Turning his head to me, he said very quietly, “It sounds like you might be playing with fire, Miss Mills.”
Heat slid down my torso and up my thighs, meeting at the juncture between my legs as I realized he was intentionally provoking me. No matter how calm he looked, he was just as worked up as I’d been. I shifted in my seat, hissing, “Controlling ass.”
“Temperamental bitch.”
I leaned in, punctuating each word with a jab of my index fingertip to his chest. “You. Imperious. Overbearing. Tyrannical. Prick.”
My back hit the floor of the limo hard enough for my breath to escape in a gust, and Bennett’s weight was on me fully, his cock pressing into the neglected space between my legs. Shoving my skirt up my hips, he rocked up against me hard, his mouth covering mine and forcing my lips apart so he could run his tongue inside and across my teeth. I felt more than heard his groan, the sound vibrating along my tongue and down my throat; my mouth, my hands, my * felt the emptiness acutely. I wanted him everywhere.
I arched into him, pulling his hair so hard he grunted in pain and with one hand grabbed my wrist, pinning my arm above my head, while reaching between us with the other.
It took two vicious tugs for him to tear my panties off—after all, why wear the skimpy, flimsy ones when I didn’t expect him to touch me in southern regions anyway?—and then he was pulling down his fly, freeing his cock, and positioning himself against me.
“Please,” I begged, struggling a little for him to release my hand just so I could put both of my hands on his ass and drive the sex from below.
“Please fuck you?” he asked, sucking at my jaw, my neck. “Please make you come?”
“Yes.”
His lips moved over my neck, sucking, tasting. “You don’t deserve it right now. I just want to . . .” He looked down at me, nostrils flaring. “I want to—”
“And the couple of the evening has arrived!” I heard a muffled voice say out of nowhere.
We didn’t even know we’d been stopped at the curb until the door to the limo flew open and Max stood, smiling down at us before his face fell in horror and he slammed the door shut again. Outside on the curb, I heard him proclaim, “Looks like the happy couple just need a moment to finish a conversation!”
Bennett scrambled off me, shoving himself back into his pants, tucking in his shirt and glaring at me. I sat up, pushing my skirt back down and grabbing the shredded tatters of my underwear.
With a pissed-off growl, I threw them at him. “Seriously Bennett? Can’t you keep the fetish in check for one fucking night?”
He shook his head, retrieving them from where they’d landed on the seat before tucking them into the inside pocket of his jacket.
I took a minute to check my hair and makeup in my compact mirror while Bennett bent over, elbows on his knees, and tugged at his hair. “Fuck!” he shouted.
“It’s your stupid fucking rule.”
“It’s a good rule.”
“I thought so, too,” I grumbled. “Now I’m not so sure. You’ve reduced us both to cavemen.”
Almost in unison, we took several deep, measured breaths. I leaned to the door, looking back at Bennett with my fingers poised on the handle. “Ready?” I asked.
He let go of his hair and turned to look at me. He studied my hair, my face. He let his eyes drop to my breasts, my legs, before moving back to meet my eyes.
“Almost.” He slid closer, framed my face in his hands before covering my mouth with his. He pulled my lower lip into his mouth, sucking. Never closing his eyes, he looked straight at me, gaze turning from hard and cold to warm, adoring. Releasing my lip, he repeated, “Almost,” and then kissed down my chin, my neck, and back up to give me one more, lingering kiss on the mouth.
He was apologizing for being an ass. My apology was letting him do it.