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“Take it all.”
He did what he’d promised. Fucked me harder than I thought possible,
pushing against my clit with his body, demanding I take all of him and
nothing less. He used his cock with cruel efficiency, and I gasped with
every thrust, pushed closer and closer to the brink each time.
“Come on my cock,” he snarled in my ear.
“Yes.” One word. A single affirmation was all I had.
“Let me feel it.”
“Yes. Logan.”
“Give it.”
Shoving hard into me, he buried himself, pressing against my pleasure
center for the one, last bit of stimulation I needed; pitching me into a void
of disembodied, physical ecstasy. My scream bounced against the high
ceilings and concrete walls, mixing with his hard grunts as his dick pulsed
with release.
We panted together without speaking. The cold metal of the hood was
hard on my skin, and my balance had been kept by no more than the pinion
of his dick, and all I could think about was how much I wanted him again.
“That meant nothing,” he said when he caught half a breath.
“Right.”
We were just a married couple with a story about being in love. None of
it was real, permanent, or outside the parameters of a contract.
“Wait,” I said.
He straightened on his arms to look at me. “What?”
“What kind of car is this?”
“This? The one I just fucked you on?”
“Yes.” I knocked on the hood.
He craned his neck to confirm. “Ferrari 488 GTB.”
“We have to change our story.”
He seemed to think I’d lost my mind. For such a smart guy, he could be
pretty thick.
“The first time we fucked story?” I added. “The Maserati?”
He laughed. “Right. Good call. I’ll have to buy a Ferrari.” As he started
to get off me, he leaned in for a kiss, then stopped himself. “Right.”
He got off the car and offered his hand to help me up. I didn’t need it. I
stood on my own, letting my dress drape around my knees and my
underwear loop around my left ankle.