“God, Becca. You don’t know—what you’re doing to me. How good that feels. You should stop before I—”
I shook my head, the only response I could make. I wasn’t going to stop. We’d gone too far to stop now. I wanted to see what would happen, and I wanted to make him feel good, as good as I’d felt when he kissed my br**sts.
He lunged over me, grabbed a T-shirt that had been abandoned on the floor of the truck, a sweat-stained sleeveless black shirt. He shoved it between himself and my skin, my dress, and then groaned deep in his chest as I slowly plunged my fist around him. He jerked in my grip, shoved his hips up toward my hand. I slid my palm up his length, up around the top part of him.
“Oh…shit…” he breathed.
And then I felt him jerk, tremble, and spasm. Something hot and wet spilled over my fingers and onto the shirt, and I slid my hand around him, and his body clenched again, and another stream of white liquid left him. It was amazing to watch. His whole body reacted, and a look of utter ecstasy crossed his face as he moved into my touch, slick and wet now.
“Oh.” I heard the wonder in my voice. “That is messy.”
He laughed, his eyes closed and his face buried against the slope of my breast. “I told you. I’m sorry, I didn’t get it on your dress, did I?”
“Why are you sorry? I liked watching that happen. And no, I don’t think you did. It’s all over your shirt, though.”
He breathed, and his breath was hot against my skin. I ached somehow. Deep inside me, I felt a need I couldn’t express and didn’t understand. I’d touched myself down there, of course, but hadn’t ever really felt anything earthshaking like I’d heard the girls at school talking about.
He took the shirt, turned it inside out to wrap up the mess, then wiped himself and my fingers. He lifted up on his elbow, and his hand grazed along the elastic of my panties. I met his eyes and breathed out a long breath, as still now as he’d been. His eyes roamed over my br**sts as he slid his fingers under the leg-band, and fire shot through me in anticipation as he moved over my skin and the soft patch of curls. I was embarrassed all over again. Would he mind the curls there? Should I—
All thoughts left me when his finger traced my opening. It was an awkward angle, and he slid his hand out. I nearly whimpered at the loss of his touch. It felt so good, just that little bit of contact. I wanted more. He slipped his fingers over my belly and under the waistband, and I lifted my hips into his touch. Oh, god. My underpants were stretched tight around his hand, tugging uncomfortably in certain places. I pushed at them, rolling them down my body, and Jason seemed to get the idea, helping me push them down and away. When they were near my knees, I had enough movement to spread my legs wider, feeling naughty for doing so, for wanting more of his touch on me…in me.
“Oh…god…” I could barely breathe when he touched me, feeling shivery and hot all over, but yet pulled taut and stretched like a wire about to snap. And he’d only brushed his finger down me. I arched my back and spread my knees, stretching my underwear and not caring. His fingers touched me, brushed, stroked, and I couldn’t even get enough air to gasp in surprise at how sensitive I was. It hadn’t felt this way when I touched myself. Something inside me felt huge and full of pressure, like a balloon about to pop.
The tip of one his fingers moved inward, and I actually moaned out loud, louder than when he’d touched my breast. He slid up a little, and I forced my eyes open, watching his finger white against my dusky skin as he touched me. It was his middle finger, long and delving farther in. Then he found the hard, sensitive nub of skin near the top of my privates—I was too embarrassed even mentally to think of sexual terms explicitly. I wasn’t sure if he knew it was there and how sensitive it was, or if he figured it out by my sharply indrawn breath and the sudden shift of my hips into his touch, but he focused his touch there.
He rubbed it, and I began to move with his touch. His finger brushed and moved, and then swiped a little too hard, and I gasped. “Not so rough,” I whispered.
“Sorry,” he said, and started to withdraw his hand.
“No, don’t stop,” I said. “Just…be gentle.”
He feathered his finger against the nub, and I gasped, moaned, and moved again. I sounded like a woman to my own ears. Like Sookie in True Blood when she was with Eric. A word from some book I read floated through my mind: wanton. I sounded wanton, dirty. I giggled at the thought, but the laughter evaporated when he moved his finger in a tight circle and all I could do was moan again. His movements were slow and slightly clumsy, but I didn’t care. A little rough, but that was fine. The balloon inside me was burgeoning, stretched to a fullness that couldn’t be contained.
“Kiss me,” I whispered. He moved his mouth toward my lips, and I grinned, laughing breathlessly. “Not…there.” I pushed his head toward my breast. “Kiss me there again.”
He complied willingly, and I felt that tugging inside me, like there was a string connecting my br**sts to my core, and his moving mouth and licking tongue and tugging lips were pulling at the string, unravelling something inside me. He was moving slowly, consistently, and I needed more.
“Faster.” I barely heard myself, and I don’t think he did at all. I said it louder, bolder. “Faster. P-please.”
His finger sped up, and I gasped, heard a whimper escape from my throat, and I felt my spine arch off the seat, heat flushing my body, sweat beading on my skin, my heart hammering. I couldn’t stop another moan from getting past my lips, and then faster wasn’t enough, more wasn’t enough, and I was thoughtlessly moving against his touch, gyrating hopelessly, lost in the moment.
Heat, pressure, lightning, motion, expansion… I didn’t have the right words for what swept through me. All thoughts stopped, and I was arched almost completely off the seat, trying to get closer, more, more, and I didn’t care how I sounded or how I looked or anything. There was no room for anything but the bomb going off inside me, like a star going nova low in my belly.
I think I might have made a really loud noise, and then I was limp and breathless, staring up at Jason, his vivid green eyes piercing me hot and sensual.
“God…that was…am-mmm-m-amazing,” I stammered, smiling up at him.
“Now you know what you did to me.”
I glanced at the clock on the dash.
1:48 a.m.
“Shit, you have to take me home,” I said, sitting up shakily, my every muscle still trembling.