Page 39 of Infinite as They Come (Sinful Trilogy #3)

“Well, you keep…” Pressing my lips together, I kept that to myself. That he had been taking off, disappearing, being all secretive.

“Keep what?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe it’s the town, huh?” he asked. “You didn’t like it. Too small, not enough country clubs and fancy stores that rip you off. Guess you’re mad about that.”

My eyes rolled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Maybe you miss all those skyscrapers back in New York. Or that big ass house in Highland Park. Hm? Is that what you prefer?”

“You know I…” My whole body started to heat up as his hand travelled up my thigh some more. Just an inch, his fingertips featherlight as he touched me, but it had me letting out the most pathetic sounding mewl. It was a sound Sawyer picked up on in an instant.

“What was that?” he asked .

“What was what?”

“You’re making all those pretty noises. Do you need something?”

“No,” I lied.

“You only make those noises when you need something.”

“No, I don’t.”

“When you need to be fucked.”

And God, I let out another stupid little whine, my hands grabbing at his on instinct. I could have shoved him away, could have told him to leave me alone, but there was something in his voice drawing me to him. All deep, rough words and long fingers that were brushing up against me just right.

“Do you need to be fucked, princess?” he asked, voice low.

Too low. Too gravelly. That hand too close, fingers skirting along the edge of my panties for the quickest of seconds.

“Sawyer,” I finally managed to say, squirming in my seat.

“Yeah?”

“Stop teasing,” I said with gritted teeth.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

He hummed, eyes still on the road. One hand casually on the wheel, the other on the verge of being buried between my legs.

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about, Holly,” he said, sliding his hand up further.

More and more. Not stopping until he let a finger, just one, trace the faintest of lines against me.

I gasped while he hissed, that long, skilled finger pressing up against me some more. Firmer, harder, giving me just enough pressure, right there against my covered up clit.

“You may as well not wear any fucking panties if they’re like this,” he muttered. “You always got these flimsy little things on, don’t you? Probably cost a hundred fucking bucks and they barely cover you up.”

They cost two hundred dollars, but I didn’t want him to know that. My eyes fluttered shut, getting lost in that thick layer of arousal there in his words. All gruff and deep while his finger stayed right there up against me.

“And this is all for me, isn’t it?” he said. “For me to look at. For me to touch. Isn’t that right?”

I whined, feeling his long fingers push the lacey material of my panties to the side.

And then there was nothing in the way. Not a thing, just his finger pressed up against my bare clit, rubbing at me in the softest of circles.

My whines turned into soft moans, his finger still working at me while my hand landed on his, to that one buried between my thighs.

My nails scraped against him as I clung on to him, letting pleasure take over as he rubbed at that spot just right.

It felt too good. I hated it when I was mad at him and he still managed to make me feel so good. It was his best skill and he knew it.

“So fucking wet,” he said with a low grunt. “Wet and soft and perfect.”

He kept rubbing and I kept whining and the truck suddenly felt far too hot even with the AC blasting all that cold air at me.

Sawyer kept murmuring out the filthiest of words that he knew I loved a little too much: about how wet I was and how he needed to taste me and how he wanted to push my little dress up my thighs, and then it all became too much.

His finger still tight against me, I let out a cry I couldn’t hold back no matter how hard I tried.

I let go, not able to hold on for a second longer, all wet and sticky and aching between my thighs as Sawyer helped me ride out my high, his finger still rubbing, still circling, all while I grinded against his hand.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “There we go. You get so fucking wet for me when you’re mad at me, baby. Have you noticed?”

I was trembling, my breaths coming out all ragged.

When I finally got my breathing back on track and managed to open up my eyes, I saw just how empty the area we were in was.

Just a whole heap of grass and an old dirt road.

Alone. Just me and him. And then the next thing I knew, Sawyer was yanking off his seat belt, then mine, and then his hands were hauling me right into his lap.

I gasped, hands landing on his broad shoulders to steady myself.

Our eyes locked, his all green and dark with a hint of something behind them that I couldn’t quite read.

His hair as always was wonderfully messy: the strands all tussled, untamable, and then our lips slammed together, our tongues finding each other fast. My fingers tugged at his locks as he moaned, his own hands landing on my hips, pulling me in further so I was grinding against him.

“You feel that?” he asked against my lips.

It was impossible not to feel him. Hard. So hard. The fact had me pulling at his hair, a little too eager to feel more of him. “Feel what?” I asked.

He chuckled, his hands lowering to push up my dress, hiking it up higher and higher so that my lower half was on show. “You can’t feel how hard you’ve fucking got me?”

Biting at my lip, I shook my head. “Nope.”

I instantly missed the feeling of his hands on me as he lowered them, my eyes locked to his as the sound of his belt clinking and his zipper being pulled down met my ears.

“You feel this?” he asked.

I gasped, feeling the swollen tip of him brush up against my bare entrance, my panties still shoved to the side. Of course I could feel him. He knew that, I knew that, but it seemed like we were both in a bad mood, so I just shook my head. “Nope,” I said again.

“Hm,” was the only noise he made, still sliding his swollen tip against me. “Guess you don’t feel that either?”

Whining, I shut my eyes. “No.”

“What about this?”

He was pushing into me then. Slow, easy, but all in one go.

In just a few seconds, I was stuffed to the brim, and all I could feel was him.

So thick, so long, so perfect. That wonderful stretch, that sensation of being so full.

It had me whining as my head rolled back.

Sawyer’s hands reached up, yanking down the thin straps of my dress before he pulled off my bra.

“There we go,” he muttered, eyes flickering up between my breasts and my face. “Wanna see those perfect tits bounce while you sit there on my cock.”

“Do you have to be so vulgar when we do this?” I asked, nails scraping against his scalp. I didn’t mean it and Sawyer knew that too, but again, bad mood. “ Breasts . Say breasts.”

The crooked smile tugging at his lips confirmed that he knew I didn’t mean a damn word I was saying. “Tits,” he said .

“Breasts.”

“Tits.”

“Breasts.”

“Tits. Perfect fucking tits that look so good in my hands,” he said, eyes lowering to my chest. Reaching up with both hands, he cupped my breasts, pushing them together before he leaned in closer and softly bit down on one of my nipples.

“With the prettiest fucking nipples. Christ, fuck , look at you. So fucking perfect, and it’s all for me. ”

“Stop being so crude.”

He grinned. “You love it when I talk to you like this.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“ Do . You love that I don’t talk to you like those little prim and proper country club boys,” he said as he leaned into me more, lips ghosting along my neck. “You don’t want polite. You don’t want good manners and a fancy suit. Nah, you want this.”

He was right. He knew that he was right too.

That was one of my favorite parts about him: that he was the opposite to the type of guy that I was supposed to like.

That he was loud, rude, and had that filthy mouth that always made me blush.

I whined, legs shaking as he pumped in and out of me faster.

He wrapped his lips around a nipple as he pushed into me deep, that filthy sound of my slickness and skin hitting skin filling the truck.

“You love that I’m not scared to get my hands dirty like them,” he grumbled, hands grasping my hips tighter as he pushed into me deep.

“You don’t want some little boring trust fund brat who’s scared he’ll mess up his hair.

You don’t want that. You want this. You want me. You want me to ruin you, princess.”

It was everything in me not to just collapse against his chest as he took me.

It was his hands on my hips that were keeping me upright, my eyes struggling to stay open as I stared down at him.

But I could see him there in my blurred vision.

His eyes were that tiny bit narrowed, heavy with desire, darkness, hunger.

I cried out when he hit that sweet spot deep inside of me, that spot that had me clawing at his hair.

“You think any of them could touch you like this, honey?” he asked. “Hm? Think they’d know what to do with you? How to fuck you right?”

My head shook. No, no, no. I knew that they couldn’t. I knew no one but him could have me trembling in their lap, lips parted to let out cry after cry, my skin all flushed and that spot between my thighs so, so wet.

“You think some little spoiled brat who’s never had to work a day in his life could make you feel this good?” he asked, fingers pressing into my hips.

“Mm, n-no.” The words were a struggle to get out, that pleasure flowing through my body all fast and hot. “Just… Just you, Sawyer. Just you.”

“That’s right.” Then he cleared his throat for a second. “Hey, if you could move into a house tomorrow, how many bedrooms would you want in it?”

Brows pulling together, I gave my head a shake at the sudden shift in his tone. “What?”

“How many rooms?”

“What kind of question is that?”