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“No, no... don’t... that....”

Can you guess what happens next?

He loses his balance and collapses against me and nails his forehead on the shifter. “Son of a bitch!” he yells, grabbing his forehead.

“Told you,” I sigh, staring up at the ceiling. This isn’t exactly how I anticipated car sex.

Growling, he steadies his hands on the armrests. “No more talking unless it’s screaming out my name.”

His eyes burn into me down the center of my body, between my breasts. His pace quickens, and it’s exactly what I need to come. It helps that he pinches my clit again, the sure movements of his thumb and fingertips the exact combination I need.

He groans into my ear, and I can tell he’s close by the way he races toward his own release. I feel him shivering and pulsing inside of me, his back arching at the force as he chants my name. Our cries of pleasure fill the minivan.

It takes a while to be able to move again and figure out what body part can move in what direction without pulling a muscle or dislocating something. Or worse, end in stitches.

Ridge falls back against the folded down seats only to have Whiskers rub up against him. And I hate to point this out, but I think Whiskers might be batting for the same team when he starts to make his way toward Ridge’s cock.

Ridge must sense it and covers himself, his hands cupping his junk. “What’s with all the cats?”

I shrug, unwilling to share my compulsion to bring in stray animals.

As Ridge rubs his forehead, we hear, “Excuse me, sir?”

Oh, goddamn it. You remember Frank, right?

Guess who’s still on the phone when we’re finished?

Our buddy Frank. “Dude,” he draws out. “You’re my hero.”

Ridge rolls his eyes at me, reaching for his shirt and pushing Whiskers out of the van. “I’m gonna have to break up with Frank.”