He knew this wasn’t Emmaline’s bag—getting raunchy in a car in someone’s driveway. Just by observing her all this week, he knew.
Emmaline Amos was a lady. At all costs, the perception of her reputation should remain sterling. And he was fucking that all up with his dirty thoughts. He saw the war she was having in her mind with her body. It was in the way she tried to stop kissing him by pulling back, filling the void between their lips with words, only to seek his mouth again.
He brushed her crooked red beret away from her eyebrow. “It’s a Jeep. But that’s just me being picky.”
Again, she dipped her head back down, her liquid eyes glazed with moonlight and doubt. “This is crazy.” More protests, more driving him insane with the press of her breasts against his chest, enhancing that insanity when she inhaled with a ragged breath.
“Jeeps? I think Jeeps are conservative. Crazy would be a Smart Car.” Jax draped his hand over the top of her hip, using the heel of his hand to keep himself from latching on to her ass and grinding against her.
But Em did the grinding for him. Hard, pressed together grinding.
His cock scraped against the seam of his jeans in a painful pulsing response to her pussy, just a slip of a dress and a pair of panties away.
She used the heels of her hands to lever herself upward a little, her chest rising and falling. “Not Jeeps. Making out in a car.”
Jax put his hands around her wrists and caressed the width of them. “A Jeep.”
She gathered handfuls of his jacket, leaning her forehead against his, huffing out sharp breaths, sinking deeper into him. “Is there really a difference?”
Jax lifted his hips and hissed his appreciation. “Is it because we’re not in the confines of some dark room where I wouldn’t be able to see your lips do that thing where they tremble just before you plant them on mine?”
More evasive eyeballing before pretty Em whispered, “Ye...yes.”
“Then I’m glad we’re in a Jeep. Because I wanna see. As much as you’ll let me.”
If glowing in the dark were humanly possible, Em achieved it by flushing red. So Em wasn’t used to having someone lavish her with the proper attention a woman like her deserved? He’d be happy to be the first.
Knock it off, Hawthorne. Last you said, this wasn’t a date—now you want to reassure her she’s sexy? What next?
“You want me to show you how much I wanna see it?” His fingers stopped roaming over her hip. If she said no, he was going to have a helluva night alone in the shower—but he wanted to earn her trust—not scare the shit out of her.
Earning her trust isn’t how you “don’t” date, buddy. You say thanks for dinner, see you at the office. Not how can I make you feel more secure while I rip your clothes off?
He ignored the flash of red flags and tugged on her lips with his mouth. “You okay?”
She was shy again. Torn. Pulling away, leaning in. “Yes,” she exhaled the word, blowing it across his mouth with her warm breath—shivering.
Jax didn’t hold much back this time, splaying his hand over her back and crushing her against him until she made a soft sound. Her curves seeped into his like caramel over an ice-cream sundae, sticky sweet and hot.
He let his hand travel along her spine, smiling when she reacted to his touch by tightening her muscles in rigid increments.
He dropped the seat and slid it back, giving Em full access to spread out on top of him. Her surprised gasp when their bodies met lengthwise filled Jax’s ears as he began to peel her sweater off her shoulder.
*
The Lord will punish your wanton ways, Emmaline. Ladies do not fornicate in cars.
Jeep. It’s a Jeep, Mother.
You say tomato, I say no fornicating in anything with wheels. This will be frowned upon.
Em was too stupid drunk with hot need to care what her mother or anyone else would think. When was the last time that had happened?
Never. She’d never been so totally unaware of everything around her when she was making love. She’d never been swept up. She’d never been so carried away the only thing she did hear was the throb of her pulse. Feel the throb of a man beneath her.
Jax shrugged her sweater from her shoulder, tugging at the end of the sleeve to pull it off her arm while her mother’s voice became a distant buzz, clearly masked by her shrieking hormones.
Each touch of Jax’s hands, each slip of his tongue into her mouth stoked the dormant part of her that wanted to forget propriety—forget she didn’t do things like this. Not once in her life had she even made out in a car, let alone allowed a man to slide his hand along her bare thigh until...
Her gasp echoed in the small space.
“You like that there,” Jax murmured, but he wasn’t really asking. He was only echoing what her body was screaming at his.