“Oh, fuck, Ava.” My torso folds as she wraps her hand around me, and my head loses all strength, falling back. “That feels so good.” She works me perfectly, slowly, not seeming in such a rush all of a sudden. And I am here for it. I close my eyes and savor the feel of her warm palm pumping me, my groans constant, my veins hot. Yes. Oh yes. Blood surges into my dick, my hand shooting out to grab the door. Then the steering wheel.

Fucking hell. My legs extend, trying to straighten in the confines of my car. I’m getting hotter. Stiffer. Harder.

And then I feel a dash of contact from her slippery tongue, and I curse, my arse leaving the seat, my knuckles white around the steering wheel. My eyes spring open, finding her head in my lap. “Oh Jesus,” I breathe, watching her start to bob up and down.

“That’s it, baby. Take it all the way.” She pauses a beat, then moves again. “Keep going, just like that.” My hand falls into her hair and guides her, my skin starting to tingle. Fuck me, that mouth was made for me in every way. To give me sass. To kiss me. To smile at me. For my dick to fuck.

But very quickly, my dick is suddenly cold, and my hand naturally falls over it to protect it. I open my eyes. She’s grinning, swiping the back of her hand across her face. I don’t like that grin. It’s crafty.

“I’d love to,” she purrs, and I slowly grasp what is about to happen, “but you’ve already made me late for work.” She moves fast, and lost in shock for a few seconds, all I can do is watch her escape.

“What the fuck? Ava!” I dive across the car, just missing her wrist. “Fucking hell.” I quickly tuck myself away and jump out, astounded, pissed off, shocked. I have to commend her on her bravery, though. “Jesus,” I groan, wincing. She’s made it to the other side of the road by the time I’ve straightened my crossed eyes, and she looks all too pleased with herself. I can’t help but let her have this win. Just look at her delight.

“How old are you, Jesse?” she calls, backing away.

Good question. How old am I, because I feel like a lovesick teenager right now. “Thirty,” I yell around my smile, and she shakes her head but doesn’t argue. I’m not foolish enough to think if I promise her my real age, she’ll finish what she started. “That wasn’t very nice, you little temptress.” I’m already planning my revenge. But I’m also smiling, because my girl just felt relaxed enough to have some fun, and I can’t say I’m sorry I’m the victim of that fun.