And pinches me.
I cuss. Kennedy returns to her seat, laughing, and fixes her hair into a ponytail. “That’s what you get, not properly celebrating the holiday.”
“What holiday?” I ask, rubbing the aching spot on my pec. Damn, she’d been this close to twisting my nipple.
“Favorite holiday of college students everywhere.”
“March Madness?”
“Yes, Spencer,” she says. Rolls her eyes, even as she fetches lipstick from her purse and smooths it over her lips in the rearview mirror. “I pinched you because of a college basketball tournament.”
“St. Patty’s Day,” she corrects, gesturing at my outfit. “You’re not wearing green! Ergo, you get pinched. Another Walsh family tradition. Along with corned beef and cabbage, and my dad getting smashed on too many Guinnesses and singing in a really terrible Irish accent.”
“That’s Sunday,” I scoff. “No one’s gonna be wearing fucking green tonight.”
Kennedy raises an eyebrow, then glances down at her own green dress. I amend, “Other than you, princess.”
“Want to bet?”
“What do you win?”
“The look of acknowledging how wrong you are will be more than enough for me, Armstrong.”
“What do I win?”
A slow, saucy smile spreads on her face. She leans over the seat, lightly touching her lips to my earlobe. “Whatever you want.”
My cock stiffens. Whatever I want. Anything I can dream of doing to Kennedy Fucking Walsh. A thousand ideas run through my head, and I slant my mouth over hers again to seal our bargain.
When I release her, slightly panting, I wrestle off my jacket and bite out, “Show me your tits.”
“We haven’t gone in the bar yet—”
I shove my hand on her thigh, under her dress, massaging the inside of it, close to her heat. She gasps. “This isn’t for the bet. Show me your fucking tits, princess.”
She hesitates—but only to check the time on the dashboard. We’re well past the point where she’s embarrassed about getting naked with me. And the windows are tinted, so she shouldn’t be worried about anyone looking in. Hearing, probably. But seeing? No.
“You have somewhere to be?” I snap.
Those hazel eyes meet mine with a playful glare, and she turns around, revealing the zipper of her dress to me. I yank it, and she slides the material down, enough for me to push aside the front of her bra and attack her budded tip with my tongue. And when she’s not expecting it, I pinch her other nipple, hard enough to make her squeal my name, the way I know she likes.
“Look who’s not wearing green anymore,” I smirk against her breast. “Ergo, you get pinched.”
Kennedy giggles, the sound such music to my fucking ears that I reward her with a soft kiss to the nipple I’d just squeezed.
She lays a hand on the front of my jeans, grasping for my fly. “Show me your cock.”
Still focusing on her breasts, I help her, and together, we get my pants down my hips. My hard-on springs free, and she strokes it once, twice.
I groan. Lift a hand to touch her again, but she takes it. Guides it to the back of her head as she rises on her knees and bends over my lap. Parts her mouth. And trails her tongue on my dick, base to tip. I hiss in a breath, cock twitching. She holds it steady, repeating the motion, and when she reaches the head this time, takes me entirely in her mouth.
Fuck. Fuck. It’s exactly what I’d wanted from her. Right down to the red ponytail, which I twist around my fingers. But this is better than any fantasy, than all the times I’d emptied myself with my own fist, imagining her lips and tongue and hands doing exactly what they’re doing. Because this is real. Happening here, in this moment.
Kennedy Fucking Walsh is sucking my fucking cock, and the sight is so sweet, I’m nearly ready to explode in her mouth, right now.
“Yeah, princess, like that, fuck,” I mutter. She moans, and I feel it over my dick, throughout every part of me. Her tongue swirls over my head, cheeks hollowing when she draws on the length. Her hand grips the bottom of my shaft, pumping with each suck.
I gather the skirt of her dress off her ass, stuck in the air. Jerk down her panties and slip my hand between her thighs. Fuck, she’s so wet. So wet and ready and wanting me. I glide two fingers in her, easily, and time my slow draws with each bob of her head.
I remove my fingers, but the instant I’m about to lick her wetness from them, her eyes widen with intent interest at what I’ll do next. Loosely, I pull on her ponytail, lift her mouth from my cock.
“Taste yourself,” I demand, setting my soaked fingers on her bottom lip. “Taste how fucking much you want me.”
For a moment, I think she’ll refuse. That she’ll say no, that I’ve demanded too much of her, reached a limit far past where she’s willing to go.
Then she closes those pink lips over my fingers. Sucks them clean as well as she’d done my cock. Tasting her desire, mingling with the taste of mine.
And it turns out too much for me. Because I need more of her. All of her. I hadn’t been lying. This isn’t about any bet. It’s about next week. That for one whole fucking week, I won’t see her like this. Obeying my every whim and coming apart under my touch. That I won’t get to kiss her. That that stupid fucking calendar just says Happy Fucking Spring Break and not I’ll Be Thinking of You or I Want You Inside Me the Minute We Get Back. I need her to remember just why she agreed to be with me in the first place. I just need her.
I lift her from her seat. As I make her straddle my lap, she protests, “Wait—I want to swallow—”
God fucking help me, I want that, too. But more than anything, I want to be close to
