Unleashed Desires in the Backseat

SLOANE

My hand is locked in his, my fingers tightly gripped as the older man leads me out of the dim, chaotic noise of the club. My body is twisted in tight knots of pure anticipation. Every step I take beside him feels heavy, my thighs rubbing together, already sensitized by the memory of his touch in the garden.

At the curb, a sleek, black luxury car is waiting, its polished surface reflecting the amber glow of the streetlights. Giles, the tall driver, is already holding the rear door open, bowing his head respectfully as we approach.

"Good evening, Sir. Ma'am," Giles says, his voice professional and devoid of curiosity.

The older man beckons me to slide into the back first. I slide across the pristine leather, my breath hitching as the cool material presses against the back of my thighs through my tight black jeans. The man stands in the open doorway for a moment, turning his imposing frame toward his driver.

"Giles, go back inside the building," he instructs, his deep voice carrying effortless authority. "Find the others and tell them that I am leaving. Give us a few minutes."

"Of course, Sir," Giles replies.

He shuts the heavy car door, sealing us in, and walks back toward the club.

The moment the door clicks shut, the silence inside the vehicle is absolute, leaving only the sound of our breathing. He slides onto the leather seat beside me, his large, powerful frame instantly eating up the space.

I don't hesitate. I lean in, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kiss him. My lips find his, tasting the faint trace of alcohol and the raw, masculine heat of his skin. I kiss him leisurely, pouring all my built-up desire into the press of our lips. He doesn't pull back. Instead, his large, warm palms cup my face, holding me still as he savors my mouth. His tongue sweeps inside, tasting me with a slow, deliberate intensity that makes my head spin.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing is heavier, and his vivid blue eyes are gleaming with a dark, intense arousal.

"I had no idea you came here with anyone," I say, my voice slightly breathless as I look at his rugged, handsome face.

He runs a thumb over my lower lip, his gaze locked on mine. "I did it as a favor. At first, I didn't want to come at all. Spaces like this... they aren't in my wheelhouse."

I arch an eyebrow, trying to sound playful despite the hammering of my heart. "What is in your wheelhouse then? Spending time with beautiful women?"

A sudden, fleeting shadow passes over his eyes—something complex, a mix of pain and apprehension that vanishes before I can fully grasp it.

"You're the first woman I've been with in this way since my wife passed away years ago," he confesses.

The weight of his words hits me like a physical blow. I straighten up, pulling my body back slightly from his solid, rock-hard frame. The intimacy of his confession scares me. "Really? Are you just trying to butter me up?"

He smirks, the dark shadow vanishing, replaced by a confident, dominant aura. He cups my face again, his calloused palm tracing down my jawline, tilting my head back. Like a moth to a flame, I find myself yielding to his touch, my body leaning back until it meets his firmly.

"I've already buttered you up," he says, his voice dropping to a gravelly tone. His intense blue eyes drag slowly down my body, trailing over my chest, my stomach, and finally settling on the apex of my thighs. "How wet are you?"

The bluntness of his question makes my breath hitch. My pussy is aching, a heavy, hot weight pulsing between my legs.

"I can't really tell," I tell him, my voice shaking with raw need. I shift slightly, parting my thighs. "Why don't you check for yourself?"

I lift my hips slightly, giving him easy access, expecting him to reach down, unzip my jeans, and slide his fingers inside my underwear. But he doesn't. Instead, he leans in close, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my neck. He moves up to my ear, nipping my earlobe with his teeth, then sucking on it teasingly until a gasp escapes my lips.

"No," he rasps, his voice rich with dominant authority. "I want you to slide your own finger inside and stroke yourself for me."

My breathing completely halts. The sheer arrogance of his command is incredibly hot, sending a wave of heat straight to my face. The sheer dominance in his tone makes my body tighten in submission.

"Go on," he orders, his eyes boring into mine. "I want to see how wet you are. I want to see how deep you can go."

Nodding, my heart hammering violently against my ribs, I reach down. My fingers are shaking as I grab the metal zipper of my black jeans. The sharp, mechanical sound of the zipper undoing feels incredibly loud in the quiet car. I slide my hand inside, pushing past the lace band of my underwear.

The moment my finger brushes against my vulva, I find myself dripping wet. I am absolutely soaked, far more than I realized. I look up, meeting his intense, raw gaze. He is staring at me, his eyes dark with hunger, watching my every movement.

With my head tilted back against the leather seat, I slide my middle finger along my damp slit. I circle my sensitive clit, gasping at the sudden, sharp burst of pleasure. The sensation is overwhelming. I feel like I am about to combust, and I know it has more to do with the older man watching me with those raw emotions swirling in his eyes than my own hand touching me.

I push my finger deeper inside my tight, wet pussy, my hips arching off the seat as I pump in and out. The wet squelching sound fills the backseat. I reach up with my other hand, slipping it under my lace top to fondle my breast, tracing circles around the hard, puckered nipple.

"How do you feel?" he asks, his voice thick, his eyes pinned to my hand moving between my thighs.

"I don't... I don't know," I pant, my head shaking. "It's too much. It's too hot."

I pump my finger faster, thrusting my hips against my own hand, desperate for release. He watches me, his face illuminated by the faint yellow glow of a streetlamp outside the window.

"You should text your friend," he says suddenly, his voice calm but unyielding. "Tell her you're leaving."

I frown at him, my pleasure-addled mind struggling to comprehend his words. I'm in the middle of touching myself, on the verge of an orgasm, and he wants me to text Chloe?

"Why?" I grit out through clenched teeth, my hips still rolling against my finger as the pleasure skyrockets.

"She needs to know you're safe," he says.

He places his large, warm hand over mine, stilling my movement. A cry of frustration escapes my lips. If he stops me now, I feel like I might die.

"Not... not now," I beg, trying to move my hand, but his grip is firm.

"Now, Sloane," he commands.

Before I can protest, he slides his large hand past the waistband of my underwear, gently but firmly nudging my hand aside. He replaces my fingers with his own. The feeling of his thick, calloused fingers sliding into my warm, moistened center makes me arch my hips violently, a loud, strangled moan tearing from my throat.

He begins to stroke me, his thumb swirling over my sensitive labia, keeping me right on the very brink of a shattering climax. I clasp my thighs around his hand, my eyes closed, my lips parted as I gasp for air. I raise my leg, putting my knee on his, thrashing against the leather seat like a wild animal.

Without meaning to, my kneecap rubs hard against the thick, rock-hard erection straining against his trousers. I gasp, instantly trying to massage him through the fabric, wanting to touch him back, to feel the heat of his length.

But he immediately adjusts his position, denying me the pleasure of touching him. I let out a protest, but it quickly dissolves into a pathetic gasp as he curves his thick fingers roughly inside me, working them against my inner walls with brutal, relentless strokes.

"Where is your phone?" he asks again, his voice dark and demanding. "Text her."

I blindly search the seat beside me with my free hand, desperately feeling for my small purse. He keeps pumping his fingers inside me, teasing my senses, driving me absolutely crazy with his rough, rhythmic strokes. Finally, my fingers brush the leather of my purse. I unzip it with shaking hands and pull out the device.

"Text her. Tell her you're leaving," he commands.

Gulping in air, I wake up the screen, my fingers shaking so badly I can barely type. I don't care if the words make sense. I just want to get this over with so he can let me come.

Just as I am about to type, he slides a second finger deep inside my tight pussy. My muscles lock in pure, unadulterated ecstasy. I let out a loud, quivering sob, my body jerking as the orgasm begins to bloom at my center.

"Don't stop!" I beg, my voice cracking.

I blindly press send on the phone and let the device slip from my fingers, hearing it clatter onto the floor of the car. My entire body is twitching, completely at his mercy. He is no longer teasing; he is stroking me with an intense, bruising pace that makes me jerk violently.

"What did you tell her?" he asks, his voice low, his fingers still working me roughly.

"I don't... I don't care," I gasp, locking my arms around his neck. I don't want to think about Chloe. I don't want to think about anything but him.

I tilt my head up and lock our lips together, pulling him down to me. The massive wave of pleasure slams into me, throwing me completely over the edge. I scream into his mouth, my pussy clamping down violently on his fingers as a powerful, shattering orgasm claims my entire body, racking me with deep, relentless spasms.

For long seconds after my release, my body continues to shake. I can feel my clit twitching against his knuckles, incredibly sensitive. I collapse against him, nuzzling the warm skin of his neck, breathing in his deep, intoxicating scent.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft but still carrying that deep, gravelly tone.

He slowly pulls his hand out of my wet pants. I open my eyes slightly and watch as he raises his fingers, glistening and dripping with my juices, to his lips. He licks them, tasting me with a dark, satisfied look in his eyes that makes my heart flutter.

"Peachy," I say, my voice barely audible. That was the most intense thing I have ever experienced. I have never felt anything like that in my entire life.

Before I can fully catch my breath, the car door suddenly opens, and Giles climbs into the driver's seat.

"I had a hard time seeking them out, Sir," Giles says, adjusting the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry about the delay."

I don't care about the delay. I ignore the driver's presence entirely, focusing only on the older man beside me. I lean in and lightly brush his lips against his, tasting my own sweetness on his mouth.

"Where are we headed?" I ask, my voice low and full of anticipation.

He offers me a charming, handsome grin, his blue eyes crinkling at the sides in the dim light of the car.

"Where I can bury my shaft in you and make your toes coil."

His blunt, raw words send a violent, thrilling jolt of intense excitement straight down my spine.