We’re lucky tonight—when we pull in, there are only two other cars present, and my guess is that they’re empty. The reason people come up is for the view, and the view from the overlook is a hot spot for photo ops; I never pass up a chance to bring my parents here when they visit.
I find a spot, cut the engine.
Unbuckle and turn to face him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
I nod in the dark.
It’s pitch black up here, save for one poor excuse for a flood light. This is not a place I’d want to be alone with someone I just met, and probably shouldn’t be here with a guy I’m just getting to know.
But my instincts are screaming that Rhett’s one of the good guys.
“Have you ever lost a match?”
I hear him shrug in the dark. “Sure.”
“Like, how many?”
His soft chuckle comes out of the dark, warming my insides like warm, gooey caramel. Mmm.
I poke his bicep with the tip of my finger, teasing. “Come on, tell me. You obviously know the exact number, don’t be modest.”
“Five.”
“Five this year?” When did their season start, and how long does it last? “That’s not…terrible.” Is it?
“No, five since I was a freshman.”
“Five?” Holy shit, that’s it?
“Yeah, that’s it.”
My face turns red, and I’m grateful for the dark. “I said that out loud?”
“Yeah, you said that out loud.”
“Jesus, Rhett, that’s…I mean, I know nothing about wrestling but I know a little about stats, and that…wow. Five.”
“Thanks.”
There’s a console in the center of the front seats, separating us by about ten inches, and his big hand is rested on top of it. I can see it even in the dark, his skin illuminated just enough.
“The more I learn about you, the more I like you.”
I lay my hand on the console next to his, breathlessly waiting to see if he’ll take it.
It takes several heartbeats, but he does, sliding his rough palm over my knuckles. Stroking the silky skin I meticulously maintain with expensive lotions and sea salt scrubs.
The callused pads of his fingers against my smooth skin are a delightful contrast, reminding me of how different we are, how strong and virile and hardworking Rhett is.
Our fingers entwine.
“This is nice.”
“It is.” His gravelly voice is a low murmur, barely above a whisper. “I needed this.”
“Honestly?” I give his hand a squeeze. “Me too.”
We study each other in the dark, hands clasped. Lean in at the same time, separated only by the console, lips meeting under the dull flicker of light. My eyes flutter closed when his mouth presses against mine and I sigh, accepting each and every kiss.
Blissfully, I sigh again, loud and long into his mouth when his tongue touches mine. Stroking.
He’s a damn good kisser.
I hum. “Mmm.”
His long fingers bury themselves in my hair, pulling me closer, grasping the back of my neck. Our lips suction together, needy.
I’ve never been this hot for anyone before; my body is on fire, a blazing inferno. Ignited, I want to touch him, not just kiss him.
“Mon Dieu tu sens merveilleuse,” he croaks out, fingers still buried in my hair. “You feel good.”
Crap. I am so screwed with this guy.
“Back seat, Rhett, back seat.” I pry my lips off him, instantly mourning the connection. “Back seat, now.”
I hit the unlock button on the door and we unbuckle our seatbelts, frantically scrambling out our doors and into the back. Rhett folds inside, parking himself center on the seat. Legs spread, I immediately climb on top, straddling him, craving the connection.
Flick the hat off his head.
My fingers plow through his shaggy locks, lips graze the column of his throat. Jawline. Temple.
I lean into him, breasts squished against that solid wall of a chest, rubbing over him like a cat against a scratching post. I groan when his mouth finds my lips, his hands skimming up and down my backside. Palms grabbing hold of my ass and squeezing.
My palms find his biceps, caressing. Run up and down his arms, across his shoulders, exploring. He’s so warm and firm and strong. Ridiculously strong.
I marvel at his body, wishing there was more light, wanting to see the expression on his face when I kiss the bump on the bridge of his nose. The scar on his eyebrow.
He reads my mind.
One of those brawny arms rises, swiping at the light switch in the ceiling. When it goes on, he leans back to study me. I return the favor, learning the contours of his face, just looking, my gaze tracing the arch of his brow. Cheekbones. The lines in his forehead.
He really is pretty darn cute.
I lean in to kiss him again, sweet, passionate open-mouth kisses that light a fire inside my soul—inside my panties—and fog up the windows. I arch so he can see my face.
A tentative finger traces along my jaw, down my neck, down the center of my sternum. I suck in a ragged breath when that finger hits my belly button, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. Taking his hands in mine, I guide them to my waist, under my shirt. Break any invisible boundaries he may have created in his mind, needing to feel his hands on my bare skin.
They skim up my ribcage, slowly, gliding their way to the tender undersides of my breasts.
Feather light, driving me insane.
I sink deeper onto his lap, lining up my pussy with his stiff cock, rotating my hips like a stripper in a nightclub giving a lap dance, head rolling back as his tip finds that sweet spot down below.
His pants are mesh polyester, thin.
My leggings are cotton, thinner.
Our guttural, simultaneous moans fill the cab of my car.
Rhett grips my hips, working me back and forth over his erection; I can feel everything through the threadbare fabric of my pants. Underwear. His pants.
My hands grapple at his waist. Haul his gray compression shirt up and over his head. He gives his hair a shake as I toss the shirt to the side. My hands—my lucky hands—roam his upper torso, greedy for his warm skin.
“Your body is insane. Unbelievable.” I could eat him up.
Rhett’s head sags against the seat when my mouth sucks on the space where his shoulder and neck meet, my tongue gliding. His flesh is smooth. Tight.
Hot.
So hot.
I circle his dusky nipple with the tip of my finger. Pluck it just to hear him gasp.
His paws are back on my body, skimming the sensitive skin near the waistband of my pants. He strokes my flesh but holds back, gripping my ribcage but not touching my boobs.
I bit my lip, debating.
Watch his face as he momentarily closes his eyes, lips parting, lost in the sensation of the gyrating motions in his lap. Over his erection.
Unable to stand it, I grip the hem of my Iowa t-shirt, pulling it off so I’m on his lap in nothing but a wireless bra.
I know what he sees, what my body looks like—he’s not the only one who works out, and my breasts are pretty damn fantastic.
“Shit,” he mutters at the sight of me, gripping my hips tighter.
“Like what you see?”
He swallows, hips rocking beneath me. “Yeah.”
Then look your fill, Rhett Rabideaux.
Rhett
I don’t know where to put my hands after Laurel peels her shirt off and tosses it aside, but I sure as shit know where to look.
I can’t not stare; it’s impossible. Laurel’s perky tits are right fucking there, in my face, an erotic wet dream come to life.
She trails her fingertips along the straps of her lacy, see-through bra, up and down and back again, slowly tracing the edges near her nipples. Wiggles her ass on my lap.
Leans forward, long red hair brushing my chest.
My nerves are going fucking haywire, exploding, every touch shooting off a sensitive spark. My chest, her hair, skin, thighs.
My cock is ready to detonate.
I’m so fucking hard it’s like I can feel the blood draining from my brain and rushing to my throbbing dick.
At the sensation of her fantastic boobs rubbing against my pecs, back and forth and up and down, I swear I almost jizz my fucking pants.
“Touch me,” she whispers near my ear, licking the outer shell. Guides my hands back up her bare torso.