Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,67

into my hair, fisted against my scalp. The other is loosely gripped on my shoulder, daring me to pull away. Joke’s on him though. A raging bull couldn’t pull me from his mouth and this kiss.

I balance myself with one arm on the center console. My other one pulls at his hair. We’re at it like starving creatures whose mouths are food. I was wrong. This is not a proper kiss. It’s a fucking dynamite, earth-shattering kiss.

He jerks back. “Are you in pain?” He sounds completely robbed of breath.

“No,” I blurt, then pull him back to my mouth. He continues the desperate rhythm for what feels like minutes, then pushes me away.

“Good. Because I need you on my lap. Now.” He reaches under his seat and slides it back all the way.

“Fine,” I snap, as if he just inconvenienced me with a request to take out the trash. It’s an understandable request, and now that I think about it, I would most definitely love to plant myself on top of his thighs. But that means fewer seconds to kiss, and I can’t say I support that.

Nevertheless, I maneuver myself awkwardly on top of him. I’m all elbows and knees for several seconds until I’m straddling him. He chuckles at what I imagine is an amusing scene.

“Quiet,” I scold, but smile at him immediately after. It’s a cramped fit, but it’ll have to do.

He guides me back to his mouth with a hand at the back of my neck. The tip of his tongue teases the tip of mine. This time it’s slower, deeper, more controlled. He’s showing me what he likes, what rhythm he wants me to mimic. I’m more than happy to follow his lead.

Now that I’m firmly on top of him, he lets his hands wander. First my neck, then my shoulders. He fingers both straps of my bra for a beat, then slides his thumbs under each one. I open my eyes to peek at him. His eyes are covered in a hypnotic film. I reckon he’s equal parts aroused, fascinated, and comatose.

One of my legs starts to fall asleep, and I shift in his lap slightly. I feel an unmistakable hardness underneath me and smile against his mouth.

“Enjoying yourself, then?” I ask. His hands wander up and down my back.

He laughs in the middle of our kiss. “Hell, yes.”

I nibble at his bottom lip, and he groans. One more nibble, and he groans again, this time louder. The guttural sounds coming from his throat are like catnip, and I’m the greedy feline who can’t get enough.

Soon I feel his grip on my ass. It’s a long, gratuitous squeeze with both hands. He throws his head back, bumping his headrest. He gazes at me with cloudy eyes.

“Your little shorts. Your tank top. Fucking hell, Emmie,” he says between desperate breaths.

“You like my outfit?” I trace my fingers down his throat while he’s leaned back, then bite lightly at his neck. A sound somewhere between a deep yelp and the word “fuck” slips out of his mouth. I bite again, this time harder.

He growls, leans up, then smiles. “Fuck, I love it when you’re rough.”

“Seriously?”

“Fuck, yes. I go crazy for you when you’re hard with me, when you’re a boss at work, laying down the law.”

I press a light kiss to his lips.

“I like your soft side too,” he rasps. “Every bit of you. I can’t get enough.”

His words would be an epiphany if I weren’t so turned on. My boss persona may be more a part of me than I thought, and in this moment, with Tate writhing under me, the thought drives me wild.

I continue my kissing trail to his collarbone. My finger hooks over the neck of his shirt and I gently pull, exposing more of his stunning skin. A small tuft of curly white-blond hair peeks out. I nuzzle it with my nose.

Finally, I get to enjoy all the parts of him I missed during our first kiss. There was no time for any horsing around that night. It was rushed and desperate and shocking. Tonight is different. We exist in this car and can do whatever we want. In this car, there are no rules, no time limits, no etiquette to abide by. Only whatever our mouths and hands feel like doing. And right now, I feel like digging my fingers into the meaty muscle of what I assume are his impressive pectorals. At least, they feel quite impressive under the thin cotton