His lips dance across mine. “I know. You like everything I do.”
“Cocky, aren’t you?” My body leans into his as he fumbles over me and unlatches my seat belt. He throws back his seat as far as it will go and I pull my skirt up, crawl over the center console, and straddle him. It’s not easy with my heels on, and there are a few grunts and giggles before I get it right.
His hands are on my ass, pulling me against his jeans, and I murmur his name as we kiss. His hard length rubs against my panties, and I run my hands over his shoulders, through his hair, and back to his chest. He’s mine, all mine, and I never want this feeling to go away. I’ll follow him to the ends of the earth. If he goes through darkness, I’ll go with him and bring him back out every time. I tell him and he kisses me.
Rising up, I give him room to unbutton his jeans, and I laugh as he struggles to push them down a bit, just enough for his cock to pop out. I wrap my hands around him and stroke, rolling my fingers over his blunt head.
“Need you so bad,” he says. His fingers move my underwear to the side, and he gives me one, easing in and back out. “So hot. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think and later when we find a hotel room, I’m going to do wicked things to you…”
He positions his length and eases in my entrance, barely there and then sliding back out. He strokes in again, going deep, and we groan. His pace picks up, his hands under my skirt and on my hips to hold me steady, and I lean back, arching to give him room.
I ride him and we gaze at each other, eating each other up. My fingers touch my skin, moving across my breasts to my stomach until I’m at my core, my hand brushing against him as he slides in and out.
“Sugar Baby, fuck,” he says, staring at me, his hips pumping faster, his hands digging into my hips.
His eyes gleam with heat when I touch myself, massaging my clit as I fall over the edge, my body pulsating around him. He calls out my name and tumbles over with me, his arms wrapping around me, clutching me tight as if he’ll never let me go.
“We need to go,” I say several minutes later as I still lie against him, my head buried in his neck. He’s stroking my hair, twirling it around his fingers. I know he’s probably uncomfortable with me on top of him, but he hasn’t said a word.
He tilts my jaw up with care, his fingers trailing over my cheek and to my neck. There’s a light in his eyes, and I can’t describe the feeling of true elation it gives me. His throat moves, emotion shining in his gaze as he searches my face. “I…I love you so much.”
We kiss and I tell him how much I love him.
“This might be the best day ever,” he says softly as I slide off him, adjust my underwear and skirt, and crawl back over to my side.
“Better than winning that game?”
He takes my hand and kisses it. “Sugar Baby, you’re the best game I’ve ever played.”
Later, using Google Maps, we pull into the long drive that leads to the Mitchell estate. He parks the car in front of the huge white two-story mansion, which looks straight out of Gone with the Wind.
He gets out then comes around to my side of the car and helps me down.
My feet hit the ground and he tucks my hand in the crook of his arm. We walk up the porch steps to the group of people waiting for us.
“I’m Barbara Mitchell,” says the lady in a prim black suit and pearls who greets me without even an introduction from Mr. Winchester. She’s just as tall and hawkish as I recall, a woman who’s known grief and heartache. It’s apparent in the bend of her shoulders, in the unsteady set of her mouth, the way her eyes study me and then blink, looking away. “I’m glad you came.”
I murmur a reply. It’s not a huge welcome, but then what would she say? How must she be feeling, knowing that I’m the product of an affair her husband carried out for years?