“A drive. Just a drive. I can do that.” I nod, but my back is still ramrod straight until Blake turns that squeezing into a massage, working his way up my thigh and back down to my knee. Up and down he goes, over and over, and of their own volition, my legs spread a little more as my breathing ratchets up. The next pass, he pauses high on my thigh, his pinkie teasing at my core. Even through the layers, it feels amazing, bringing all my focus to a singular point between my legs.

Oh, God, he’s ‘jilling’ me off in the passenger seat of his car . . . and I fucking love it.

“We’re almost there,” Blake whispers huskily, and I am.

So close.

I hum in agreement, biting my lip. “Mmmhmm.” Yes . . . just a few more strokes . . .

“I meant to Horne’s house,” Blake says, a smile in his voice. I whimper, swallowing back my desire and forcing my eyes, which I didn’t even realize had closed, to open to find us driving down a smooth, well-paved, two-lane road in Williamson County.

It’s Horne’s subdivision, twenty or so houses, each with an acre or two between them and the neighbor. But they’re set up close to the street, with fenced-in front yards and large expanses of back yards. Last time I was here, the street had been dotted with cars.

Now, it’s empty and quiet.

The orgasm, which had been close enough to taste, retreats, at least temporarily. “That one,” I say, pointing at the Horne house. It looks much the same as the last time I was here, a cute ranch-style house with nothing on the exterior giving a hint to the death inside.

“Duck!” Blake snaps, grabbing behind my neck and shoving me toward his crotch.

“What?” I snap right back, squirming against his hold.

But all it does is rub my cheek up against his cock. His very thick, very hard cock. I freeze when I feel it jump. “Blake?”

He doesn’t take his eyes from the road, I can see that much as I look out of the corner of my eye, but his thumb gently caresses my cheek.

“Just stay down for a second. There’s someone coming out of the house.”

I feel the car slow down and don’t dare to breathe.

What if we get caught? What if Yvette Horne is coming out of the house right now, sees Blake, and waves him down?

What if she asks what the hell I’m doing face-down in his lap?

Fuck, the gossip grapevine is going to go haywire again . . . first with Alver’s tale of morgue table oral sexing and now, road head.

“What’s happening?” I whisper, as though Yvette might hear me.

“It’s a guy. Blond hair, muscled, late thirties, mustache. He’s taking out the trash,” Blake tells me.