Sweaty, he smelled like himself but a thousand times more, and between his scent, the feel of him, and the thought of him occupying every square foot of my mind, I was putty in his hands.
My reaching grip slid over his hot skin as he swallowed my every gasp, every breathless whisper of his name.
He clearly wasn’t in the mood for words.
My back met the wall, and I was pinned between it and Mike. There was nowhere else I would rather be: no king-size feather bed, no luxurious estate. Here in this garage was the only place in the world I wanted to be. Mike’s hand worked under my short dress and inside my underwear. When his seeking fingers met wetness, he hissed. He sank a finger inside me, and I trembled around the invasion, a whine tumbling from my lips, but his lips still didn’t let up—not on my mouth, nor my throat or my collarbone. All the while, his finger worked inside me, stroking my inner walls. I moaned, and he hoisted me higher in his arms, taking his finger to new depths. I was so wet the sounds of my arousal in the garage were lewd—maybe I should have been embarrassed, maybe I should have stopped us or requested we go inside.
“More,” I begged instead. “Give me—” I broke off with a keen when a second finger joined his first.
Mike stretched and subjugated my flesh, forcing space for himself, and I swear, at that moment I ceased being a solid. I was whatever he wanted me to be.
I gripped Mike’s face between my hands as he continued to fuck me with his fingers, forcing his dark and hungry eyes to meet mine. “I want you,” I said.
“I know, Princess. I can feel how much your pussy wants me.”
It wasn’t exactly what I meant, but I had lost the ability to argue semantics. Instead, I twisted a hand down between our bodies, unbuttoning his town jeans so I could fist his cock. He hissed when I wrapped him in my hand and gave a taut pull.
“Your dick wants me too.”
“Yeah girl, every way.”
I was feeling brave. It was the sexy, sweaty man who made me feel like a princess with the ego rush of his rampant attention. It was also just the urge to take away his hurt and replace it with something better, something good. For all those reasons, and probably a few others rolling rogue around my cortex, I told him, “Put it inside me.”
He groaned. “Oh, I will.”
“Now. Bare.”
His fingers inside me stilled, and his eyes flickered, trying to pull meaning first from my right pupil, then the left. He bounced between them, searching. That he didn’t know where to look, that he wanted to look for meaning, affirmed my choice. And it was my choice.
“You sure, Princess?”
I nodded.
“It’s probably not a good idea.”
I shook my head even as I tightened my legs around him, bringing our bodies closer.
Even though there was a vein throbbing in Mike’s temple and he looked like he might pass out if he didn’t get to come soon, he asked, “Are you sure you want it like this?”
There was only so long you should make a horny woman with a dick in her hand wait to get hers. Impatient, I started tugging, pulling Mike’s cock out of his pants and trying to line myself up. I couldn’t manage it alone.
“Wait, wait.” Mike huffed, “Hang on here.”
Removing his hand from inside me—I made a hissing sound which he licked from my lips—he guided my hand up and showed me a beam on the wall behind me that I could hold onto. I gripped it tightly and was glad I did as he lined up the blunt head of himself with my tight opening.
I don’t know how I’d gone from being a woman who thought she would never orgasm to someone who could be ready at the snap of two fingers, more or less. It was the Mike of it all, I supposed.
“Sink down,” he grunted.
I did my best. His cock was large and the angle was awkward. But the look of pure, pained lust in his eyes kept me going as he watched me slide down his cock, taking him home. Halfway down, when I whimpered, fire blazed across his cheeks and his eyes took on an unholy light that immediately became my new obsession. He wrapped both arms around my waist and clasped me to him, splitting my thighs as far as they would go. Finally, my pelvic bone met the springy hair at the base of his cock.
“Goddamn, Lyssa,” he rasped.
“Still,” I gasped. “Still, still, stay still.”
He exhaled, his breath fluttering the wisps of hair on my forehead. “You can move when you’re ready, Princess. I’m waiting in heaven.”
I waited until I felt sure. Then I rolled my hips once, experimentally. Mike stilled, the cords of his neck standing out in sharp relief. It felt nice, so I did it again, and it felt even better. Still, Mike was unmoving. I did it a third time, dragging my hips higher and lower.
