Riding Out the Storm by Emma Jay

pavement, cars rolling
by, smelled the exhaust mingled with the delicious aroma wafting from the
steakhouse next door. But mostly of Ethan at her back, the warmth of his body,
his firm grip on her arm as he led her toward the street.
    What
did he intend?
    He
leaned around her and she heard a car door open. “Get in.” He rested his hand
on the top of her head so she wouldn’t bump it, and guided her inside.
    Again,
her senses worked overtime, taking in a fruity scent. Strawberries, she
thought. He slid in beside her, but this was no cab, not the way it smelled.
She coursed her hands over smooth leather seats. A limo? Once the seat beside
her dipped with his weight, the door closed definitively behind him, the car
pulled away from the curb, the engine humming smoothly and her suspicion was
confirmed.
    Ethan
sat close, his thigh against hers, and she heard him pull a cork from a bottle,
the splash of wine in glasses. A red, if she trusted the tickle in her nose. He
lifted a glass to her lips and she sipped, just a bit, because a giggle bubbled
out. She set back, lifting a hand to her mouth.
    Then
his mouth was on hers, his tongue sweeping over her lips, tasting the wine from
her lips. She opened to him, but he did nothing more than dip his tongue inside
before he broke away.
    “I
want to apologize for yesterday.” He brushed his lips over her jaw, then swept
her hair back over her shoulder to bare her throat. “I was a jealous idiot and
I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” His breath heated her skin, his mouth
millimeters away.
    “I
should never have asked that of you. I already had my wild days. I’ve moved
past it. It’s not who I am anymore. I want you. Only you.”
    He
brushed his lips over the shell of her ear. “Some day you’re going to have to
tell me just how wild you were.”
    Why
not? He couldn’t think any worse of her. “You want to know what I used to do?”
    “Not
now. I just want you now. But I am curious.”
    “Never
anything like that. Never—two.” She was suddenly aware of the driver listening
on their conversation. “Never again. It was fun and I’m glad we did it, but
that’s not what I want anymore.”
    “Good.”
His fingertips closed around her upper thighs. “Because I’m going to be enough
for you.”
    “Ethan.
You don’t—” She was fully prepared to talk to him, but he slid his hand up her
leg, his fingertips on the insides of her thigh. She moved her knees apart to
allow him access, and held her breath as he skimmed his touch over the tender,
super-sensitized skin.
    He
eased her onto her back as the car moved through traffic. She parted her legs
for his hips as he moved between them, over her, his hands pushing up her
skirt. She tried to wrap her arms around his neck but he captured her wrists,
pushing them to the seat above her head. She gasped and pressed her breasts
against his chest.
    Then
he was gone, and she whimpered.
    Until
he hooked his fingers in her panties and drew them down her legs, smoothing his
hand after them. Then he pressed something cool and round between her legs,
rolling it over her bare folds. She sobbed out a breath.
    “What
is it?”
    He
didn’t answer, but his stubble rasped against the inside of her knee, and
then—she couldn’t describe it. His hot mouth, the cool—whatever it was—stroking
up and down her pussy, over the hot throbbing flesh. She couldn’t catch her
breath, and the object burst, sending a cold gush over her cunt. He swept his
tongue from her opening to her clit, lapping up the liquid.
    “Ohh.”
Pleasure rolled through her, not quite an orgasm, shaking her limbs. She lifted
her hips toward his mouth, but he withdrew his kiss and repeated the caress.
Her mind flipped through the possibilities. “Grape?”
    “Mmm.”
He pressed it to her clit, cold and firm, and she orgasmed, pumping her hips up
to drain every ounce of the sensation that took the strength from her legs, her
arms, turning her bones to water.
    He
rose