of it echoing through my entire body, thrilling me, making me so aware of him and his power, his strength.
I’d never felt so hungry for something in my entire life. Hadn’t known I could even feel this hungry, as if it had been inside me all this time just waiting for the right man to release it.
My hands shook as I clawed at his T-shirt, dragging it up, and then the hot, oiled silk of his chest was bare and I was touching him, prickles of hair a delightful abrasion against my skin, the rock-hard feel of his muscles a glory.
Oh, yes, he was just like one of those cars, smooth and sleek, the bass rumble of his engine a delicious thrum as I touched him.
I could handle this. Oh, I could more than handle this.
I opened my mouth, kissing him harder, shifting my hips impatiently, being demanding.
He bit me, a firm nip on my bottom lip that made me gasp, then let go of my tie and took his hand from my hair...before jerking my shirt open with one hard, sharp movement.
I trembled, the air cool on my heated skin, and then he was pulling aside the cups of my bra, his big, warm hands cupping my breasts, long fingers pinching my nipples.
I shuddered as sparks of pleasure and delicious points of pain electrified every nerve ending I had. It felt so good, I could hardly believe it. I had the distant thought that after Mark, having someone touching me should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. This made the throb between my legs more intense, the pleasure more acute. No wonder the blonde had been leaning into him.
‘Oh, my God,’ I whispered in amazement, arching into his hands as he flicked his thumbs over my achingly hard nipples.
‘Yes, you like that, don’t you?’ His voice was as deep and dark as it could possibly get. ‘Now who’s boss, pretty thing?’
‘Me,’ I replied, gasping as he pinched me again. ‘I’m the one driving.’
‘Are you, now?’ His thumbs circled around each nipple, gentle now, teasing me mercilessly. ‘Then by all means, take the wheel.’
So I did, spreading my hands out on his chest and pushing him firmly against the back of the seat. Then I reached down to the button on his jeans, pulling at it, trying to get it open.
He was so hot and he smelled musky, with the bite of some dark spice that had me nuzzling down the side of his neck, biting it so I could taste his skin, kissing his collarbones and nipping at him.
He cursed, his powerful body tightening, and I clamped my thighs around his waist to let him know that I had no intention of moving and that I didn’t want him to, either.
But his hands were moving too, finding the button on my trousers and deftly flicking it open as I fumbled with his jeans, then he was pushing beneath the cotton of my knickers, his fingers sliding against my slick flesh.
Stars burst behind my eyes as a whip of pure pleasure licked across me, tearing another gasp from my throat. His other hand settled on the small of my back, urging me forward and against his stroking fingers.
‘Oh...’ I gasped. ‘I... God...’
‘Still driving, hmmm?’ he purred in my ear, all arrogant male satisfaction.
I tried to pull myself together, tugging at his jeans, desperate to get them open and my hands on him so I could stay in charge, but he’d already found my clit and, for all his brute strength, his touch was so gentle, so light that, much to my horror, I felt the prick of tears.
No. How was this happening? I hadn’t cried for years, not since my mother’s funeral, so why was I crying now? Why was having someone else touch me so much more intense than when I touched myself? Because it was. And I had no idea why.
I shuddered helplessly, all thoughts about fighting him for control fading away, crushed by the weight of pleasure building inside me.
‘Why don’t you let me drive for a change?’ His voice was a low, dark rumble, his finger stroking gently, making me rock against him, desperate for more.
‘Yes,’ I panted, barely aware of what I was saying, turning my face into his neck as pleasure gathered tight as a fist inside me. ‘Yes, okay...please.’
There was something to this, to simply letting him do what he wanted. Like giving myself up to the machine carrying me, to the speed of it. Trusting that it wouldn’t crash somehow.
Strange to give that trust to a man I didn’t know.
But I did it all the same, shifting my hips against his hand as his finger slipped and slid around my clit, his other hand pressing hard against the small of my back. ‘Oh, Mr Evans...’
‘That’s sexy, pretty thing. But I think you can call me Ash now.’
I shuddered as his finger eased inside me, testing me. ‘A-Ash...’
‘Better,’ he growled. ‘I like the way you say my name when my fingers are in your pussy.’ And he pushed another in, stretching me.
I moaned, pleasure breaking over me in waves as his fingers slid in deep. Then out. Then in.
My fingers curled on his chest, digging into the heavy muscle of his pecs as I tried to move against him, impatient now and increasingly desperate. ‘More,’ I whispered. ‘Faster.’
‘Patience.’ His fingers slowed. ‘Remember who’s driving.’
But I’d never been one for patience.
My hands were shaking as I made one last frustrated attempt to get his jeans open but this time I managed it. And then I was pushing beneath the denim and into his boxers, finding the huge, hard length of his cock.
He hissed as I wrapped my fingers around him and for a second I forgot what he was doing to me, the velvety feel of his skin so unexpected. But the heat was there—oh, God, so much of it.
I tightened my fingers, relishing the way he jerked in my grip.
But that was where I miscalculated.
One minute he was sitting there like a car before a race, engine rumbling, my foot on the gas and my hands on the wheel. The next he surged beneath me as if the flag had dropped.
With effortless strength, he pushed me back, holding me as he somehow stripped my trousers off, taking my underwear with them. I thought he was going to put me on my back and I opened my mouth to protest, wanting to stay in his lap, but before I could say a word he settled me back where I was, my thighs spread over him, the denim of his jeans rubbing against my tender skin.
Panting, I stared at him, for a second unable to move.
His blue eyes met mine with so much ferocity I couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t look away as he reached behind him, shifting to get something out of his pocket. His wallet. Then he took a small foil packet out of it. A condom.
‘Still with me?’ he demanded as he ripped open the packet, his gaze searching.
‘Yes.’ My voice was little more than a croak. ‘Can I...?’ I reached for the condom, wanting to put it on him, touch him, feel the rock-hard length of him for myself.
‘Hell, no.’ He ignored my hands. ‘Not this time.’
And I didn’t have time to be disappointed, because he’d rolled down the condom and lifted me before I could protest, setting me back down, something long and hard and thick easing into me.
I gasped as he put his hands on my hips, pushing me down at the same time as he thrust up, impaling me.
The pleasure was almost agonising and I cried out, overwhelmed by an intense feeling of fullness, as if he were taking up all the air in my body and there were no room for me.
I shuddered, the unexpected sensation making me feel strangely panicky, my eyes prickling again.
But he must have sensed my distress, because his hands were