“What makes you think that?”
“Edward told me about the Bentley. I can’t quite imagine you all covered in grease and oil.”
“That’s funny,” he says with undeniable heat in his voice. “I have no trouble at all imagining you naked and slick with oil, spread out on a bed just waiting to be fucked.”
“Oh,” I say. “Oh.”
He chuckles, then opens the door for me. The car is so low that it is almost impossible to enter and exit modestly in so short a skirt. A fact that Damien clearly picks up on, as his hand slides up the back of my thigh, then slides between my legs. My body trembles from his touch, and I moan as he slowly thrusts two fingers inside me. I grip the side of the door, my balance awkward, my entire body quaking with desire. I want to close my thighs, but I can’t. One foot is on the floorboard, the other on the concrete. Shift my position and I will fall.
But then again, I don’t really want to shift my position.
“Yes,” he says. “This is how I want you. Hot and wet and on fire for me. I want you fuckable, Nikki. Anytime, anyplace, I want you ready.”
“I’m always ready for you,” I whisper, both because he wants to hear it, and because it is true.
“I should fuck you now,” he says, moving his fingers slowly in and out of me. My sex clenches, drawing him in, wanting more and more. Wanting all of him. “I should bend you over the hood of this car and lift your skirt and spank your ass until it’s red and throbbing. Then I should thrust my cock into your sweet, wet cunt. Is that what you want, Nikki? You can tell me. Tell me all the things you want me to do to you, Nikki. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”
My eyes are closed, my breasts are heavy. I am so wet and I feel so full. He has three, no, four fingers inside me now, and my hips are gyrating, wanting him harder, faster, deeper.
“Tell me,” he repeats.
“I want you to fuck me,” I say. “I want your hands on my tits and your cock deep inside me. I want you, Damien. Please, please, I want you so badly.”
His fingers slide out of me, and he traces slow circles over my clit while his palm rubs lightly at my sex. I can smell my arousal, and I am shameless, shifting this way and that so that the feeling grows. I’m close, so close, and I want to come in his arms. I don’t care that we’re in his garage, that I’m bent half in and half out of his car. All I want is Damien. All I want is for him to take me where I want to go.
“Thank you,” he whispers as he pulls his hand away.
“Damien,” I moan. “Dammit, Damien, please.”
“Frustrated, Ms. Fairchild?”
“You know I am.”
“Good.” The satisfaction in his voice makes me smile despite my state of abject frustration. “Now, into the car.”
I do as he says, then sit with my legs pressed tightly together in the hopes that the pressure will quell some of my rising, desperate need.
He circles the car and gets in beside me, then looks over, his amusement obvious. “Legs apart, Ms. Fairchild. You don’t get off until I say you get off.”
I shoot him a sour glance, but I comply.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
As I sit, lost in a haze of sexual frustration, he starts the car and maneuvers it out of its slot. I expect him to go back the way we came in, but he continues in the direction we were walking, which seems odd to me as all I see is a wall. As we get close, though, he presses a button on the dash and a section of the wall slides away.