Chapter 4
Four
DEAN
Her knee catches me in the gut, and my elbow cracks against the window as I slam the door and fumble for the seat release, but I barely notice.
Because fuck, this woman…
She’s so sexy.
So wildly, shamelessly sexy.
And only twenty-four, you creep, the inner voice mutters, but I ignore it.
I’ve never had a thing for younger women. Never sought them out online. Never let my gaze linger on the herds of sorority girls wandering the French Quarter in skintight dresses. Never so much as gone out for drinks with someone who wasn’t roughly the same age.
Hell, Frederica, my ex, was two years older.
So was my girlfriend before her. I don’t have a younger woman kink, and I’m not a creep.
I honestly thought Clover must be in her late twenties or early thirties, like Cristina.
Clover and I met at Cristina’s house, and my next-door neighbor is thirty-one.
Besides, we’ve already decided this is just for fun.
Just one night.
One night, it would be pointless to waste feeling weird about an age gap when I could be making Clover come.
I brace a hand against the cab interior and kiss her with my full focus, not bothering to hide how desperate I am for more of her taste, her touch.
She matches me stroke for stroke, her tongue dancing with mine, her hips grinding up against me, proving she isn’t the least bit bothered by how hard I am.
Her right leg hooks around my calf, and her thigh presses flush against mine to the knee. I’m pushing six-four, but she fits against me almost limb for limb, a thing I’ve never experienced before.
A thing I had no idea would be this damned hot…
“Off,” she mumbles into my mouth, yanking at my sweater. “I need to see if you’re as delicious as I think you are under there.”
I rip the sweater over my head, cracking my knuckles on the roof of the cab and getting stuck halfway through before I finally fling it into the driver’s seat, making us both laugh.
But she isn’t laughing as she drags her hands down my bare chest to my stomach.
“Wow,” she breathes. “I’ve been fantasizing about this since you carried me up Cris’s driveway. I knew you had to be built like nobody’s business. Even with two casts on, you made me feel like I was made of fluff.”
“You’re tiny,” I say, biting my lip as her nails bite into my abs hard enough to sting.
“Not that tiny. And I’m tall,” she murmurs, glancing up as I hiss in a breath, my muscles flexing beneath her touch. “You like nails?”
“Love them,” I grit out, my cock throbbing even more insistently.
She grins up at me and does it again, harder. I reach down, jerking her good leg up and around my hip as I grind forward, showing her what she does to me. The sound she makes as I rock against her center—hungry and eager—makes my blood pump even faster.
I push her sweater up.
My turn to discover all the parts I’ve been fantasizing about …
The skin on her stomach is so soft, it’s almost shocking. Like feathers. Or one of those microfleece blankets the girls love to snuggle under on movie nights, but warm and fluttering beneath my hand.
I skim my palm up her ribs, making her shiver as I murmur, “Best thing I’ve ever touched.”
“Ever?” she breathes, arching to help me guide the fabric higher.
“Ever,” I confirm. I push the sweater past her collarbone, revealing the beautiful valley I’ve done my best to keep from staring at all night.
Her breasts are full and high, encased in a white cotton bra with a tiny yellow bow between the cups. No, not a bow, I realize, as I look closer. It’s a skull and crossbones that feels…strangely right.
X marks the spot where the treasure’s buried, after all.
And every inch of her is treasure.
I guide the cups down, heart lurching at the sight of her deep rose nipples, so much darker than the rest of her skin. The contrast is so beautiful, so sexy. Nearly as sexy as the sounds she makes as I slide lower in the seat, pulling her nipple into my mouth.
The first taste of her makes me groan, and my fingers spasm against her ribs.
She’s clean and salty-sweet, her skin somehow even softer against my tongue than my hands.
My eyes close as I tease my tongue around her tight tip, my head spinning with the bliss of it.
It’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman, but even longer since I’ve experienced chemistry like this, the kind that sparks to life at first sight and gets hotter with every passing second.
And things are definitely getting hotter…
I suck her nipple, and her nails dig into my scalp, sending a jolt down my spine to fist between my legs. I suck harder; she digs harder, her back arching off the seat as I trap her other nipple between my teeth.
“Yes, oh yes,” she gasps, clinging to me as I continue to tease and suck and bite.
I’ve always been good at this part. Decoding unspoken signals. Reading a breath, a sigh, a gasp. Knowing when to go harder and when to back off.
Sex is a lot like hockey. If you pay attention and learn to read the signs, your opponent will telegraph everything you need to keep him from whipping the puck into your net without saying a word.
But Clover isn’t my opponent, she’s completely on my team, a fact she proves with another panted, “Yes, yes, yes,” as I shift to one side, giving myself room to tease my fingertips beneath the waistband of her jeans.
I pop the button one-handed and drag the zipper down. She lifts her hips, giving me room to maneuver. My fingers slide over more hot, whisper-soft skin, through crisp hair, into swollen folds so drenched it punches the breath out of me.
She’s wet, ready, and just the thought of being inside her is almost enough to make me come in my pants like a teenager.
So, I do my best not to think about that as I glide two fingers between her legs.
She clenches around me, her hips jerking and a broken sound hitching from her chest as she reaches for my biceps, holding on tight as I fuck her with my hand.
I start slow—pushing in deep and drawing out with curled fingers, being sure to give her clit the attention it deserves—but soon, she’s squirming beneath me, her breath coming faster, silently demanding more.
So, I give her what she wants, what she needs, until she’s whimpering and trembling, and I’m so hard that every shift of my hips against the seat is painful.
But I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except the way she’s unraveling under me, her eyes shut, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her chest heaving as she nears the edge.
I kiss her temple and linger there, feeling the throb of her pulse against my lips as I pump her harder, faster.
Her whimper becomes a soft, “almost there” cry, and I murmur against her skin, “That’s it, beautiful. Come for me. Come for me, Clover. Love feeling you dripping all over my hand. Love it so fucking much.”
She arches off the seat, her pussy clutching at my fingers as her jaw drops in a silent scream.
I pull back to watch, not wanting to miss a moment.
She goes rigid, her eyes squeezing even more tightly closed before she breaks the silence with ragged gasps and blissed-out moans that have my dick leaking in my jeans.
Finally, once the aftershocks have begun to fade and her hips are back on the seat, she opens her eyes, gazing up at me with a stunned look that makes me prouder than I’ve felt in a long time.
“Holy shit,” she whispers, her breath still coming fast.
“Good?” I ask, partly because I’m a glutton for praise. Partly, because I can’t think of anything clever to say when I’m this desperate for relief.
“So much better than good,” she says, blinking as she cups my face, murmuring in a dazed voice, “Where have you been?”
“Nowhere good,” I say. “At least, not lately.”
She nods, her focus sharpening as she murmurs, “I feel that. But don’t worry, I know what you need.”
“Yeah?” My voice catches as she reaches for my belt.
“Yeah,” she promises, her knuckles brushing against my hard-on through the denim, making my jaw clench.
As she works open the button at the top of my fly, I’m so turned on, I can barely breathe and pretty sure I’m going to last all of three strokes before I lose it.
And when I lose it, it’s not going to be a thing that’s easily contained. My balls are full to overflowing, the pressure unlike anything I’ve felt before. If I don’t do something, I’m going to make a mess all over this beautiful girl.
I’m about to ask her to give me a second, long enough to fumble for my gym bag in the back seat and find a towel, when—
A sharp knock rattles the driver’s side window.
Clover yips, her hand jerking away from my nearly-open fly, while my heart trampolines into my throat and stays there.
We freeze, eyes locking in shared horror.
For an awful second, I see exactly how this is going to go down—the cop shining a Maglite through the steamed-up glass, asking for my license and registration, while I try to explain why I’m not wearing a shirt and the truck smells like sex, if I wasn’t about to commit a crime against decency in a public parking lot.
I pull Clover’s sweater down with shaking hands, mentally scrambling for some feasible excuse for the current state of affairs—I was having a heart attack, and Clover needed my shirt off to deliver CPR?
I felt a spider loose in my sweater? I developed a sudden, painful allergy to cashmere?
But just as I’m about to shout “a moment, please,” a cackle filters through the door.
“Don't worry, you two, it’s just me!” The silhouette of Karen’s aggressively perky ponytail bobs into view on the other side of the fogged window.
“You forgot your coat, Dean, and I’m locking up early.
Looks like that snowstorm is coming in sooner than they thought. ”
Clover sags against me, pressing her face into my bare shoulder. “Oh my God. Thank God.” She begins to shake with soft laughter as she adds, “I told you not to leave your coat.”