Chapter 25
Twenty Five
Kaeli
Iknew getting in a car with Ezra Moore was a potential safety and sanity risk. Yet, I did exactly that against my better judgment.
“Put on your seat belt,” he instructs when he finds me without one. I was so lost in that little contact between his lips and my hand that I forgot about it.
I attempt to pull at the strap, but it appears to be stuck, because, of course, it is. “It’s stuck,” I involuntarily voice, gritting my teeth and putting in so much of my strength into pulling it as if that would produce a desirable result.
Then suddenly, the air around me gets sucked, leaving me to inhale the only alternative—Ezra’s unique scent straight from his corded, veiny, very biteable neck. I do so very greedily, hoping he doesn’t notice and think of me as a creep.
My eyes widen, and my hands suspend in the air at the development. He leans over me and pulls at the strap, and, of course, without facing any issues. When he turns to me to cock his eyebrow at my vain effort, he realizes his proximity to my face.
Or he always did, and this was his trick to seduce me.
Whatever it was, it’s working because my thighs squeeze shut together, trying to tamp down the dull ache that has started to blossom between them.
His distractingly beautiful face stays just inches from my face as a warm exhale escapes his tempting mouth, shooting tingles running down my spine in an imperceptible shiver.
Slowly–lest this moment breaks–I let my hands fall on my lap in fists as his figure still looms over me. His eyes flick from my eyes to my lips again, and again, and again. His pupils blown wide.
Licking my lips, knowing I won’t stop him if he closes the distance, I prepare myself as my heart thuds wildly in my ears. So loud that I wonder if he can hear it too.
He moves forward before he pulls back and settles in his seat as he secures my seat belt, much to my utter dismay.
Clearing his throat as if we hadn’t already kissed before, he does something to further cause me severe discomfort between my legs. Ezra puts his hand on the back of my seat, stretching to look at our rear as he reverses the car with his other hand, spinning the steering wheel.
I didn’t have any girlfriends to help me understand when I heard or read about girls swooning when a man did this one-handed reverse. Honestly, I never understood the appeal of seeing a man do something as basic as driving. I didn’t see what was there to fawn and squeal over.
Until now, that is.
Until I saw Ezra Moore do it with such rugged grace that I could feel my panties pooling. His muscles bunching and tightening as his hand settles beside my head on the seat, while his other hand dances in a move that looks like second nature to him.
God damn him for ruining another pair of my panties!
And when that’s done, he looks forward again and drives his stick car with one hand on it. Unbothered, as if he didn’t just alter my brain chemistry.
Huffing at him for teasing me in so many ways in quick succession, I cross my arms at my chest and look out the window, refusing to be the first one to break the silence.
I can feel his questioning stare at me, even though he’s driving, building the undeniable tension. If he wants to talk, he can damn well initiate the conversation.
When I don’t speak for more than five minutes, I feel him speak before I hear him. It’s like a volcanic eruption, the rumbles of which you can feel below your feet before you ever actually see the lava spill, drown, burn, and devour everything and everyone in its way.
And that is exactly how he makes me feel when he abruptly pulls over by the side of the road. Surprised–my nerve endings getting excited at the bubbling anticipation of what he might do next–my head spins to look at him.
“What are you doing?” I ask, confused as I take stock of his actions, studying him. The intense air settles over us, blanketing us in its embrace.
The second the words leave my mouth, he cuts me a glare, a scowl etched on his chiseled face. Heat pools in my stomach at the fire in his eyes. He continues to glare at me as vehicle after vehicle passes us by, his knuckles turning white with his hold on the steering wheel.
The silence unnerves me, and I open my mouth to ask him once again, when suddenly he unbuckles my seatbelt and I feel myself being lifted and deposited on his muscular lap.
On his lap.
ON HIS FUCKING LAP!
A gasp leaves me at the turn of events as my wide eyes take in his annoyed expression. What is he annoyed about?
I should be the one annoyed. I am annoyed. How dare he manhandle me? I’m annoyed at him for believing he could do that. I’m annoyed at how my stomach flipped as his rough hands picked me up like I weighed nothing. I’m also annoyed at myself for letting it make me feel something.
Fury licks at me as I hold myself by putting my hands on his shoulders for support. My eyes narrow into slits as I sneer at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” I grit my teeth as I squirm so that he can let me go.
Instead, his hands tighten on my hips as he growls, halting any efforts, “Stay still.”
I’m not demure or shy or meek or submissive in any way. I’m not afraid or scared of him. Yet…Yet, the moment he orders me, I follow him like a sheep in his flock, devoting my life to please him.
My unsuspecting submission seems to satisfy him, because I see his pupils dilate, and his length twitching beneath me in his very thin and very short shorts, as he praises me, “Good girl.”
I preen under his praise and shiver at the contact of his clothed dick over my aching pussy.
“Fuck me,” the curse flies under his breath as he pulls me by my throat and slams his lips to mine. And fucking finally, I receive the kiss my body has been hungry for since the moment I saw him outside my door, looking like sin wrapped in casual clothes.
My eyes flutter close at the heady sensation, as I open my mouth to let him consume it. And consume he does when he strokes the roof of my mouth with his soft and warm tongue.
I moan as my hands fist the material of his shirt, and my hips buck to seek friction. The friction my pussy is aching for, begging for, weeping for. The movement causes him to groan, still not pulling away from my lips, not that I’m complaining.
His hand around my throat squeezes it firmly while the other one splays behind my back, spanning the length of it.
He tilts his mouth to the side to plunge in deeper. My hands meander to the soft, wavy curls at his nape as I pull on them. He must like it because he grunts, his hand on my hip, encouraging me to keep moving over his now rock-hard cock.
My lips feel swollen, but I don’t let up as I let him ravage my mouth and ravage his right back. He tastes like pomegranate and hints of smoke, sticking at the edges.
“God, you taste divine,” I moan in the kiss, my nails finding purchase and digging in his scalp.
“You taste like mine,” his chest rumbles against mine with the vibration of his words, poking and rubbing against my peaking nipples.
God, I’m so aroused and gone that I choose to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of my brain, knowing he doesn’t really mean it and is saying it in the heat of the moment.
The car fills with steam, sinful moans, and raised temperatures as both of us chase our high. With every passing second, every buck of our hips and every stroke of his hand over my pebbled nipple through my hoodie, I could feel my impending climax.
“You’re so fucking sexy, fuck,” he growls, causing me to whimper. “You’ve no idea how intoxicating and downright sinful you sound, humping over my cock to chase your orgasm as the heat and wetness of your pussy seeps through my clothes, Feather.”
“Ezra…oh fuck,” I almost sob his name at his dirty, arousing words. I increase the ferocity of the movement of my hips over his hard dick to soothe my throbbing pussy through the barriers of our clothes as we continue to swallow each other’s moans with kisses.
“You’re close, aren’t you, Feather?” he whispers in my ear, finally pulling away his lips only to lick the lobe of my ear and bite on it, his hot and wet mouth engulfing it.
The delicious pressure on my neck tethers me to the moment like he knows that if his touch won’t ground me, I would drift away to whatever version of heaven this is.
“I am,” I mumble as he reduces me to a whimpering mess by dropping open-mouthed kisses from my ear to my jaw, stroking the length of it with his tongue.
God, he’s so good at this.
“Give in, Feather. Let me see you lose it,” he commands, his voice and woodsy scent overwhelming me when combined with my fast-approaching orgasm.
I moan for him, “Talk dirty to me.”
His eyes widen at my words, a smirk taking over his face. “Fuck, you’re perfect for me,” he says, nuzzling his nose in the crook of my neck, scraping the sensitive skin with his teeth.
When the buildup turns too much, and I know I can’t hold it back anymore, I hear him growl, “Come for me, Feather.” And I do just that when I go off like a dynamite, tremors taking over my body as he helps me ride my orgasm. And that’s when I feel his cock still and let go.
Ezra’s breath gets caught as he bucks upward, chasing his own high, followed by a strangled groan that tears from his throat as he comes, shuddering under me, every nerve alight with the release that ripped through us like a storm.
I drop my forehead against his, both of us panting with the physical exertion we just put in, coming down from the high.
We stay like that for several minutes, though now that my sanity returns, I realize that someone could’ve seen us and recorded us if they recognized him.
Fortunately, barely any cars have passed by.
Or maybe I was too far gone to take note of my surroundings.
Oh well, I’ll panic about this later when I have the energy to do so.
He pulls back, and I look at his flushed skin. As if he can read my mind, he says, “Don’t worry, no one saw us.”
My eyes widen with surprise. “How’d you know?”
He smiles. The first genuine smile I’ve seen him direct at me, and I swear I feel my heart melt and mold itself into an Ezra-shaped space. Ever so softly, he tucks a strand of errant hair, sticking to my sweaty skin, behind my ear as he whispers, “I could practically hear you thinking.”
Both of us burst into laughter, our bodies shaking for an entirely different reason this time. And I know I can move from his lap, but I don’t. Neither does he ask me to.
“This was the most sensual experience of my life,” he confesses, his glacial eyes taking me in.
“Yeah, right,” I scoff at him.
He’s lying. Of course, he’s lying. He’s had a parade of puck bunnies, models, and actresses lining up outside his house for one night with him. And us dry-humping is his most sensual experience?
“I don’t believe it,” I say as much.
Instead of the condescending look or glare I’m used to from him, he gives me another soft smile and says the words that I let hang in the air because I don’t know what to do with them.
“Every experience with you is, Feather.”