Page 71 of On the Ropes
“Condoms?”
He gave a tight nod and managed to say, “Glove box.” I made quick work of getting up there. Yanking it open, I was so happy to see the new box of condoms slide out I could have choreographed an entire dance sequence about it, with outfit changes and everything.
When I turned back around, I caught Dean mid-grimace. Remembering all those videos of him taking blows to his body, I crawled over and lightly touched his cheek again. “Does anything hurt?”
He shifted and let out a sigh. And then he dragged me back onto his lap easily. “I’m okay. I just get stiff and sore from old injuries sometimes. But thank you, for asking.”
I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead before I could help it. “Now you have to tell me what feels good and won’t hurt.”
There was that half grin again, awakening butterflies that had less to do with the magic he’d worked with his fingers and more to do with this tender desire to protect Dean. To be the reason behind that smile. To fill his life with joy in the dark corners where it was absent.
I distracted myself by tearing open the condom packet and watching a hedonistic gleam appear in his eyes. I reached for leverage by grabbing the handle near the window and ground my pussy against his cock.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Ride me, just like this.”
I bent close and brushed the softest kiss against his lips. “Anything for you, Dean.”
The rumble of dangerous sound that came from his chest made me shiver with anticipation. Then he settled back against the lowered chair and dragged his hands along the curve of my thighs, the dip of my waist, spanning my rib cage, like he was memorizing my body through touch alone.
His hands finally settled on my hips, the motion drawing attention to the swell of his biceps, his broad chest. I bit my lip, already aching again. I liked him like this—sumptuous, almost lazy, lying back and receiving what he deserved.
I kicked off my shorts, then reached inside his to free his cock. It was as much a work of art as his body was—long and deliciously thick. I wrapped my fingers around the base and gave him the slowest jerk I could manage. Then another and another. His head fell back, exposing the tendons in his throat. His hoarse sound of gratification made me feel like a queen. So did his flexing stomach muscles and wandering hands, dipping beneath my underwear again to squeeze my ass.
I stopped what I was doing only to slip the condom on, my gaze rising to meet Dean’s hungry one. I recognized the slight curl in his lip from watching his matches. But there was not an ounce of his trademark cool, refined focus to be found.
Sliding my underwear to the side, I gripped his arms and lowered myself down onto his cock, inch by agonizing inch. Dean helped, holding my hips, but this need to take my time was immediately outweighed by the tortuous satisfaction of being stretched, filled, claimed by him.
The second he was fully seated, hitting every nerve ending I had, all pretense of respectable behavior was abandoned. I dropped the handle and planted my hands on that gorgeous chest and rode his cock for the sole purpose of seeing this big, sexy fighter lose his goddamn mind right in front of me.
Lose his mind, he did.
“Fuck yes,” he grunted, lifting me up and down in the kind of hot and urgent rhythm that back-seat sex was invented for. He didn’t take his eyes off me, watching me bounce on his cock with an expression of untamed lust. A bead of sweat slid down his temple. His chest expanded rapidly on every guttural inhale and growly exhale.
“Christ, Tabitha, you feel so fucking good,” he spit out. “Get down here so I can kiss you.”
I draped my body over his, grinding down, feeling like I might come any second. I wasn’t sure I could withstand another orgasm, but in the midst of watching Dean become a damn animal I was suddenly about to come again. His hands landed on my ass, squeezing, rocking me against him while kissing me.
“Oh God,” I whimpered into his mouth. I yanked on his hair and buried my face into his neck. I felt his hand slide around the front of my belly and then his thumb, caressing my clit in those same light circles. My muscles gathered tight, tight, and an undulating wave of pleasure rippled through me.
Dean caught my mouth with his before I screamed too loudly, but this orgasm shimmered. He seized my hips as I was still coming, urging me on, and I rode him as fast as he needed. My thighs slapped against his while I took him deeper. Harder. Dean held the back of my neck, and our eyes never left one another. Not once. Not when those fluttering aftershocks became a swift third orgasm. And not when Dean climaxed at the exact same time, as if he’d been waiting to release with me.
Though hazy and wrung out, I still memorized what he looked like as he finally unraveled beneath me—his flexing abs and shoulders, the fire in his gaze, the way he grunted my name—“Tabitha”—as he came. Of everything we’d done tonight, this eye contact was an intimacy that burrowed under my skin and warmed me from the inside, out.
The sound of falling rain crowded into this tight, dark space. I very gently pushed myself up and disengaged, tugging off the condom and disposing of it. When I crawled back to the seat, I didn’t even hesitate to climb onto his lap again.
Dean pushed himself up and forward. Wrapped his arms around my back and pressed his face to my chest. I looped my arms around his neck and held him there. Kissed the top of his head, ran my fingers through his curls. Eventually his breathing slowed and he tipped his head up and kissed me. It was unhurried and delicious in a different way—a kiss not as a prelude to sex but a deeper connection.
Buried beneath my perpetual quest for fleeting pleasure was the routine that came after, all the tiny steps that ensured the fleeting part of the pleasure. I was a storyteller. I knew how this one ended. It was well past time to enact that routine if I wanted this soft heart of mine to stay protected.
But I didn’t move.
His eyes opened and locked on mine. Dean shifted me until I was astride him, curled against his chest.
“Well, now you know what it’s like to make out with someone in the back seat of your car,” I said, voice husky from my triple orgasms. “Steamed-up windows and everything.”
He brushed his lips across my cheek. “Was it mediocre?”
The idea was so preposterous that I laughed. “As I’ve said before, your physical prowess is well-documented. And I have been…well-documented as they say.”
