Page 70 of On the Ropes
Tabitha
Dean crashed his mouth down on mine and hauled me into his lap at the same exact time. I straddled him as he reached beneath the seat and lowered it, tilting us backward. If I thought what happened between us on the art museum steps was passionate—and it was—this was some next-level need I’d never experienced before.
One big palm of his curved down my back while the other gripped my hair, holding my face still. Dean kissed me like he’d been waiting his entire life to do it. He sank into it, gave me everything he had. We’d part for a few shaky breaths, but then that same perfect, firm mouth would descend to my neck, my shoulder, the hollow in my throat.
I was grinding my body, rolling my hips, desperate for friction. His cock was steel between my legs, his fingers on my skin confident. He shoved his hand under my sports bra, palming my breasts. I licked a single drop of rain from his jaw and tasted salt. The sound of his strangled groans and our heavy breathing filled the small space, steamed the windows as curtains of rain cloaked us in a forbidden darkness.
I realized with a dim astonishment that if the storm hadn’t worsened, I would have gladly ridden Dean on those steps without a care in the world. The chemistry between us was that primal, demanded that much raw, insatiable hunger.
Dean tore my bra off and pressed his face between my breasts with a low growl that sent vibrations through me. He sat up straight in the seat, bending me backward, and then took my breast into his mouth with a look both savage and grateful. His wet tongue swirled around my nipple—feather-light, then gradually increasing in pressure until he was pulling on it with his lips and I was close to sobbing.
The rhythmic pulsing matched the one between my legs, had my head dropping back and keening cries falling from my lips. He’d trapped me still so I couldn’t rock back and forth along that thick cock of his, but if I had freedom of movement, I would have come. He wouldn’t stop either, kept me pinned down and exposed to his fingers and tongue, lapping at my nipples, stroking each peak with light, teasing circles.
I threaded my fingers through his thick hair and tugged his head back—harder than I intended, but the satisfied curl to his lip made me do it again. His nostrils flared and his next kiss had a bite to it I wanted more of. I managed to work my hand down the flexing ridges of his stomach to his shorts-clad cock. My hand bore down, stroked the impressive length as he used both thumbs to stroke my nipples.
We shared a fraught, open-mouthed moan. He bared his teeth. Hissed out a breath. His hands settled on my hips, but then he spun me around roughly on his lap. One hand wrapped in my hair. The other landed back on my nipple and pinched. Hard. Harder. I cried out, spine arching, and I was treated to Dean groaning my name in my ear.
A bolt of lightning crackled overhead followed by a steady, rolling thunder. Rain continued to fall like sharp stones, bouncing off the windshield, making the back seat feel like a cozy cabin in the middle of a summer storm. The air inside was as steamy as a tropical jungle. Our skin was slick with the combination of sweat and rain, mouths open, panting breath fogging up the windows. Maybe if this spontaneous hookup was happening in a regular old bed with the lights on there would have been time and space for nerves or adjustments.
But it was happening in the back seat of a car—technically in public—and I was positive that was the reason for our desperate, frenzied movements, like we might literally die without the other person.
I draped my arms behind Dean’s neck, presenting the entirety of my body to him like a gift. His hot mouth dragged down the crook of my neck. His teeth bit down as his hands skated down my waist and gripped my thighs.
He spread my legs wide open and choked out a sound against my hair. I watched his hand slip under my shorts. Felt it slip beneath my underwear. He cupped his hand over my pussy, middle finger nudging my clit for the sweetest second. I would have shot off his lap if his arm wasn’t pinning me in place.
His lips caressed the ball of my shoulder. “Tell me what feels good,” he whispered hoarsely. “Show me how to make you come.”
Heat flamed my cheeks. I joined my hand with his and we touched my clit together. I gasped at the contact. I kissed him again, nipping at his lip and then swiping my tongue against his.
“Like this,” I whispered, as we parted. We circled my clit together, large circles getting smaller. Light pressure growing firmer. I let go and tipped my head back. His other hand cupped my throat, holding me there as he kissed my neck over and over.
“Yes,” I sighed. “Yes, that’s—”
He worked faster, skilled fingers moving, those sensual neck kisses turning into filthy bites that sent delicious chills up and down my spine. I writhed on his lap, his firm grip wrapped around my throat.
“Dean,” I sobbed. “Please don’t stop. Please, don’t.”
“Never,” he growled at my ear.
I was racing toward an orgasm I worried might destroy me. The hand cupping my throat slid higher until he was pressing his palm against my mouth, smothering my cries.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
I nodded and wailed and writhed on the absolute edge of ecstasy. His hand pressed harder and an illicit thrill zipped up my spine. I was half-naked in the back seat of a car with Dean keeping me quiet so people outside wouldn’t know what we were doing behind these foggy windows.
“Show me,” he urged. “Come for me, Tabitha.”
I climaxed on Dean’s fingers, moaning into his palm as a breath-stopping euphoria made me feel like I was levitating. Aftershocks still rocked my body as I managed to turn in his lap and kiss him until he was out of breath too. When I pulled back, his lips were swollen. Brow furrowed like he wasn’t sure if I’d enjoyed myself.
“That,” I said, kissing him, “was fucking incredible. You are incredible.”
They were the right words—right, as in accurate. But after an orgasm that literally melted my brain, the relieved grin that appeared on his face sent a different kind of heat through my limbs. A soft, sweet heat that wanted me to cuddle this tough, strong dreamboat and stroke his hair.
He brushed the hair off my shoulders. Kissed me. Kissed me harder. His arms held me tight as he plundered my mouth until I was dazed and panting again.
“Please let me fuck you,” I begged.
“Yes,” he growled through clenched teeth.
