Now #3
“How much longer?” I ask in a manner I hope is casual, secretly desperate to arrive and sneak into his room together.
“About half an hour. We’ll enter a long tunnel soon, and when we come out, we’ll be in France.”
“Really? How long?”
“About four miles, I think? It usually takes four minutes from start to finish.”
“Oh, okay.”
His hand rides a little high on my thigh again, his pinky so close to the seam that he has to sense how damp and hot that part of me is getting. When I glance at him, I notice the little smirk he can barely hold back.
Oh, that man needs to be taught a lesson.
When I see the tunnel entrance from afar, an idea sparks in my mind. I can play this game, too. And I’m pretty sure I can win.
As soon as we’re plunged into darkness, I unbuckle my seatbelt and twist toward him. It’s only when my hand reaches his crotch that he asks, “What are you doing?”
“Since Europe is one big, united family, I feel like the rules should apply for borders the same as they do for state lines, don’t you?”
Quickly, he understands I’m talking about that silly car game I came up with so long ago, and his smile turns carnivorous.
He’s the one who unbuckles his own seatbelt, and I busy myself with unfastening his slacks.
“No underwear, Mr. Reyes?” I wonder when my hand finds him bare.
“With this quality of fabric, there really isn’t a need for it. And I have to say, I stand by my decision right now.”
He’s already hardening in my hand, his length hot and firm in my grasp. When I bend over to the side, he adjusts himself to give me more access.
That night he spent at my place, I didn’t get to do this. He was in charge the whole time, and I was too enraptured to demand any sort of control. Right now, though … I’m the one in charge.
After a brief moment to admire the rigid length in my hand and the veins beneath the smooth skin, I give the round head a kiss, flicking my tongue over the wet slit of it.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, jolting slightly.
“Focus on the road.” Another lick, another curse, and I can’t hold back my delighted smile.
Especially when a clear drop seeps out of him, rolling down the dent below. I lick it, refusing to let it go to waste. He tastes the same as he used to, and it transports me back to my days with him.
When I wrap my lips around him, his hand comes to my nape, squeezing the sides of my neck just a little. The slight pressure, the domineeringness of the gesture, makes something pulse between my legs.
Following his silent hint, I lower farther, taking him all the way in my mouth. It took me ages to learn how to take him down my throat without gagging. All that training went down the drain, and because I don’t want to risk it, I don’t take him deeper than that.
He doesn’t seem to mind, grunting my name as his hold tightens.
Especially since my hand strokes the half I cannot take in, up and down motions that mirror my lips.
Using my tongue, I explore his shaft, getting reacquainted with it.
He’s so thick that my jaw starts hurting after barely a minute. This, too, I learned to get used to.
With every whimper and groan he lets out, I give more, hollowing out my cheeks further, taking him deeper, pumping him with my hand faster … He’s slick with my spit, and the wet sounds of my efforts fill up the space, barely covered by the engine and the road below us.
More and more precum seeps out of his tip, and I swallow it all down, drinking him in.
“Fuck, Evie … You’re still so fucking good at this …”
I can feel the involuntary pulses of his length in my palm, which tells me he’s getting dangerously close. Part of me wants nothing more than to give him the satisfaction of a release, to remind him how good it feels to come down my throat this way.
But another part remembers this was meant to be my playful revenge for the way he’s teased me for three hours straight.
So, when light floods the car again as we come out of the tunnel, I release him with a loud pop and straighten up, abandoning his hard, angry length entirely.
“What the hell?” he mutters, his breath slightly ragged.
“Sorry, Hot Wheels. Time’s up.”
His incredulous gaze is almost comical, but I bite back my grin and look outside instead.
“Evangeline, are you fucking serious right now?”
“I told you I wanted to be discreet. This,” I say, motioning at the cars and trucks surrounding us outside, in bright daylight, “isn’t discreet.”
When he understands I won’t, in fact, be finishing the job, Jackson lets out a caustic chuckle that I find both threatening and strangely alluring.
“You have no idea what you just did to yourself, Evangeline,” he lets out, shoving his hard, swollen length back into his pants. “The whole fucking hotel will have heard you scream my name by the time I’m done with you.”
The pulse between my legs returns, stronger, more demanding. I don’t answer his threat, but the satisfied look on my face must betray the way I feel about it.
As long as no one knows who’s the woman screaming out his name like a banshee the entire night, I really don’t care.