Bedwrecker(57)

“You know what happened after you left New York? It wasn’t about you, right?”

I nod.

“So will you forgive me for shutting you out after New Year’s?”

I give him a soft smile. “Yes, I think I do. I think I did yesterday. Keen, I get it. I don’t like it, but I do get it. My life has had its fair share of swings, but promise me, whatever happens in the future, you’ll talk to me.”

“I promise.”

I run my fingertips up and down his chest.

“So where do these confessions leave us?” he asks.

I look at him. “I don’t know.”

He laughs deep from his throat. His damp hair clings to the sides of his cheeks and on impulse, I reach to smooth away one sleek piece. He turns his face to push his mouth against my hand. “Come here, my little bedwrecker.”

I don’t know how it happens, but I’m on his lap before I can even think about it—straddling him with his face in my hands and his hungry mouth devouring mine. I taste coffee and rain and feel his wet hair on the backs of my hands.

My skirt rides up even farther as his hands slide up my thighs. His skin is like a furnace, burning with such fury that I expect to see steam.

Keen’s hands cup my ass, pulling me closer. “I want to take you out on a date tonight.”

My pussy grinds against his belt buckle, the cold metal penetrating through the lace of my panties. “A date, as in picking me up and taking me to a nice restaurant and then a good night kiss at the door?” I giggle around his hot kisses.

Keen reaches to nudge open the buttons of my blouse and pushes his face against my skin. “I’m pretty sure that’s what a date is.”

My nipples rise in taut peaks through the lace of my bra. “Yes, I accept your offer, but let’s be clear. A date means a date, and nothing else.”

Funny thing to say with his hands all over me, I know, but he requested it, not me. “Yes, a date does mean a date.”

“Just checking. Oh, and I think you should know, I’m not like most girls.”

His tongue licks at my nipple. “Oh yeah, in what way?”

I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out. “I don’t drink fruity drinks, I can do a shooter ten times over, and I know what a combo is.”

Keen leans his head back. “Do I even want to know what all that means?”

“Listen to the song I was playing earlier, then you’ll get it.”

“Later,” he murmurs.

Tilting my head back, I say, “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, licking around my nipple.

“Oh, God,” I moan, distracted.

“You were saying?”

“If the date is later, then what is this?”

His lips tighten on one nipple, the heat of his mouth a sharp contrast to the chill of his wet skin. “This is me needing to be inside you.”

“Oh God,” I moan again, and just as I reach for his belt buckle the sound of a siren and the hint of flashing lights startles me, so much so that I hit my head on the soft top of his roof. “Crap.”

“Your shirt,” Keen bites out.

Scrambling to button my blouse, I ignore the fact that I hit my head.

Fortunately, our heated make-out session steamed up the windows enough that even if the rain weren’t shielding us, the fogged glass will.

I look down into Keen’s face as he looks up into mine.

Even another blast of the siren warning us of the officer’s approach doesn’t change what I see.

Hunger.

Desire.

A need so great, I pray I can fill it.

I lick my lips and taste him.

I feel him, too, between my legs.

He licks his lips and I’m certain he can taste the remnants of my kiss.

“I need to get into my seat,” I whisper.

He nods, yet doesn’t urge me off him. Instead his hands caress my ass. Pushing me forward again. This time his belt buckle has warmed against me, and under me I can feel the bulge of his erection.

A moan escapes from my throat at the memory of how good it feels when he’s inside me.

He pushes a piece of hair from my face, and when he does his back arches and his mouth parts for a kiss, but instead of giving me one, he sits back. “Someone’s coming—you need to move back into your seat.”

In record time I manage to do so. My skirt is twisted, my blouse disheveled, and my hair a mess, and I honestly don’t care.

The knock on Keen’s window forces him to open it. An older officer peers in at us. “Everything okay here?”

“Yes. Sorry, Officer,” he says. “I got a flat and I just finished changing it.”

“In this weather? You’re crazy, son.”

The rain is hitting Keen’s face. “It was me or someone else, so I figured I might as well take care of it myself.”