Page 34 of Sunday's Best

“We shouldn’t do this.” He makes no move to stop the way his hips rock in tandem with the stroke of my hand.

Guilt knots up at the base of my throat. “You’re probably right.”

Agony flares his nostrils. “I need you to tell me to stop, angel. I can’t—fuck. I don’t want to stop. Need you to make me.”

My clit throbs under the barely-there tease of his shiny, wet head. “Then again… we’re already doing this. Stopping now doesn’t magically make the situation disappear.”

“No fucking, though. Just touching.”

I nod. “No fucking.”

His hand envelopes mine, and together we thrust his rock-hard dick against my cunt. Our moans tumble out at the same time, and he smirks down at me.

He presses into me through the cotton—my underwear a makeshift condom—not quite deep enough for me to feel the stretch my body’s deprived of. He pulls back, and pushes in slower, provoking a helpless cry as my muscles clench around empty space.

“Look at her trying to wrap around my cock even with your panties in the way. You want me bad, don’t you?”

“Oh God, yes.”

I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Even with fabric still between us, I’ve never felt so close to someone. I’ve never experienced this deep-seated desire to be wanted, an insatiable need to be touched.

On one slow upstroke, I hook my pinky around the edge of my underwear and lift so he can slip underneath.

“Angel,” he scolds. His hips freeze for a heartbeat, a frayed moan clawing up his throat, and Holden leans forward to kiss me tenderly.

“Please,” I whimper into his hot mouth.

With a small thrust of his hips, the head of his erection prods at my entrance for a split second before gliding up through my wetness to catch on my clit. My underwear’s a tight fit around his shaft, keeping him close and applying extra friction. I tighten my hand at the base of his cock, feeling the throb in his swollen veins and the way he spasms in our joined hands with each stroke through my arousal. Obscene sounds fill the truck cab.

“Oh—that’s so—fuck. Fuck, Sunday. That’s good.” He groans the words more than speaks them, shifting my panties so they catch on every inch of him, and I reach up to rake my nails down his chest. “Fuck, I’m going to hell.”

“Ah, your homeland.” I smirk, though the agony of feeling him spread my arousal over my tender cunt makes me want to die. “Take me with you, please.”

The feel of his massive girth sliding through my folds drives me to the brink of insanity. The thick ring around his tip strikes my clit over and over. Slow, like he’s indulging in the feel, wanting this to last as long as possible.

I zone out on the desire-drunk look in his eyes. On the sound of wet skin on wet skin, and the gentle rock of the truck, and the whistling wind outside.

“I love watching you squirm, pussy begging for my cock,” he rasps. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“More,” I whine. I need more pressure, more speed, more something. The next words somersault off my tongue a little too quickly. “Fuck me, Holden.”

“We can’t, remember?” He spreads the drenched cotton over my pussy and presses into me again. It’s infuriating. “We agreed—no fucking.”

“Just the tip doesn’t count,” I argue.

He growls. “You’re killing me.”

“Not feeling you is killing me.”

“Oh god, Sunday. You’re…” He prods my entrance through the fabric again, testing the limits. “I’ll give it to you, but only for a second.”

“That’s all I need.”

One second. Just the tip.

Surely that will be enough to sate me.

I smooth my fingers over the edge of his moistened crown, guiding it to where I’m literally dripping with need. He notches into me, the sudden hit of arousal leaving me winded. My body’s heavy. Blood thick.