Chapter 17 Jack
Jack
My hand rests on her thigh the entire drive home, and my fingers itch to touch her.
Silence has filled the car since we entered it, but it’s not like the uncomfortable silence that loomed on the way here; this one is heavy with anticipation.
Halfway home, her legs part ever so slightly, and even though I want nothing more than to slide my hand down the front of those leggings that hug her ass so perfectly, I resist the urge.
I’m so wrapped up in need and desire, I don’t know if I could stop if I started.
Feeling her move against me and let out those soft whimpers in the field did something to me that I can’t quite explain, nor do I want to.
After a minute or two, her legs shift again, widening ever so slightly, and when I glance over at her, I can just barely make out her flushed cheeks, her chest rising and falling, each breath bathed in desire.
Because it intrigues me and because I am a weak man, I let my hand shift just a hair, then allow my pinky finger to slide up and down the seam along her inner thigh slowly.
Her body is so still, like she’s on high alert, anticipating my next move, but I keep my eyes on the road, continuing to move nothing but that one single digit.
Up and down, over and over until I feel her body relax, like she’s given up on the anticipation.
That’s when I move, my hand sliding in and up, that pinky grazing over the center seam of her leggings over her pussy.
Her breath hitches, and she shifts almost imperceptibly, hips trying to get more, but I know at this angle, with her buckled in, she can’t move much, especially not when my hand tightens on her thigh, holding her in place.
Her breaths get heavy as I continue my taunt, a gentle finger gliding over and over. When we’re ten minutes from home, I shift a bit, grazing over her clit, and her breath hitches, the tiniest, prettiest mewl leaving her lips. Fuck, this woman is going to be the death of me.
Neither of us talks, not as I increase the pressure against her, not as her breathing continues to grow heavier, not as her leggings become damp beneath my ministrations. Not as her breath turns to faint moans.
But when I move my hand, moving up and then down, this time sliding under the waistband of her leggings and her panties until my hand is against her bare skin for the first time, she cracks, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
“Jack,” she whispers into my ear, a plea as I slide down, my middle finger lying over where her fold parts. When I press gently, her clit throbs beneath the digit, and I bite back a groan of my own.
“Yeah?” I ask casually, as if I’m not hard as a rock, like my hand isn’t down her pants, like I can’t feel her wet pussy clamping around nothing just under my hand.
I want to feel that on my cock. Badly.
“Please,” she whispers, and when I look over at her, her eyes have drifted closed, her head back against the headrest. Her hips move again, almost imperceptible, but the way I am right now, I can feel it.
Especially when it forces my hand closer to her, dipping into her wetness, the tip of my middle finger lying against her entrance.
Now, I groan.
She tightens again, desperate to be filled, and I can feel her grasping at the tip of my finger. A breathy moan leaves her lips and I move, barely, dipping the tip in a bit further then pressing my palm against her clit.
“Please what?” I ask. We’re a few more minutes from home, but part of me wants to take a wrong turn, to drag this out longer, to bask in the chaos of it all.
The other part wants me to floor it back to my place or pull over and fuck her in the backseat, to sink into her and know once and for all the absolute pleasure it would bring me.
“I don’t… I don’t know,” she moans helplessly, her hips moving again to try to get more. I use my forearm to press her body back, to keep her where I want her.
At my mercy.
“Mmm,” I murmur, flipping on my turn signal despite the empty roads and turning with one hand. “I think you do. I think you know exactly what you want, what you need, but you’ve conditioned yourself never to ask for it.” My fingers continue to play with her, grazing over her entrance.
“Finger me, Jack,” she says. “I want you to make me come,” she says, forcing confidence into the words and fuck. I want that. I want to give her that, the freedom and the comfort to ask and demand what she needs, not just when it comes to her pleasure, but everything.
Though I suppose I can start with her pleasure.
I slide two fingers into her tight heat, feeling her clamp down around me, and I bite back a groan of my own. I slowly start to move then, fingering her with an exquisite slowness that’s a tease to both of us.
“Jack, I…” she starts, desperate need in her words.
“I need…” Her words trail off, unable to ask for what she needs, but if there’s one thing I want her to learn before we’re done here, it’s that she can always ask for help.
Ask for what she needs. And if she’s not comfortable with that, she’s with the wrong man.
A strange dread fills me with that thought, but I toss it out of my mind as soon as it comes in.
There’s no time or space for that, not now. Not ever.
“Show me, baby. Or better yet, take it,” I murmur, forcing myself to focus on the road.
Just a few more minutes until home. “Take what you need, Rosie.” With my words, her small fingers wrap around my wrist, and I groan, something guttural and deep that comes from my chest at the feeling as she presses on my hand, taking what she needs.
I have never experienced something so hot in my life, and we’re both fully clothed. Especially not when her hips start moving, riding the fingers that are deep in her. Not when her hand is pushing the heel of my palm against her swollen clit, not when her little pants are filling the silent car.
Surely not when I know once we’re home, I’ll be filling her with my cock.
Rosie tightens around me as if she can hear my train of thought, her breathing becoming faint and breathy and panicked.
“Come for me, Rosie girl,” I growl, trying to keep enough of a mind to remember to turn right to enter Heartwood Hollow. We’re not far from home, but I’ll circle the block a few times if I have to. We’re not leaving this fucking car until she comes on my fingers.
“Jack,” she squeaks, and I crook my fingers once more, pressing harder.
“Come on my fingers, Rosie. Let me know what it’s going to feel like on my cock when I get you into my bed.”
That’s what does it.
She shatters then, coming hard, her moan filling the car and echoing around. I groan as well, not meaning to, feeling her tighten, her orgasm fluttering around me. Her hips shift, fucking my fingers, and she comes and comes, before slowly, her grip on my wrist slackens, her body going softer.
But my fingers don’t stop. I keep moving at a more leisurely pace.
“Jack,” she whispers, her hips bucking a bit as my hand brushes over her clit, sensitive from her recent orgasm.
“Did I tell you to stop riding my fingers?”
Her breathing hitches once more. “But I already…”
“I’m well aware, I felt you tighten on my fingers, baby.
But I intend to make you come many, many times tonight.
Keep fucking riding them, Rosie. We’re almost home.
” She gasps with my words, and I refuse to look over at her, unsure of what seeing her parted lips and flushed cheeks would do to me and the tiny thread of restraint I’m holding on to.
And then we’re parked in the shared community lot, her magic going dim, and my fingers are sliding out of her.
She watches my movement in the dim glow of the streetlight as I lift them to my mouth, then taste her on my fingers.
I groan at it, at the way she tastes exactly the way she smells, like lavender sugar and need and magic.
It’s Rosie.
When she lets out a tiny mewl, I smile.
Tonight is going to be a lot of fun.
“Come on, Rosie girl. Let’s get you inside.”