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Car sex.

Or maybe it was the truth.

"It's okay," Leila whispered against his chest, kissing the edges of his collarbones. "I'll take good care of you, Mister Wagner."

His resolve broke. His hands on her upper arms, he hauled her away from him all of two inches, making her look up at him with an aroused, almost frightened look on her face, and then he jerked her back, making her gasp, and he kissed her.


Moaning, she melted against him, her arms going up around his neck again, her soft, firm breasts pushing into his chest, her hips cushioning his hard cock through their clothes. He wrapped her in his arms, tilting his head, kissing her as if she were some experienced whore and not his innocent next-door-angel. He forgot, for a moment, that she was more child than woman. Opening her mouth, tasting her tongue, her teeth, the roof of her mouth, all while she moaned for him and gave, and opened and rubbed against him. She tasted like nothing he'd ever dreamed.

He gentled his touch, releasing her upper arms to cradle her face in his hands. He couldn't release her mouth; the taste of her, moaning, her tongue gracefully; delicately playing with his, was too rich. Too deep, dark, secretive. Succulent.

He softened his mouth on hers, seducing her as he slowed his pace, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs, all the pads of his fingertips slowly caressing her scalp.

She sighed and purred and moaned under his mouth as he taught her kissing--adult kissing--and swam in her taste and fucked her with his tongue. Somehow he turned them both until she was against the wall and he was pressing her. Between a cock and a hard place, as it were, although 'hard' definitely described the former as well as the latter.

Minutes passed. Hell, it might have been hours, while the only sounds were pleasured sighs and eager mouths. And when he could finally part from her they were both working for breath and he was looking down into the sweetest expression a woman had ever worn for him.

"Tell me to stop," he gasped, offering her an out.

Lelia shook her head. Eyes glowing and as soft and warm as candleflame, wet lips deliciously swollen from his mouth. "No."

He looked into the farthest depths of her eyes that he could reach and wanted to smile, but his cock was throbbing too painfully. "Say that again."

She whispered, "No," again, gasping when he reached for her wrist, jerking her away from the wall; toward the fireplace, where he stood her in front of it, facing the sofa.

"Don't move," he ordered, a feeling of incredible sexual power making him shudder to his toes as he moved to light the gas fireplace, backlighting her with a warm orange-red glow. Leaving her standing there, he went about the room, making sure that every bit of every window was covered with the heavy curtains his wife had chosen so carefully. Locking the front door and then the back, engaging the deadbolts on both, so that even if someone arrived unexpectedly, they could not enter without his allowing it.

He came down the hallway a second time that evening, this time knowing she was standing there, waiting for him.

Wanting him.

Coming back to the living room, he walked the perimeter of it, watching her, nearly growling at the tentative, almost timid looks she gave him from under her thick lashes. He poured himself another drink. Rounded the sofa. Sat, facing her, sipping.

"If you aren't sure about this, now is the time to say it," he told her plainly. She looked at him with an almost panicked expression as soon as she heard it. "Because in about five minutes, I'll be beyond letting you go."

At that, Leila smiled and relaxed, but only a little.

He gave her a minute, away from his body, from his influence. Finished his drink while he let her think. Finally, he put the empty glass on a side table and then stared into her face, showing her just how far gone he was already.

"You have to be sure," he repeated.

"I'm sure," she whispered, the sounds of the flames licking behind her almost louder than her words. "Please..."

He closed his eyes

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