While he rolled the condom on, I wiggled around trying to figure out how best to position myself. Not an easy task with his cock jutting right up in front of me in blatant invitation, and my breath coming in gasps. Finally I braced one foot on the floor and pushed the other between his waist and the seat.
He grasped my hips to guide me forward and down. I gripped the back of the passenger seat to steady myself and drew in a breath when he slid inside me. The confines of the car made him feel even bigger, which I wouldn’t have thought possible.
“You know…” I clutched the seat and braced my other hand on his abdomen. “I might not have agreed to this if I’d known I have to do all the work.”
“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t tell you.” He pushed his hips upward, jolting me with a thrust. “Though you don’t have to do all the work.”
“Oh… good.”
Still, it wasn’t exactly easy and fluid—not like when we did it in his bed. The moving was awkward, my legs strained from their uncomfortable position, and Dean banged his head against the window while responding to one of my more energetic bounces.
But being naked with him always felt good, and we were both straining and panting by the time an orgasm rolled through my body. I circled my hips and rubbed against him, quaking through his own release.
When we finally separated, I realized the windows were fogged to opacity and we’d sweated all over the leather seats.
“Awkward as that was, it was sort of… fun,” I admitted, hitching my bra straps back up my shoulders. I leaned over the seat to find my blouse, jeans, and panties. “I can see the appeal.”
Dean stroked his hand down my back.
“Me too,” he agreed, rubbing his palm in circles over my ass.
I glanced at him over my shoulder. “How often have you done this?”
“I don’t know.” He was gazing at my naked behind. “A few times.”
“Enough to know the best position.”
I must have sounded irritated because he stopped stroking me. I grabbed my panties and maneuvered around to get them on, then tried to turn my jeans right-side out.
“What’s going on?” Dean tugged his jeans over his hips. “You’re mad that I did this with a couple other girls?”
“No, I’m not mad.” I shook my head. “I’m not mad.”
“You look mad. You sound mad.”
“I’m annoyed. Not mad.”
“Why are you annoyed?”
My thoughts spun and whirled. I yanked my jeans straight and thrust my legs into them. I struggled to get the denim over my damp skin. My head bumped against the ceiling, which amplified my irritation.
“Liv.”
“Well, hell, Dean.” The realization hit me with a clarity I hadn’t expected. I flopped back against the seat, breathing hard. “Why is it you get to be my first for so many things and I’m, like, number twenty for you?”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. “I promise you, Liv. I have not had sex with twenty girls in the backseat of a car.”
“It’s not just the car.”
“I know.”
I shoved my arms into the sleeves of my blouse. My heart felt tight. I started to climb back over the console into the front seat, but Dean grabbed my hips and pulled me back so that I tumbled onto his lap.
I stiffened and tried to pull away. I wasn’t quite clear on all the reasons I was so irritated just then, but I did know one thing. I wanted to be everything to him. The way he was for me.
Dean tightened his arms around me from behind, preventing my escape. Not that I could have gone anywhere except the front seat or out onto the dark, deserted road where I had little doubt aliens and serial killers lurked.
“Hey.” Dean’s warm breath stirred my hair and brushed against my ear. “You think you’re one of many?”
“Based on what you’ve told me, I don’t see any evidence to the contrary.” I twisted around to look at him.
It had grown darker during our little rendezvous, but the moon was out and I could see the planes and angles of his face, the shape of his mouth, the heat of his eyes. His brown hair was tousled, and a bead of sweat still trickled from his temple.
Yeah, I got it. I understood why women wanted him. I knew it’d be unrealistic, not to mention downright stupid, to expect that a man of his appeal would reach the age of thirty-three without having had his share of willing women.
I got it. But I didn’t have to like it.
“You don’t think you’re the first for me?” he asked.
“I know I’m not.” I plucked at a loose thread on my blouse.
“Not sexually, no, but you’re the first in other ways.”
“I am?”
“You are.” He grasped the back of my neck and pulled me to him for a long kiss filled with affection and tenderness.
Then he took my hand and placed it on his chest. Beneath the cotton of his T-shirt, his heart beat rapidly against my palm.
“Feel that?” he asked. “You’re the first woman who’s ever made my heart beat like that. You’re the first woman I’ve ever wanted to spend all my time with, the only one who could convince me to start a new life. You’re the first woman who’s ever made me genuinely happy. Who makes me glad to be alive, who makes me burn hotter than fire. You’re the first woman who’s ever made me afraid.”
I stared at him. “Afraid?”