Page 55 of Wicked Design
“The band needed it as a prop for their video shoot today. Since the car’s paid for till midnight, I asked if we could use it. They said no. Funny thing, the woman who owns the limo company has a sister and brother-in-law who live at my parents’ camp. Thinks they’re awesome and said yes. Small world, huh? I thanked her with one of these.” She lifted her arm, flexing the music jewelry. “She loves it.” Clover reached around and smacked his bare ass. “Get moving. Our carriage awaits.”
In his youth, Van Gogh traveled many miles in luxury cars and limos. He’d forgotten how nice being pampered felt. The buttery leather seat molded to his ass and back. He sipped a Wisconsin Belgium Red, a celebrated brew according to the article Clover pulled up online. There were smartphones, computers, and a TV available for use. His bathroom should be this well equipped and as big.
“Want some?” She offered strawberry licorice the frontman had left behind, and chocolate milk, another band favorite.
“Nope, it’s all yours.” He drank his beer and stifled a belch. “Is that their song playing?” Music pumped from hidden speakers, the tune catchy, the beat pretty decent.
“Yeah. Hasn’t released yet.” She pulled off her high heel and ran her toes up his fly. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Can we spend the night in here?”
“Doing what?”
His cock stirred beneath her stroking. “If I had a rubber, I’d show you.”
“Your wish is my command, Mr. Master.” She grabbed several packets from a compartment and tossed them on his seat.
A wonderful surprise, except for one thing. “How’d you know those were there?”
“On the ride to your place the driver didn’t want to talk. He kept the partition up. Like now. That left me with nothing to do except explore.”
She did like to go through people’s medicine cabinets. “Bad girl. Do we have time?”
“We’ve been stuck at this light for a while. There are plenty more. Heavy traffic, too.”
Good enough for him. Van Gogh undid his jeans then pushed them and his boxer briefs down. His cock bobbed out, raring to go. “Come here. Wait.” He reached for a condom.
She did, too, and snatched the one closest to him. “Let me put it on.”
“Fine with me, as long as you hit your target this time. I’ll help.” He gripped his rod and swung it right and left. “Do you see it yet? In case you don’t, it’s between my legs.”
“Not to mention longer than a machete.”
He laughed. God, she was good for his ego.
Clover rolled the slippery latex over his shaft, pushed her jeans and black thong down, then climbed on.
Her cunt swallowed him slowly, her heat fucking welcome, muscles tensed, bringing him close to happy tears.
On a gentle grunt, she sat on his thighs, his cock fully within her.
They breathed hard.
Clover stroked his cut jaw. “That’s pretty bad. Should have gotten stitches.”
“My stapler did the trick. Stopped the bleeding.”
She kissed his wound. “I’ll tell the others you got in a knife fight. You stopped a gang war outside the parlor.”
He laughed. “Please don’t. Wouldn’t want to have to prove myself if a Rambo wannabe is in tonight’s crowd.”
“Good point. Does your cut hurt?”
“Stings a little.”
“I’ll make the bad go away.” She slipped her tongue into his mouth and pumped her pussy over his shaft.
Someone groaned. Maybe him. Lost in her mouth, scent, and extraordinary heat, he jerked his hips and thrust crazily, wanting them to come before the damn ride ended. The limo zoomed along faster.
