Page 140 of Terror Tuesday

She giggles. Breathless. Dangerous. Going faster now and more rhythmic. Her thumb swirls over the tip, spreading precum in slow, torturous circles.

With a growl, I press my feet to the floorboard and lift off the seat, angling my firm length at her face. I squeeze the steering wheel tighter, knuckles pale, heart pounding. I can barely focus on the road. Barely breathe.

“You’re going to make me come in my pants.”

Then, she frees me. Slides me out fully, her fist gliding along my shaft with wet, deliberate strokes. “I can fix that…”

I choke back a groan, forcing myself to keep my focus sharp as she leans over, her mouth enveloping me. Pleasure surges, white-hot and intense, every swirl of her tongue tightens my grip on the wheel. Her head moves rhythmically, matching the speed of my driving, her wet mouth sending waves of dangerous ecstasy through me.

One hand steadying us on the road, the other tangled in her hair, I push her down on my dick until she gags. My thigh trembles as I ease the pedal closer to the floor, breath caught in my chest, head pressed back against the seat.

I let her up—just for a second—just long enough to steady my nerves as we tear toward the last street out of town.

“Baby…” When I swing inside one curve, I think I may lose my footing. “Is your plan to make us crash?”

She doesn’t let up, though, and the moans that erupt from her throat only make my toes tingle.

Part of me can relax when the enforcer’s lights vanish completely in the rearview as we hit open countryside, our escape finally secure.

As soon as we enter the driveway to our place, I slow the McLaren, gravel crunching beneath the tires until we skid to a halt outside the ancient doors.

Olivia lifts her head, lips swollen, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Did I distract you?” she teases.

A desperate moan escapes my chest. Barely taking time to tuck myself back into my pants, I rush from the car.Pulling open her door, I lift her and her puffy dress effortlessly into my arms. She giggles, arms wrapping around my neck.

“No more distractions,” I promise darkly, carrying her swiftly to the hood. Her breath catches as I lay her down on her back, tugging her skirts roughly up to her hips.

“God, yes,” she whispers, spreading her thighs eagerly for me beneath the open night sky.

Positioning myself between her legs, I shove her panties aside and drive into her with one powerful stroke. Olivia cries out, her body arching until she’s practically sitting on the liquid metal hood. I grip her waist tight, every thrust of my cock deep and demanding, staking my irrevocable claim.

“I’ll never let them take you from me,” I growl fiercely, punctuating each word with brutal, passionate thrusts.

“Nor you from me.” Her voice trembles, eyes locked on mine. “I love you, V.”

“I love you, my Monarch.”

I lean over her, pressing my lips hard to hers as our bodies collide, the rush of escape and victory fueling our desperate, heated union. We’re alive and in love. Olivia’s nails rake down my back, my tuxedo coat flaring out at the sides. Her pussy clenches tight around me, dragging me relentlessly toward release.

As she shatters beneath me, I spill deep inside her, our moans blending beneath the stars, the manor looming protectively around us.

Breathless and trembling, Olivia smiles up at me, utterly ravished and beautifully flushed. “Never letting you go,” she whispers.

I brush damp hair from her forehead, my heart finally calming, certain of one undeniable truth. “Good. Because I don’t exist without you.”

When she shivers, I shrug off my coat and toss it over her arms, then readjust my situation. She shimmies off the hood, and I lead her into the house. At least now there are some heated rooms. And the fireplaces work well.

With my hands on her shoulders, I guide her to the makeshift kitchen. There’s a working fridge near the woodstove. And a rudimentary sink sitting on top of a cabinet.

“I need something…” she says, but I’m already grabbing a wine bottle, opening it, and pouring it into tin camping cups for both of us. She lights the candelabra in the center of the rickety wooden table and fluffs her skirt over the bench before perching there as I pass her a drink.

Our eyes meet over the flickering flame as she pulls my coat tighter around her. I take a sip of the cabernet and try to gather some thoughts in my blissed-out brain.

“What happened?” she asks.

“The bartender…Could he be the cloaked man?”

Her dark eyebrows furrow. “The one who was following you?”