were only sixty-nine of these ’69 Camaro ZLIs ever manufactured. I was a teenager when I first found out about this beauty. What do you think I imagined when I fantasized about owning this car?”
His hips rocked deeper into mine, making his dirty thoughts obvious. It should’ve been silly to think about Joseph getting hot and bothered over the term sixty-nine. But there was nothing silly about his hard body and burning stare, and my blood heated to thrum a sizzling tempo between my legs.
“I’m going to fuck you right here, angel.” The low, rumbling promise vibrated against my lips before rolling deeper into my trembling body. “Taking you over the hood of this car is going to surpass every fantasy I’ve ever managed to imagine.” He nipped at my lips, eliciting a gasp as my sensitive nerve endings lit up at the little bite of pain. “Because my brain was never capable of dreaming up anything as perfect as you, Ashlyn.” His cock jerked against my core, and he groaned. “Fuck, I need you so bad, angel. You have no idea…”
“I think I do,” I insisted breathily, squirming in his restraining hold as I mindlessly sought more stimulation. “I need you too, Joseph. Please…”
He tugged sharply on my hair, forcing me down. He captured my shocked cry on a fierce kiss, the sound of my pained desire mingling with his hungry growl as his tongue surged into my mouth to claim me in harsh, domineering strokes. His massive chest pressed down on mine, and I relished the reassuring weight that both caged and sheltered me.
My pants grew damp with my arousal, and my peaked nipples throbbed for attention. I writhed, struggling to rub the needy buds against his muscular pecs. His big hands captured my wrists, squeezing in reprimand as he pinned them above my head. I whined and wiggled beneath him, becoming drunk on his power over me. Mindlessly, wantonly, I continued to struggle. Not because I wanted to resist him, but because I reveled in the release I found when he exerted his iron control. He took full command of my body, my pleasure. My utter helplessness under his domineering hands sent me flying high, freeing me in a way I never could’ve imagined before I met him.
My intoxicated haze immediately evaporated when I felt a grating crunch beneath my right shoulder blade. The scratching sound was barely audible, but the harsh scrape resounded in my bones; the small metal clasp on the thin strap of my camisole had gouged a shallow line into the Camaro’s shiny silver paint.
I tore my lips from Joseph’s on a horrified gasp, my surge of panic intense enough to give me strength to break away.
“Oh my god,” I half-moaned. “I scratched your fancy car.”
I tried to sit up, struggling in earnest. I couldn’t remain on this hood for one more heartbeat in case the thundering against my ribs somehow caused the metal clasp to slip again.
Joseph’s sensual lips tugged down in a forbidding frown. Keeping my wrists pinned with one hand, his other settled on my throat. His thumb hooked beneath my jaw to hold my face captive, so I had no choice but to stare up into his stunning eyes. The raw, wild hunger that flared in their pale blue depths drew a shudder from my chest.
Another tiny scratch beneath my shoulder caused my entire body to lock up, and my teeth clenched almost hard enough to crack. “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t dare release more than a whispered apology.
His dark lashes narrowed. “You think I give a fuck about the paint job?” he demanded, his voice soft and silky smooth. It was somehow more intimidating than if he’d snarled at me. “I want to leave marks of what I’m going to do to you. I want a permanent reminder of how I’m going to fuck you over the hood of this car until you scream my name. And if you keep trying to deny me, I’ll force you to come so many times that you’ll weep and beg before I finally show mercy.”
My core throbbed with a painful ache as relentless desire pulsed through me in response to his sensual threat. The wave of lust was so intense that my thighs shook around his hips. His hard length jerked, and he bit out a curse.
A whimper slipped up my throat as the tiny metal clasps on my camisole marred the paint a third time. No matter how hot Joseph’s