Page 98 of Wild Card

“Okay, your turn,” she breathes against my neck as her body stirs back to life. Her hands slide into my jacket and glide over my body.

I only hesitate for a moment. Then I’m all action. Coat gone. Shirt gone. Her hungry eyes devour me as the layers between us fall away.

We’re a tangle of limbs. She rips at my pants with a fervor I somehow didn’t expect from her. Before I know it, my jeans are pulled down, and she’s working on my boxers. One flex of my hips, and they’re tugged low enough that my cock springs free.

The way she looks at it and then licks her lips almost makes me finish on the spot. But she reaches forward and grips my thick length tightly. Her palm is soft and warm as she pumps me. Once. Twice.

My head falls back, and I groan. “Lose the fucking jeans, Gwen,” I bite out, trying to hang on to some shred of control.

“Or what?” she taunts, twisting her grip again and giving me her best bratty look.

“Or I’m going to blow all over your hand instead of in your tight little cunt.”

Her eyes widen, a shocked expression touching her features. But only for a beat because then she’s all business. With an eager nod, she pushes up off my lap in the snug space and starts working at her jeans. I reach forward, helping as my patience frays.

Having to wait another single minute feels like fucking torture.

Luckily, Gwen is agile—thank god for yoga—and peels her jeans off easily. All that’s left are her white lace panties.

She hooks a finger under the waist, ready to pull them off too, but I reach forward to stop her. “Leave ’em. I can’t wait. I’ll pull them to the side.”

Then I hook two fingers into the soaked gusset of the lace scrap and yank it out of my way. Now I can see her properly.

Curved hips tapering into her waist. Full, tear-dropped breasts heaving. Pussy on display. Puffy lips glistening with her cum.

“I am really regretting this small space because I want to see you from every angle, Gwen.”

“Then let’s do this thing so we can try again at home.” She takes my dick in her hand again, not tripping up at all over the mention ofhome.

She says it like it’s ours, not just mine. Like she considers it home too.

Soon, I stop thinking about that altogether because she pushes up higher onto her knees and guides me toward her, lining us up. Bare.

“We need to be safe.”

“Yeah, safe. We’re safe,” she breathes, eyes fastened on my cock. In seconds, she’s rubbing my head through her slick core, and my brain short-circuits. I’m too fucking far gone. So I give up on safe. Deep down, I know Gwen wouldn’t be anything but.

When she guides me inside her heat, I groan. “Fuck, Gwen. Fuck.”

I’m only in an inch, and it’s already too much. I don’t know how I’m going to hold it together through this.

Every time she eases down a bit farther, it’s the most delicious torture.

I watch her pussy spreading and stretching to take me, my heart thundering in my chest.

She cries out when she sinks all the way down, and my fingers dig into her waist—holding on for dear life as my head falls back against the leather seat with a heavy thud.

I can feel her all around me. Warm, pulsing, and so fucking tight. I drag my eyes open to see her, one hand propped on myshoulder and head tipped down, lust-hazed eyes watching us where we’re finally joined together.

I drive up into her, eliciting a sharp gasp. My cock comes out wet as I draw back. We both watch raptly, bodies merging and pulling away. Her legs are shaky from her last orgasm, but soon she’s riding me eagerly, squeezing my dick.

“Tight as fuck,” I grit out, moving my hips in tandem with hers. “I love you like this.”

“Like what?” she murmurs, entranced.

“All mine.”

Our eyes meet in the dim cockpit. “I am.”