Secrets and Sins:Raphael(7)

By: Naima Simone

“Tell me, princess, have you ever made out in the backseat of a car before?”

Stunned, she could only shake her head.

“First time for everything. C’mon.” With lightning speed, he snatched her hand from her lap and guided her between the tight space separating the driver and passenger seats. Grip firm, he steadily maneuvered her toward the rear of the vehicle.

“Wait,” she objected, finally locating her voice. Even if the breathless quality dampened the power behind the protest. “We can’t…someone could see—”

“Tinted windows,” he muttered, settling on the farthest row, grasping her waist, and tugging her across his lap. He swiftly adjusted her legs until she straddled him. The pleated skirt of her dress flared over their thighs and his hips. “No one can see a thing. Now kiss me.”

She cast a furtive glance to the large side window. Uncertainty warred with the desire clenching her stomach and gathering in the throbbing flesh between her legs. Through the dark film on the glass she could make out the shapes of the closed businesses, but not any details. Still…

“Trust me.” His low voice brought her attention back to him. He grazed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, drew them down her neck to cup her nape. “I wouldn’t risk exposing you like that. Get wild with me, princess.”

The dare in his challenge was unmistakable. Get wild. With him. Fear flashed through her. She was as familiar with “wild” as Hugh Hefner was with celibacy. She closed her eyes and a sigh shuddered from her lips. She wanted to be that carefree, reckless woman. Even if only for tonight.

She lifted her lashes, met his hot gaze, and slowly sank down until the hard ridge of his erection pressed against her sex. Twin groans echoed in the quiet. She gasped at the delicious pressure—the pleasure that satisfied and aggravated the needy ache deep inside her.

“I need…” She didn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t assign a proper description to the hunger that pounded inside her chest and echoed in the grasping emptiness centered in her sex. It exceeded anything she’d ever experienced. So instead she dug her nails into Raphael’s shoulders and rolled her hips, undulating in a slow grind over the hard flesh that—thank God—would be buried inside her tonight. She tried to relay without words what she desired from him—what a part of her knew only he could give. A soft cry tumbled free, and she dropped her head back, repeating the erotic dance.

“Do it again.” His demand was almost guttural, and the grip at the back of her neck tightened. “Ride me again.”

She whimpered both at the sensual command and the sharp pleasure that intensified with each pass of her clit and folds over his erection. Greed, lust, and a virgin feminine power swelled within her, yanked her into their undertow. She lowered her arms, palming his knees and giving herself leverage and more control over the speed and depth of pressure.

His heated, rough murmurs filled the rapidly warming interior. He told her how beautiful and sexy she was. How good she felt riding his cock. How he couldn’t wait to be inside her and watch himself slide in and out of her. She trembled, his words so erotically charged that when he cupped her breasts and brushed his thumbs over her beaded nipples, she almost came.

With hurried but sure hands, he shoved her jacket off her shoulders, the material trapped at her wrists. Unerringly, he located the zipper at the back of her dress and yanked it down. When he tugged the sleeves over her shoulders and arms, she lifted her arms, wriggling free of the constricting material. The jacket slipped silently to the floor, and the top of the dress pooled around her waist, leaving her torso bare except for her white lace bra.

For a moment, old insecurities invaded the sexual haze she’d drifted into. She wasn’t top-heavy by any stretch of the imagination. Her small breasts—more than an A but not quite a full B—had never inspired an uncontrollable passion in men before, and she’d always been self-conscious about her size. Even Gavin, who’d claimed to find her beautiful, had offered her a chest enhancement, aka boob job, for a wedding gift. Surely Raphael, with his stunning looks and sex-on-a-stick aura, attracted women who resembled women and not girls barely out of their teens…

“Shit, you’re gorgeous. Fucking perfect,” he groaned, palming her flesh, squeezing and shaping. He didn’t bother with unclasping the back closure but lowered the cups so they pushed up her modest cleavage. Not that he seemed to mind—or notice—that it was modest. No, as he leaned forward and captured an aching tip between his lips and laved it with his tongue, emitting a deep, vibrating moan, she believed to him she was truly…perfect.

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