Ian grins because he definitely sees right through me and disappears from view for a moment. He slides in beside me a moment later, carrying a bouquet of red roses and pink-and-white lilies.
He hands them to me, and happiness threatens to split my chest wide open. No one’s ever bought me flowers before, unless you count family. I breathe them in, a smile on my lips. They smell like springtime.
“What about now?” he asks.
I give him an inch between my thumb and index finger, and he grins as the driver pulls away from Voclain.
“Thank you,” I say, letting my fingers graze the delicate petals. “They are beautiful.”
“They’re not the prettiest thing in this car,” he says, staring at me.
My eyes dart to the privacy glass. I can’t see the driver, and I’m pretty sure he can’t see us.
“You said you wanted to spend the ride looking at me,” I say, placing the flowers in a waiting vase in a cup holder, “so look at me.”
Ian’s out of his seat in an instant and jerking me on top of him. Our jackets end up on the floorboard. His movements are wild and crazed, but I’m feeling a little wild and crazy myself.
“You are driving me insane,” he says, his palms on either side of my face, before he crushes his lips into mine.
He tastes like that cinnamon bubble gum he’s been devouring all morning. His tongue dives into my mouth and clashes with mine. My dress rides up my legs as I straddle him, exposing my thighs and ass.
He breaks apart to suck at my throat, and he’s doing a very lovely thing with his tongue and teeth at the moment and—Oh!—I can’t bear for him to stop.
Tentatively, I lower my hand. I am shaking. I really don’t want to mess this up, but I can’t be the only one undone anymore. My fingers find the bulge in his pants, and he groans, the sound vibrating low in his throat.
His lips return to mine, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth. I fumble with the button of his trousers. The damn thing keeps slipping from my fingers like it’s covered in a can of Crisco oil. Frustrated, I break our kiss and lean back to look down between us.
“You don’t have to do that, sweetness,” he says, his brow furrowed.
“I want to,” I say, kissing him again, and he groans into my mouth.
Our hands work together to undo his trousers and pull down his boxers. His cock springs free, and at first, all I do is feel it bounce against my belly with a thump. I wrap my fingers around it, and he breaks the kiss as a hiss escapes through his teeth.
My heart hammers inside my chest. He feels so thick and heavy in my hand, but also weirdly smooth and silky. I pump him a few times, and he throws his head back with a moan.
It feels nice being in control, having this effect on him. I look down and stare between us for a few moments. I’m not a virgin, but I also didn’t really see…it…the time I lost my virginity. The room was too dark, and I was too drunk to care.
Ian’s cock is not like how they draw it in health education textbooks. It is darker than the rest of him, and big—so big—and strangely pretty, but I only have a moment to consider it before he asks, “Any takebacks, Stormy?”
I shake my head as I slide off him and onto my knees on the floorboard. There’s a drop of pre-cum at the tip, and I lick it off with a single lave of my tongue.
Ian shudders, his hands knotting in my hair. Mustering up my courage, I bring my lips around him and take him back as far as I can until I gag.
“Oh, God, Harlow,” he growls. “That’s so good, baby.” His eyes nearly roll back into his head. I do it again until he hits the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” he wheezes, and I look up at him, his cock still in my mouth. “I’ve dreamed of this moment.”
My lips let go of him with a pop, and I replace my mouth with my hand.
“Am I living up to the dream?” I tease.
“Better than the dream. Fucking perfect.”
I pump him, letting the wetness of my saliva work as lube. His head hits the back of the headrest again as he says my name.
“And what happens in your dreams?” I ask.
His gaze is glossy and far-away. “I fuck your mouth.”
“Then do it,” I say, pumping faster, his hips thrusting upward to meet my hand.
I release him, and he stoops low to kiss me before saying, “Switch with me.”
I take his seat as he stands before me, his top half stooped because of the ceiling.
He strokes his cock, and it’s such a visceral, masculine thing to watch, the tendons in his arm flexing as he runs his fingers all the way along his shaft. He steps forward and I open my mouth.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his words pained as he continues to stroke his cock. “I do mean fuck your mouth, Harlow. It won’t be gentle.”
“I know,” I breathe. “I want to make you feel the way you make me feel. I’m sure.”
“Tilt your head back then,” he says.
I oblige and open wide.
There’s no warning. No gentle words of encouragement. Just his iron-hard cock ramming into my mouth and his balls slapping against my chin.
My eyes immediately begin to water. My throat wants to choke and gag, but despite it all, I love it. I love knowing that he could dominate me, but chooses not to.
His fingers tangle in my hair, as his hips work like wild pistons, pumping into me. A moan-slash-choke escapes my lips, but he continues forward, jerking wildly.
“Oh, fuck,” he growls, his pattern growing
