Page 60 of The Heart Breaker

“No kissing,” I remind him. If I’m going to do this with him, I need to remind myself exactly whatthisis. Kissing makes things confusing, too intimate.

His eyes flick up, one brow raised. “I’m nowhere near your lips.”

“It still counts.”

“Yeah?” His voice lowers and his lips curl into a smirk. “Does that mean I can’t kiss your pussy, either?”

My thighs tighten instinctively around him, and he feels it. I know he does, because the corner of his mouth lifts the tiniest bit.

“I’ll allow it,” I say, as coolly as I can manage.

He huffs out a laugh. “So generous.”

He reaches between us and pops the button on my jeans, sliding the zipper down before pushing the denim over my hips, inch by inch, revealing skin that feels too exposed under his gaze.

His eyes drop to the wrapped tattoo on my thigh, and he traces the edge of it with his fingertip, so light it makes my stomach dip. “Careful with this leg,” he murmurs. “It’s fresh.”

The brief softness disappears as quickly as it appears because a second later, he grabs the hem of his shirt and rips it over his head, tossing it aside. The sight of him bare and inked, with his muscles flexing under dim light makes my core throb.

God, he’s so stupidly, unfairly hot.

I want to slap him and climb him like a damn tree at the same time.

He drags his seat back and pulls me with him, settling me over his thighs.

A car door slams somewhere outside and I gasp, twisting toward the fogged-up window, my heart pounding. “Someone could walk out and see?—”

He doesn’t even let me finish before his hand slides between my thighs and presses right over my panties, knocking the rest of my thought straight out of my mind as a whine leaves my lips.

“You’re worried about someone seeing us,” he murmurs, rubbing my clit over the damp fabric. “But your pussy says you want exactly that.”

I open my mouth to deny that, to tell him someone finding us is the last thing I want, but he presses harder, rubbing me through the soaked cotton and my words melt in my mouth, my hips tilting into his hand.

“Thought so,” he says with a low chuckle, his thumb dragging over the wet spot. “Fuck, you’re dripping through these.”

Before I can catch my breath, he hooks two fingers under the waistband and tugs my panties down, tossing them over his gear stick. The sight alone makes my pussy clench, needing him to put his hands back on me.

It’s like he reads my mind because as soon as they’re off, his fingers slide through my slick pussy, and I let out an embarrassing moan, my body practically vibrating with need. Because,God, he remembers exactly how to touch me, and my body reacts like it’s been waiting for him.

My breath catches when his middle finger settles at my entrance, teasing just long enough to make my pulse stutter before he pushes inside. I can feel how wet I am by how easily he sinks in, how his knuckles brush my lips before he even meets resistance.

I let out a helpless moan, my thighs shaking slightly as he thrusts his finger into me.

He leans back just enough to watch his finger disappearing into me. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, and the praise makes my nails dig into his shoulders.

God, I hate how intensely my body wants him. Hate that just one of his thick fingers has pleasure coiling tight and low in my stomach, ready to snap with barely any effort. Hate that he knows exactly what my body needs.

He pulls his finger out and my eyes fly open when I feel it press along my lips, rubbing it along my bottom lip.

“Open.”

Heat floods my body. Who the hell does he think he is? I’d be crazy to let him do this, and yet, my mouth is already opening for him before I can decide whether I want to or not.

He pushes his finger into my mouth, and the taste of myself hits my tongue. His pupils darken as I wrap my lips around his knuckle, hollowing my cheeks as I drag my tongue along the length of his finger. His eyelids lower, the muscle in his jaw twitching like he’s trying not to groan.

He slips his finger free with a soft, wet pop, and a shiver tears right through me as he unbuckles his jeans with one hand, reaching for a condom from the glove box with the other, and tearing it with his teeth. He shoves his jeans down to free his cock and rolls the condom on before he fists himself, giving it a slow tug.

I lift my hips, brace my thighs on the seat, and wrap my hand around the base of his cock. He groans when I drag him through my wet pussy, his piercing teasing my clit just right.