Chapter 5 – GLENNA #6
I love how he smells, too—shampoo and aftershave and cologne and laundry detergent and beer.
They’re all cool guy scents, not magnesium and baking soda deodorant and tea tree oil.
I’ve always been into essential oils and herbs—I bought all-natural stuff for Toby—but I like how Cash smells different.
I like how he’s nothing like me. He’s not doing my thing better than I ever could. He’s from a different planet. Planet Bro.
I rest my palms on his pecs. He’s solid. And there’s a lot of him.
His whole body is tense. Wired. He strokes down my spine, hovers on the vertebrae right above my butt, and then slides up again. It’s a nice touch. Soothing. Interested.
He likes this.
His cock is rigid, a pressure against the seam of my jeans. It feels good, too. I rock and then wriggle forward until we’re pelvis to pelvis, and I’m right on top. It feels really good.
“Glenna, baby.” Cash’s fingers play at my hair, lightly, and then skim over my shoulder blades. “You’re drunk. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
He’s not doing anything. He’s sitting stock still, his voice husky, tentatively exploring every non-sexual bit of me like I’m breakable glass.
“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he says.
Which is nice and all, but I want more. I want bossy touches. Kisses.
I rock again, grinding down, and it’s amazing. He’s hard, and I’m aching. My clit throbs. I clutch his shoulders and focus on the sensation as it rises and coils and demands.
I grind harder.
He groans, and his hands rest on my shoulders and grip tight. “Do you want this, baby? You gotta tell me. Goddamn. You’re drunk. Baby, hold up a second.”
I roll my hips.
“Baby, tell me it’s okay,” he begs, but he’s already bucking, meeting me more than halfway. His hands move to my hips, his thumbs digging into my ass, urging me on, holding me in place.
I want to touch his bare skin. I fumble with his buttons, but they’re slippery. I grumble, and he reaches up and undoes them for me, quick like a rabbit.
He’s wearing an undershirt. What the hell? I shove my hand under it, and then I can feel his hot skin, his firm muscles trembling under my fingertips. His body is amazing. It has ridges.
He groans again, and then he kisses me, taking my mouth, hungry, but not as hungry as I am.
We’re breathing each other’s air. We’re nipping, biting, licking, and it feels good, better than anything has ever felt, and I know he’s with me because he’s squeezing my hips, thrusting up so hard. It’s perfect and not enough.
There are too many pants.
“Cash,” I gasp.
“What is it? What do you need? Should I stop?”
I can’t tell him, even wasted. I can only grind in his lap, getting closer, but not where I need to be. I curl my fingers, my nails scoring the skin of his tight belly. He moans.
“Cash, please.” It’s a whine. A demand.
“Oh, God. Okay.” He’s muttering to himself. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. Oh, baby, you’re killing me.”
He reaches down and pops the button of my jeans. Yes. Finally. He yanks down the zipper.
“I can do this,” he mutters. “Ass up, baby.”
He’s kind of lifting me with one arm around my torso and shoving down my pants with the other, and it’s super awkward, ‘cause I’m straddling him, and there’s a steering wheel at my back, and the jeans are kind of tight.
I don’t know how he does it—I am no help at all—but my jeans and panties are finally bunched around one ankle, and I’m naked from the waist down in the parking lot.
It’s a sobering thought, gone in a second as Cash resettles me so we’re flush, and he’s there again, hard in his denim against my slick seam.
I moan. He thrusts. I grind, soaking him.
“Don’t touch her, don’t touch her,” he mutters over and over. “Don’t look, don’t look.”
His eyes are screwed shut. His jaw is tight, his teeth clenched, the cords on his neck popped.
He searches for me with his lips, finds my mouth, plunders it with his tongue.
Every nerve in my body is sparking. As I hurtle toward the edge, it recedes. The friction and pressure are driving me crazy. It’s so good, but I need more.
I grunt and grind harder.
“Oh, baby. You’re gonna tear up that pretty pussy.” He’s looking now, eyes on fire. “Here.” He takes my hand and eases it between us. “It’s okay, baby. You touch it. You make it feel good.”
Then he kisses me again, cradling my face, and I shove my fingers between my swollen folds and flick my clit as I ride him, making a mess of his jeans, moaning, lost, carried away.
“Does that feel good?” he asks against my lips.
I moan.
“Are you gonna come for me, baby?” His hands sneak down and grab my bare ass, hard.
He kisses me, wildly. Desperately.
But I’m the one tipping over, exploding, ripped out to sea on a rush of ecstasy that leaves my ears ringing and my pussy dripping on his lap.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs and crisscrosses his arms around my back, cuddling me close.
“So beautiful,” he repeats, kissing my face. My eyebrow. My jaw. The diamond stud in my nose.
There’s a distant laugh and a car door slams. I huddle against his chest.
“That’s right, baby. I got you.”
I yawn. My eyes droop. I’m just gonna take a quick nap.
“Not quite yet, baby.” Cash moves me back toward his knees, bending to the side. The steering wheel digs into my back. I grumble.
He chuckles softly.
“Up,” he says.
I manage, somehow, and with a great deal of contorting and finagling, he gets my jeans back up to my waist. Then he resettles me, and I snuggle against him again. He’s warm like a dog’s belly.
I should be worried about something, but my brain’s not cooperating. It’s buzzy and slow.
“Wake me up when it’s time,” I say as I let go and drift off.
He doesn’t answer. He strokes my hair and breathes calm and easy.
“I got you,” he says again. “I got you now.”