Chapter Sixteen Elise
Get over here and ride me.
This. This is what I had been craving. I’ve been lusting after Randall from the moment I opened my front door last night. Unable to admit it even to myself, I leaned on him as a friend instead.
So, which one is he? A man I want to ride, or a friend I want to lean on?
He can be both, my na?ve heart whispers.
Shut up. That’s my brain, which I can always rely on to be reasonable. But nothing about this moment is reasonable.
I’m not talking about the sex; that’s perfectly logical. Randall in a suit? C’mon, who wouldn’t want him?
The unreasonableness is the frightening, all-consuming longing deep inside me. I’m dying to kiss, caress, and cherish him. I need to hold Randall Haughland as tightly as I can.
I climb over his lap, my skirt nothing more than a swath of cloth gathered around my hips. His hands are everywhere. In my hair, down my back, grabbing my ass. All I can do is hold on for dear life, bracing my hands on his wide shoulders for leverage.
He’s moved the driver’s seat back, giving my knees space to bracket his lifted groin. Kissing my jaw, my ear, my neck, Randall’s voice penetrates my skin.
“I need you to take my cock out, baby. It hurts. It fucking hurts without you.”
One hand presses me close while the other releases the metal hold of his belt. The zipper, when he pulls it down, is the sound of my unraveling.
His erection is thick and insistent. My hand strains to wrap around his cock, while my thumb spreads the liquid coating its head. The heat of his body spreads from my grip to the rest of me.
“Did you think you could wear this dress and not make me hard, Elise? Take it off before I rip it,” he grumbles. “It’s been tempting me all night, Elise. All goddamn night.”
I reach to the side to pull down the zipper and maneuver my shoulders free. In less than two seconds, my breasts are bare. Randall releases a low, tortured groan as his hands grab one mound each, massaging my flesh and rolling my nipples. He dives in with fervor, back and forth between my two breasts that he worships and sucks and licks.
The sensation overwhelms me and yet it isn’t enough. I don’t want him to consume me. I want him inside me.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask pantingly.
He stops and looks up at me, those long, blond lashes catching the light and making his blue eyes glow.
“Are you sure?”
Am I sure? Is he kidding me right now?
“What did you mean when you told me to ride you?”
“What you’re doing now,” he answers through gritted teeth.
“This?” I rock over him, spreading my arousal over an impossibly hard rod.
“Or this?” I grab his cock and glide it over the surface of my thong, grazing the folds of my apex.
“Fuck, Elise,” he groans, tilting his hips to crest at my entrance.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask shakily, my muscles straining not to sit on his steel cock. Wet and throbbing, my center seeks to take him to the hilt.
Randall reaches out to the glove compartment to extract the square foil package. It’s ripped with his teeth, the condom sheathing so quickly, I don’t have time to process that he has a stash of condoms in his glove compartment.
It will give me pause, later, I’m sure. But I won’t obsess about it now. I won’t.
“Elise, look at me.” My eyes refocus on Randall. “Lead me in, baby.”
I dare anyone to deny this beautiful man right now. Not while he’s so unrestrainedly masculine but also slayed. In control and so very out of it. I guide him to my entrance while we look at each other, eyes hooded and hungry. He grits his teeth as he thrusts up and…
Oh, yes. Yes. This. This is what I’ve been wanting. Oh god.
“Me too, Elise. You have no idea.”
Was I rambling out loud? Who cares when he’s sheathed deep, the fuzz of man trail along his lower abs rubbing my clit and making me ache for more.
He’s carrying my full weight, lifting me as he thrusts up. I press a hand on the roof to keep from banging my head on it.
“You feel too good. Too good, dammit,” he grunts.
We find our rhythm, pounding and crashing, bouncing and writhing. He pushes his hips up while I grind down till we’re sweaty and tangled. My climax is near, and he knows it.
Randall stills, restraining me from riding the wave that keeps building and building. He reaches between us and grazes my swollen clit with a thumb. His other hand cups my ass possessively.
“I don’t want to stop doing this, Elise. Not when we’re this good together. God, tell me I can have you. Tell me.”
I kiss him hard, sucking his tongue and tasting his depths. “You have me now,” I mumble into his mouth.
The hand on my ass gets greedier, the one on my apex presses urgently, exactly the way I need.
“I have you now,” he repeats throatily, barely sounding like himself. He restarts his upward drive. Rough and insistent, his invasion offers perfect friction.
The wave that’s been building crests, drowning me in pleasure. The release isn’t a release at all; it keeps going and going. I seek his eyes. They gleam with so much intensity, he almost looks angry.
“I’m losing my mind, Elise. Need you so desperately I can’t think straight. Why, baby? Why are you letting me slam into your perfect cunt in a goddamn parking lot?”
“Because I want you to.”
“Gotta be inside you all the fucking time. All the fucking time, Elise. Do you feel it?”
“Yes, Randall. Oh god, yes.”
A palm smacks my ass, and he grunts. “Say it.”
I push our foreheads together so he feels my breath when I say the words. Words that are no longer a playful seduction. It’s a plea to give and to take. An admission of frantic, reckless need whispered into the dark.
“Yes, sir.”
He kisses the words out of me, the sound of skin to skin and the taste of Randall building me up anew. Our bodies grind in perfect rhythm, our kiss taking me higher and higher.
When his climax hits, Randall’s mouth gapes open. His cock thickens and surges, reaching me at an even deeper level. My spasms greedily milk his orgasm. I cling to his hair as he buries his face in my neck. We grind until every bit of energy is spent.
I slump over him like a rag doll, pliant and boneless. When my eyes realign and my heartbeat eases, I pull back.
“Elise,” he mutters, “God, I…I don’t know what I was saying. I don’t mean to—”
“We got carried away, that’s all,” I interrupt with a forced laugh.
Scooting off his lap feels wrong, yet I reposition myself on the passenger seat. It feels unnatural to extricate myself from his arms. Slipping back into my seat is an exercise in awkwardness.
Cold and insufficient compared to the heat of Randall’s chest, my dress with its twisted top and bunched skirt is uncomfortable. While I straighten my clothes, Randall removes the condom and secures his pants.
In a blink, we’re two people with too much and absolutely nothing to say, staring at a bridge and barely seeing it.
“I, um, your rules,” he breaks the silence. “Your rules about hooking up while you’re in a performance. Are you OK with what happened? Are you upset?”
“No!” I exclaim immediately. “No, I’m not upset at all. I didn’t plan for tonight to happen, but I’m glad it did.”
He looks relieved.
I, on the other hand, am pushing down a swell of panic. Feeling out of control isn’t me. Breaking my rules isn’t me. Craving to hold his hand isn’t me.
Wanting to dig into this goddamn glove compartment and throw his condoms out the window Is. Not. Me.
I will not obsess over his choice of words: hooking up. Ugly words, come to think of it. What am I, a fish to be pulled from a river?
Still, there’s no denying the words convey an accurate account of his point of view.
“I, um, I leave early tomorrow,” I state.
“Do you want me to drop you at the hotel?”
“No, I came with my mom, and she’ll have to stay much longer.”
No need to add that I’m in no state to be at a charity fundraiser right now.
“She was the designated driver since she doesn’t touch alcohol. Can you drive me home instead? I’ll let her know.”
“Of course.”
Winding our way back to the city, our post-coital tension lowers to a manageable level. Being with Randall has always been effortless. Zipping by streetlights and buildings, I try to remember the ease of our friendship.
So what if we had sex? We got it out of our system. We’ve done it before and managed to be normal around each other after.
But he said things I didn’t realize I needed to hear until he said them. My heart swoons.
Till he took it back. Thank you, brain, for reminding me that I’m a hookup.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” he declares while parking in our driveway.
It’s at the tip of my tongue. Yes, sir like it’s a casual, inside joke. A wink. A gag.
“Sure,” I state cheerily instead.
When we hug and say our goodnight we’re almost back to normal.