As he speaks, he continues to stroke my leg. Only now his touches are going higher, skimming under my skirt above my knee. Grazing along my inner thigh.
The movements are casual, almost innocent. As if he’s not even aware that he is doing it. But I know that he is, of course. Jackson does nothing unintentionally. And right now, he is very slowly and very methodically teasing my senses. Getting me very wet, and very, very turned on.
“You think you hate not being in control?” he asks, without missing a beat. “Let me prove to you that you like it. Because when you’ve given it away, sweetheart, I know that you do.” His fingers are only inches from my panties, and I am tense with longing.
“Say it.” Though his voice is soft, his words are firm. Deliberate. And I know that he will not touch me until I concede. Or, rather, until I cede control to him. Until I submit to whatever sweet pleasure he intends for me.
“Yes.” My word is a whisper, and even as I speak, I shiver in anticipation.
“Good girl,” he says, and then he very gently strokes the edge of my panties between my thigh and my crotch before cruelly pulling his hand away.
I actually whimper.
“Oh, yes,” he says. “You like it.”
I feel my cheeks heat, but I can hardly deny the truth. Not when my body tingles with anticipation. Not when I know that right now I would do anything he asked of me if the prize was Jackson’s touch.
“Take off your panties.”
I lick my lips. “Why?”
His eyes flick to me. “Because I told you to,” he says, and I immediately melt, my cunt going wet and my nipples straining against my bra. Yes, I think. This is what I need. I want to lose myself. To abandon control. To let him take me as far as I can go, and then safely bring me home again.
I meet his eyes and nod. And then, because I’m both aroused and inspired, I whisper, “Yes, sir,” and am rewarded with his low, sensual growl of approval.
“Now,” he says, and I don’t hesitate. I reach under my skirt and wiggle out of my panties, then drop them on the floorboard.
“Good girl. Now take out my cock.”
I glance down and see his erection straining against jeans that are so tight now it must be painful.
“Jackson …”
“Hesitation?” I hear the tease in his voice. “Sounds to me like the lady wants to be punished.”
Frankly, the lady might enjoy that. But since the most keen punishment would be to not touch me at all, I shake my head.
“Then do as I said. Take out my cock, and then fuck me. Slide that sweet cunt onto my cock, and ride me.”
His raw words are like a sensual tease, and my body clenches in response, so sensitive now that even the brush of clothing over my skin seems like an erotic exploration.
I want this—oh, dear god, I just want to do as he says, losing myself in the knowledge that surrendering to his demands will make the pleasure that much sweeter.
But even so, I continue to hesitate. “We’re in the garage.”
“And no one’s around. And we’re in the backseat of a car with tinted windows.” He lifts a shoulder. “But you’re still in control, baby. You want to stop, we stop. Anytime, no questions asked.”
My mouth has gone suddenly dry, and I lick my lips.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, as if in response to my hesitation.
“You know I do.”
I can see on his face that my answer pleases him. “Then trust me to take you far and keep you safe.”
I swallow, but I nod. “I don’t want to stop.”
The corner of his mouth curves up. But all he says is “Then fuck me.”
I maneuver my position in the backseat so that I am straddling his legs, most of my weight at his knees. I lean forward and stroke his erection through his jeans, then revel in a surge of feminine satisfaction when he tilts his head back and moans with pleasure.