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“Make me come!” I say automatically.

His palm slaps lightly on my pussy, enough to startle me and drive a massive spike of arousal through my senses. My clit pulses in response. “That's not how you say it. Try again, nicer this time.”

I'm panting, wriggling against the seatbelt. “Sorry, I'm sorry. Make me come, please. Pretty fucking please.”

“That's it, that's the way my good girl talks to me.” Jordan kisses my pussy, then takes my panties in his teeth. Holding my legs still on top of the headrest he pulls my underwear up, over my thighs, until they dangle from one ankle. The air massages my folds, and I feel everything thanks to how sensitive I am. Turned on isn't a strong enough word.

“Look at me,” he instructs. I do. His eyes are endless caverns; I can lose myself in them. But I'm already lost to the demands of my pussy. “Don't come, Birdie. Don't you dare.”

“What?” I ask in despair.

His grin makes my inner walls squeeze. Especially when he runs two fingers light as butterfly wings over my labia. “I said don't come. Let's see how long you last.”

“But I'm already so close,” I whine.

“That's what makes it fun.” He lowers to kiss my inner thigh. When he does his pants, tented by his massive hard-on, graze my cheek. My hand goes up, stroking him on impulse. Jordan starts to pull away, then reconsiders, leaning his weight into my palm with a small hiss. “You're something else … so obsessed with my cock.”

“Because you haven't let me have it yet.”

“And when I do, you think you'll be satisfied?”

Undoing the button of his pants, I swallow loudly. “No.”

He struggles to keep his smirk firmly in place. The way he's losing control is enticing. It's a thrill to watch Jordan Hartford unravel because of me. The zipper parts, each tooth clicking, until the swell of his cock pushes through the gap of his pants, straining the fabric of his black boxer-briefs.

I tasted him before,I think, peeling his underwear lower.I want more than that this time.The shiny tip of his cock-head pops into view. He smells wonderful, like the ocean elements that waft through the open windows.

Upside down, it's hard to lick his shaft. I settle for cupping his balls, nuzzling them. “Fuck,” he growls overhead. “Keep doing that. It's amazing.”

I'm happy to obey.

Closing my eyes, I circle his prick, jerking it in long strokes. Jordan pants heavily, the sound flooding my car. But then my whimper melds with his obscene noises because he's started circling a finger through my pussy.

“Remember,” he whispers huskily, “Do. Not. Come.”

“What if I can't help it?”

“Then I'll punish you.” He inches a single finger inside of me. “Spank your bratty ass because you couldn't control yourself—fuck, you love hearing that, hm? Your cunt is sucking my finger right in, strangling it. Oh, sweet bird, you're in trouble.” His finger sinks to the joint—my insides tighten, tingling with a swelling need to orgasm. “You're already on edge. Be a good girl for me and keep this desperate little pussy from coming everywhere.”

Each dirty word that falls from his lips is a stroke across my tender clit. I'm taut as an elastic band, ready to snap, my inner walls fluttering over his thick finger to draw it deeper. I want to come—need to come—and thinking is impossible with the blood rushing to my head.

“Keep jerking me off,” he says.

I squeeze my hand on his shaft. It's warm and nice and fat. I want to feel this inside of me, not his finger. Wriggling against the seatbelt, it's obvious I'm trapped. Jordan flattens his palm on my left thigh to hold me against the headrest. Patient as a saint he buries his finger all the way in, twists it, explores my soft wetness. It pops out—I gasp—and he sinks in two fingers this time. It's so much better I shudder with an explosion of pure sizzling heat.

“How much longer?” I sob.

“Until what?” he asks coyly.

“Until I can come!”

He makes a small humming sound, then releases my hip. I flare with hope that he's decided to finally let me finish or fuck me, but it's neither; he flicks the car-key, then turns on the radio. “After this song finishes,” he whispers. “Once it's done, you can finally come for me.”

I think it's Glass Animals, but my brain can't parse the lyrics. It's enough to focus between pumping my hand on Jordan's cock while struggling not to give in and orgasm from his expert fingering. The song dances on the fringes of my awareness, promising me salvation if I can last.

Colors flit through my eyes. I shut them, but the saturation remains. Music fills my ears … his fingers fill my cunt. Jordan rocks his knuckles, touching all the spots that made me climax the last time we were together like this.

Knowing how good it will feel makes holding back even harder.