That would add on another full day to our travel.”

She sighed. As much as she wanted to see one of the most amazing views of Nevada, they definitely couldn’t afford that kind of extra time. She scrunched down in her seat and tucked her feet up on the bench. “So much for that idea.”

“We’ll get a few good scenic areas once we hit the middle of the country.”

“You’re right.”

She settled back in with her book, and when he put in another Metallica album in, she snatched his CD case out of his hand. “My turn to pick.”

“Driver’s choice.”

“Then let me drive.”

“No one drives my truck but me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you guys in a special relationship?”

“You wouldn’t reach the pedals without blocks anyway.”

“Shut up.” She flipped through the case. “They’re all your CDs, so I should be able to pick something else.”

“I like Metallica.”

“So I see.” She got to the end of the case and flipped back to the beginning. “You do realize you were these are considered classics, right?”’

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Dio?”

“Don’t dis Ronnie James Dio, woman.”

“How could I? He’s from upstate New York. We protect our own.”

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