Damn, he was baiting her, which meant he was pissed. Because she seemed a tad reluctant and nervous? What else did he expect? All right, to hell with him. Two could play this particular game.
She didn’t look to make sure Angela really was watching. Instead she put her hand to the back of his head and pulled him down to her. He tasted of beer. And chocolate. Like he’d been eating candies before he’d arrived. She opened her mouth, tentatively ran her tongue across his lips. She’d never been the aggressor with him, had merely taken what he gave when he insisted on it and never given more than what he asked for. It wasn’t a power play. It was fear. Now she indulged herself, taking the situation as an excuse because then Witt would never know how badly she wanted him.
His arms went around her, flexed across her back, crushed her to him, her breath expelling into his mouth. He groaned, a minuscule sound she might have imagined. She wanted to climb on him, into him. Instead she deepened the kiss, a delicious touching of tongues. She angled her head, twisting around so that her feet curled beneath her, one shoe slipping soundlessly to the carpet. She now lay across his chest.
His hand went to her butt through the thin silk. Her hip lay against his tense thigh and erection. She felt every touch of his body against hers, each contact searing through her clothing. And she couldn’t get enough of his mouth.
Idiot. She should have known how good he would be, should have known she wouldn’t want to stop. She would eventually, yes, she would. But not yet. Her hands rose between them to pull at his tie, her lips slowly pulling away from his.
“What are you doing?”
“Your tie’s too tight.” She loosened it; he didn’t stop her. Nor did he stop her fingers from undoing the first four buttons of his shirt. He wore no undershirt beneath the dark teal; his skin smelled of soap. She put her face to his chest, breathed deeply, felt his sharp intake of breath as her tongue lightly traced the center of his breastbone. Slightly salty, clean. She wanted more. A little more. Then she’d stop.
“Taking this a little too far, aren’t you?” His voice was shaky, but he didn’t push her away.
Sliding down, she smoothed her fingers over his abdomen. “I thought you liked living on the edge.”
“I’m on the edge. So don’t do this now.”
“They’ve got to think we’re”—she looked up into his eyes, dark and hooded in the dim light filtering into the car—“you know ... doing it. It’s just an act.” Her softened voice lingered, swirled around them. His nostrils flared. Beneath her, his body moved, twitched, his erection hardened. She imagined she could feel it pulsing. She pulsed, too. With power.
How far could she push Witt? Did she even want to know?
A traitorous voice whispered yes, yes, yes. And she knew she was crazy. Cameron said her lust for power would be her downfall with Witt. For this moment in time, she didn’t care. Witt wanted her. She felt it in every labored breath he took. She could get him to do anything right now. Even play exhibitionist.
Witt never looked out of the car, didn’t check to see that anyone watched. She could almost believe he was past caring. Right where she wanted him to be.
She slid completely into his lap, straddling him with her arms, right elbow bent, her thumb at the joining of his hip and groin.
She reached for his belt buckle and undid it
“Hey. I said not now. Later.” Tone urgent, a trace of disbelief. How far could she go before he stopped her? Could she get him to do anything she wanted?
It was a test. For both of them. Who would chicken out first?
“It’s just for show,” she whispered, the rasp of his zipper seeming to echo through the car. “Unless you want it for real.” Looking up at him, she licked her lips. “Do you?”
She arched against him, cradling his cock between her breasts, stoking him with gentle movements. The feel of him released another hot rush of moisture between her thighs. Rising, she settled her hand on him and squeezed.
“Tell me to stop and I will. All you have to do is say the word.” Putting her face down, she nuzzled his cock, then glanced up. “If you can.”
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. His hot stare told her that. She loved the power streaking through her veins, the moisture welling up inside her.
“Damn you.” He growled low and deep in his throat.
She yanked at his briefs, freed him. “Tell me how bad you want it.” She wanted him to beg. When he didn’t, she stroked his length with her tongue.
“Fuck, please, shit.” His hips surged against her, forcing his cock deep for a moment before he subsided.
She would have stopped if he’d told her to. But he didn’t. Not when she licked the tiny slit at his crown. Not when she took him fully into her mouth and sucked hard. God, he tasted good. Salty. Zesty. Like hot, risky sex in forbidden places.
His body jerked, his hands gripped her head, fingers tangling in her hair, pushing himself inside her mouth. God, he wanted her, wanted her so bad he’d take it wherever he could, with Angela and Hammerhead and God as witnesses.