Reaching down, I shove her panties toward her shins, and she wriggles her legs so that they slide off, ditching her heels in the process. Then, with one motion, I lift her, turn her, so that she’s straddling me.
She kisses me with such heat that it’s a genuine surprise the car doesn’t burst into flames. Fuck, I love this—the way she uses her entire body to pin me back against the seat, the way she presses her weight against me, driving her hips into my pelvis.
Quinn pulls back, then leans in again to catch my earlobe between her teeth. I can’t stop the groan that escapes my mouth. How does she know to do that? It doesn’t matter. I want her to keep going, and then I want to fuck her until…
Dragging her mouth down my jawline, she leaves a hot, wet trail down the side of my neck, then shifts her weight backward as she reaches for my belt. Her face is focused, eyes heavy and glittering with lust, pupils dilated, and she dispatches the belt with the same dogged efficiency that she uses in the office. My zipper is next, and then I lift my hips toward her so she can tug my pants down around my thighs.
I catch her hands in midair as she reaches for me, and with my fingers curled around each of her wrists, I spread her arms wide, leaning in.
She’s wearing a pale pink button-down top with her now-rumpled pencil skirt, and I take the topmost button between my teeth and give it a sharp jerk. She cries out a little when it pops off, but fuck if I’m going to apologize for destroying one top in the name of pleasure. Two buttons, three, and her lacy bra is exposed, her breath causing her breasts to rise into my face, the smooth skin against my close-shaven jawline.
Quinn looks straight into my eyes, and her mouth curves into a smile so carnal-laced that my cock starts throbbing again. Then she jerks both of her wrists, freeing them from my hands. Not another second passes before her mouth is on mine and she’s lined up her pussy over my cock and fuck, fuck, thrust herself downward, taking all of me inside her hot channel in one swift movement.
She fucks me furiously, relentlessly, a delicate sheen of sweat rising at her hairline as she works herself up and down over me, taking me in so deeply I bottom out, making contact with her ridged barrier over and over.
It’s like she can’t stop herself, and in thirty seconds I’m nearing the edge. She digs her fingers into my shoulders and slams into me, slams, slams, harder, harder, her pussy clenching around me in rhythmic spasms. At the moment of climax, she kisses me, lips parted, moaning into my mouth, and I swallow her pleasure, letting it push me right up to the edge, so close to it that I can’t stop myself…
At the very last possible moment Quinn thrusts herself off of me and backward and sinks down to her knees on the floor of the Town Car, taking me into her mouth, sucking in just as I explode, my hips jerking back and forth. She takes it all.
When I’m finished, she looks up at me, her expression satisfied, and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. Then she clambers back onto the seat next to me and tucks her legs under her. I gather her under my arm, and she rests her head against my heaving chest.
“Fuck,” she whispers softly, and I have no words to respond, my mind has been so thoroughly blown by my girlfriend.
My girlfriend.
That’s what she is now, even though we haven’t said it out loud.
I take a deep breath and kiss her temple.
As soon as we get to my place in the Hamptons—and as soon as I can catch my breath—it’s time to start letting her in.
Chapter 29
Quinn
Once we’ve both recovered from our backseat escapade—I pull an emergency tank top out of my purse, then insist on some belated seatbelt safety—Christian starts telling me about where he’s taking me.
“In case you haven’t guessed, we’re going to the Hamptons.”
“The Hamptons,” I repeat, tasting the richness of the word in my mouth.
Christian leans forward and opens a compartment tucked under the front seat to reveal a cooler full of ice. Nestled in the center is a bottle of champagne. From somewhere else he produces a corkscrew and opens the bottle. Two champagne glasses emerge from a second compartment located under the passenger seat. While he pours out the liquid bubbly, his hand not wavering at all despite the movement of the car, he continues.
“My father originally bought the cottage as a family vacation home, and growing up we spent the summers there. Some weekends in the fall, too. My mother—” He swallows thickly and keeps his gaze focused on the champagne glasses as he passes one over to me. “My mother loved it there. After they divorced, he wanted to sell it, but I convinced him to hold on to the property. I bought it from him when I got full access to my trust fund. That was the best thing about turning twenty-five.”
“The best thing? Not the incredible party I’m sure you had?”