Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Thanks for that,” I say as I slip my hand onto her thigh and squeeze gently, purposefully making the moment physical. “Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?”
She does—in a red dress that’s modern, knee-length, and skims over her curves in a tasteful way that still gets me revved up because I know what’s beneath the structured fabric.
Dinner at my family home isn’t exactly a typical Saturday night, so I’d offered to shop with her. Honestly, I wanted to see her trying on dresses, twirling happily and smiling in them, and buy the dress for her since it’s my fault she needed it in the first place. But I’d understood when she said she and Luna would go shopping together.
“You did mention it a time or two. And I told you that you look like a politician trying to garner votes in a contentious district,” she teases, looking me up and down.
We both know I look great, but admittedly, I’m dressed for war because it feels like that’s what I’m walking into. Black suit, white shirt, and a red paisley power tie that unexpectedly coordinates with Samantha’s dress. It’s much more traditional than my typical suits, but this dinner warrants it.
“More like combative,” I correct. “Me versus the rest of my family.”
“But you’ve never gone in with me at your back. I’ve whipped Carter into shape, gotten you speaking in tongues, and I think Kayla and I are kindred spirits. Like this,” she says, crossing her fingers. “As for the rest of ‘em? I’ll tell ‘em to fuck off ten different ways before the salad course if I have to and suggest a toy or two with which to do it.”
I have no doubt that she would. Or might still.
“I think this has a distinct possibility of being the best family dinner ever,” I predict, “though I’d still rather do almost anything but this tonight.”
Exiting the highway, I drive through the backroads toward home. I’m taking the long way, trying to delay the inevitable, but it’s having the opposite effect from what I’d hoped. Instead of the overhang of trees and deserted road helping me calm and centering my mind before battle, I’m getting more and more stressed with every passing mile as I play out potential scenarios and how I might respond.
“Are you trying to leave fingerprints on my leg? I’m not against a handprint here or a hickey there, but visible ones at the Harrington estate? What will they say?” she declares, sounding mock outraged as she places a hand to her chest to grab invisible pearls.
I laugh, thankful for the lightness she brings. “I needed that.” I squeeze her thigh once more and then relax my grip.
“I know what you need,” she suddenly says.
When I cut my eyes her way, her mischievous smile both excites and worries me. I lift my brows in question.
“You need to relax, and the best way to do that is . . .” Before I figure out what she’s up to, she’s twisting in her seat and leaning over the console. “Watch the road.”
“Samantha,” I argue, “we can’t.” I’m still not sure what she’s planning, but it can’t be anything safe or reasonable in that position.
“We’re not. I am. You’re driving, so eyes forward, Mr. Harrington.” Her deft fingers have made quick work of my zipper, and with a bit of adjusting, she frees my growing cock and takes it into her hand, giving me a few loose strokes.
I glance down and find her already looking at me, testing to see whether I’ll obey her order. This is dangerous, ridiculously so, but she’s so irresistible and there’s no one else on the road in front of or behind me. There’s a part of me that loves the idea of doing this on the way to a proper dinner too, like it’s a rebellion against what I should do.
Sensing my indecision, she leans over further and kisses the tip of my cock. “Fuck,” I hiss, cursing my seatbelt for keeping me from burying myself into her throat in one stroke. She knows she’s got me.
Her tongue devilishly traces the rim before she takes more in and out of her mouth. She can’t swallow all of me, the angle isn’t right for that, but it’s enough to get me on edge quickly. With each suck, I press the gas a little, creeping up in speed as I lose myself in the moment.
The world doesn’t exist. The law and rules have faded away. Only the thrill of her mouth drawing me higher as we go faster matters. She can sense it, hearing the engine roar as she speeds up, and her tongue . . .
I give in to her, surrendering to the ecstasy and mind-blowing pleasure, lost in the moment as she uses her hand, her mouth, and her tongue to draw me to an explosive brink. Surprisingly, being restricted by the seatbelt and the requirement to focus on the road, and therefore having to submit to Samantha’s mercy, is a major turn-on I never would’ve guessed I’d respond to, but fuck if I’m not already on edge.