Chapter 9
She spreads her legs for me, as far as she can, which isn’t much, given the tight quarters of the car and the lap bar that has us locked securely in place.
But as far as I need.
She is slick and soft and so damn silky.
My mouth waters because I bet she tastes amazing.
The car groans its way out of the station, and I glide my fingers across all that fantastic fucking wetness.
We’re facing forward, and there’s not much room to move, but all I need are hands and words.
Even with the shoulder harness I can turn my face to her, my mouth near her ear as we begin the climb.
“You weren’t lying, sweetheart,” I say as I slide my finger over the delicious rise of her clit.
“Lying,” she says on a broken pant, “about what?”
“About the sweet torture of being near each other. This is sweet torture, indeed.”
She shakes her head, and a harsh breath falls from her lips. “Not lying. Just really turned on.”
“I can tell. My fingers are fucking coated in the evidence,” I say as I move faster over her clit. It practically throbs under the pad of my finger.
Brisk night air greets us as the angle shifts, and we begin the ascent.
Gears grind, and metal screeches against metal as the long car climbs slowly.
It feels like we’re at a forty-five-degree angle.
Hell, maybe we are. Somehow, it works for us.
Natalie squirms and pushes against my fingers as we rise.
I move faster while we chug slowly higher.
I’m stroking her pussy, sliding firmly up and down her clit, following her cues.
My gaze drifts to the padded lap bar. She grips it fiercely, like her life depends on it, or maybe just her pleasure.
Even in this confined space, her hips rise to meet my fingers with urgency.
I drag them up and down her, and she grows hotter, slicker with each stroke.
Somewhere in front of us, voices rip through the air. The wild words of anticipation. The expectation of the first big drop.
But here, my only words are for her alone as I rasp in her ear, “I want to make you come so fucking hard.”
“Oh God, please. Yes. I want that,” she moans as she pushes into my fingers.
We close in on the crest, and I thrust two fingers inside her.
She’s tight and hot, and she clenches against me.
Her head drops—to hide her moans, I guess, but it’s hardly necessary.
We are two hundred feet in the air, and her groans are part of a chorus of sounds—whoops, hollers, and the loudest sound of all, the crank of the wheels against the tracks.
We hover at the top, all of Vegas spread out before us. Then the earth falls from us, and we plummet.
She screams. A loud, wild, thrilling yell. “Oh my God, yes,” she cries out. “Like that!”
“Holy fuck!” My voice joins hers as the car hurls through the night at the speed of light, and Natalie fucks my fingers. She’s a livewire, and I know she’s almost there, and that nothing in the entire world is going to stop me from getting her off right now.
Desire and determination clutch me in equal measures as I work my fingers inside her while stroking her needy clit with another.
Wild thing that she is, she manages to rock her hips into me, grinding and thrusting in the small space.
She’s just as fucking determined as I am.
The urgent need to come is written in her face, in her eyelids squeezed shut.
Rabid concentration is etched in her features.
I center my strokes on her clit as she begs me with whimpers and groans to keep going. Like I’d even consider stopping now.
The hollers of the other riders fill the air as we race along a corkscrew section of the tracks then blast into the loop.
I’m such a horny bastard, but a lucky one, too, and I’m going to send her soaring in seconds, judging from the way her mouth is a perfect O as she grinds her pelvis into my hand.
Then she’s shrieking, and it’s not just an encouraging you’re almost there, keep doing it.
It’s a full-blown climax as we tip upside-down.
“Oh my fucking God, oh my fucking God, oh my fucking God!” Her pussy grips me tight as she comes on my fingers.
She screams wildly as we fly through the rest of the ride.
Soon her cries morph from orgasmic to joyful at the thrill of the rollercoaster.
As the ride slows, she dips her head and blazes a trail of kisses up my neck as we rattle into the station, finishing them off with a nip of my earlobe, and a whisper just for me: “I can’t believe we did that. That was out of this world good.”
“So fucking good,” I say.
Yeah, being bad is so much better.
When the car stops and the bars rise, I offer her a hand and help her out. The couple in front of us turns around, and it’s the man and woman in matching Hawaiian shirts. The woman gives Natalie a wink, then me a thumbs-up.
Natalie buries her face in my shoulder, but I go with it, giving them a quick wave. “They don’t call it a joy ride for nothing,” I call out.
“That’s for damn sure,” the man says, with a proud note in his voice, like he’s christened the back car of an amusement-park ride at some point or other.
Once we’re inside, Natalie pulls me close and wraps her arms around my neck. She doesn’t say anything. She just smiles goofily at me. “Hi.”
“Hey there.”
“That was . . .” Her voice trails off. Maybe she can’t find the words, but the rosy glow in her cheeks and the satisfied glint in her blue eyes is enough for me.
“Interesting?” I suggest.
“It was so very interesting.”
“I bet it gets even more interesting.”
We resume our path, then she stops in her tracks, and points. “Look!”
I follow her finger, and a smile spreads as I spot our picture on the screen behind the counter. “So that’s what we would call your O face.”
She swats my shoulder. I grab my wallet from my back pocket, fish out a twenty, and point past the woman at the counter to the screen. “Number sixteen, please,” I say, then wink at Natalie. Her forehead is in her palm. “Sixteen is the sweetest number.”
The cheerful brunette with pigtails and red glasses smiles from the photo counter. “It sure is. And your sweet sixteen will be ready in a jiff. The print takes only forty-five seconds and comes with a lovely cardboard frame. Would you like it laminated too?”
I pretend to consider this. “Hmm. What do you think, Nat? Should we laminate the moment—”
She raises her face. Her eyes are fiery. “No, thank you,” she says to the cheery girl. “A cardboard frame is just fine.”
The girl hands me a bag and two five-by-seven close-ups of Natalie and me screaming as we flew down the tracks. As we wander out, I study them. “I suppose technically we can’t be certain this is the exact moment when you came,” I muse as I show her the picture.
She shoots me a stare. “It’s close enough.”
“Close is only good in horseshoes. Not orgasms. I mean, do we know for certain this is the moment of triumph? Should we do it again to be safe?”
She rolls her eyes. “Did you really need to buy that to mock me?”
I stop her, grabbing her arm. “I never mock orgasms. I take your pleasure seriously.”
“I know,” she whispers.
“Do you want me to throw them out? I will.”
She softens. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”
“Uh, yeah. I’d say so.” My eyes swing downward, in the direction of my crotch. “You’ve been giving me a hard time for a long while, sweetheart.”
“You are the king of puns.”
“And you are the queen of the rollercoaster O face. But seriously, I won’t show this to anyone if you don’t want me to.”
“Even if I wasn’t about to blast off into the stratosphere of toe-curling bliss, would you honestly show that photo around? We both look like screaming idiots.” She grabs it and holds it up for me, then imitates our expressions—eyes wide, mouths open, shrieking as the coaster flew along the tracks.
I shrug. “I like it. I’m going to keep them.”
Then I grab the waistband of her skirt, and tug her back to me as we pass a shoot-’em-up arcade game. “Speaking of toe-curling bliss, I need to tell you that you look hot when you’re coming and you look hot when you’re not coming. So you’re pretty much hot all the time, okay?”
She beams, and the look on her face—utter delight—does funny things to my chest. So does her voice when she answers with a simple, “Thank you.” Then she adds. “I guess this would be a good time to let you know I brought along a gift for you. Only I purchased it before we even left Manhattan.”
Color me intrigued.
She dips her hand into her purse, fishes around, and grabs something that she presses into my hand. The foil wrapper and the rubber ring send a bolt of heat through me.
“You’re presumptuous.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “But am I wrong?”