Emma Holly (9 page)

Knowing he wasn't the only one in this state made the excitement worse. When Charity sank her teeth into her cushiony lower lip, his arousal went straight from urgent to pained. He struggled to pull himself together as she paused for instructions.

"Reach into his pants," he rasped, unable to sound unmoved. "Bring him out in the air."

"Wouldn't you like to do it?"

A shiver crawled down his nape. Her voice was as rough as his. "I already have," he said. "Now I want to watch you."

They might have been alone, the way her gaze locked onto his. Abruptly he was dizzy, as if the earth beneath his feet had rocked. A dragonfly darted out from the ferns, but his brain barely took note. Her eyes were mirrors. He saw himself in them, the times he'd felt just as fascinated and unsure as he sensed she was. Admitting to the echo frightened him, but he didn't know how to stop the slide he sensed they were on.

I'd fall with her anywhere
, he thought,
no matter where the plummet led
.

Suddenly feeling too dressed, he shook off his jacket and tugged his tie. This partial disrobing inspired her to go on.

" 'kay," she said, one breathless syllable, then turned back to Maurice. The driver's shaggy blond head was lowered, his attention avid on her burrowing hand. The mouthpiece on the headset quivered with his excitement.

"You ever done this before?" he asked, sucking in air as her palm wrapped skin.

"Touched a man?"

He laughed at her confusion. "Had sex for an audience."

"Ah." She smiled. "No, actually. This is going to be a first."

"Mr. G can see you, too," Maurice blurted out. "There's a miniature camera in this thing."

"Is there?" Charity tipped her head to the side. "Of course you're assuming he won't be too busy watching you."

Maurice grinned in response to her flattery. Before he could counter with a compliment of his own, he shuddered and went speechless.

She had him out. Eric swallowed at the sight. Maurice's shaft looked even thicker in her slim feminine hand. Its color glowed in the soft green light—angry, maybe, at the three long weeks it had done without.

Maurice's knees were shaking in his trousers, his humor exhausted, his fists clenched white-knuckled at his sides. His hat, which he'd prized since he received it, had fallen to the grass. Though Eric knew Maurice would do his damnedest not to embarrass himself, the signs of imminent explosion were clear.

Eric let Charity push her hold down a single time before he put his hand on her wrist.

Even with the halt, Maurice twitched and groaned.

Charity squeezed him for good measure.

"Let him go," Eric said. "He's too far gone for a long hand job."

"What about a kiss?" Charity suggested archly, her eyes heavy-lidded with enjoyment at what she'd wrought. "I've been thinking I need a broader sampling for comparison."

She was only twitting him, but Eric answered with a firmness that took him by surprise. "Your kisses belong to me."

Her irresistible mouth parted on a breath. "To you?"

"To me and B.G."

The amendment was reluctant, the edict out of character. She smiled, and he knew he'd inadvertently stroked her ego. The drawl that occasionally colored her voice came thick. "All right, cowboy. My kisses belong to you and your boss. Tell me what I'm allowed to do for Maurice."

For this, Eric needed no consult. "Lean over the hood as far as you can. I'm going to pull up your dress."

The
hood was warm as Charity stretched herself over the metal, her hands going instinctively up and out. Her curves flattened against the car, the effect strangely comforting.

"Good," Eric said. "Hold just like that."

Air tickled her legs as her dress slipped up. Eric tucked the cloth beneath her hips to secure it. She was vulnerable then, in the best possible way. The tiny blue thong didn't cover much of anything. She couldn't help wondering what sort of eyeful his boss would get.

"Jeez," Maurice murmured, obviously enjoying his view.

Like any sensible girl, Charity had worn the thong on top of her garter belt. Now Eric took advantage of this convenience, easing down the scrap of fabric until it hit the ground.

"Shall I stroke her?" he asked Maurice. "Would you like to know if she's wet?"

Maurice's
yes
was strangled.

Eric's hand curved over her skin, first caressing her buttocks before sliding warm and gentle between her legs. He hesitated at what he found, then pushed one long finger slowly inside her. He didn't rub, just held at the deepest point, the pressure subtle but pleasant. Charity pressed her cheek to the car.

"Is she tight?" Maurice whispered, apparently concerned.

"She is," Eric confirmed. "But I think you'll manage with a little work. She's very warm, after all, and very wet."

Charity heard a sound that might have been Maurice's teeth beginning to chatter. His left arm free, Eric reached around her and through the passenger window, popping the glove compartment with an expensive snick. She turned her head toward the sound. He was removing a box of condoms and a small glass jar of lubricant.

"I'll help you," he said to Maurice. "Lube you good. You shouldn't have a difficult time at all."

His finger stroked her once before pulling out.

"Stay," he said to her when she would have turned to watch him prepare Maurice. She felt so sensual and relaxed she couldn't argue. Whether or not Maurice's claims were true, she'd never had an experience like this. This encounter involved no guesswork and no pressure. She didn't have to fret about freaking out her partner with some trick she'd learned in the past. She didn't have to worry if the guy was good enough to make her come. Coming was not expected or allowed. All she had to do was follow orders.

She wouldn't have guessed she'd take pleasure in being this passive, but her body didn't know how to lie. She was creamy with arousal, as lazy as a cat dozing in the sun. Maurice's muffled moans at being dressed in the condom, his curses at the careful addition of the lube, merely made her smile. Neither man was paying her any mind. Free to suit herself, she tipped her bottom higher for her own pleasure.

"Ready to start?" Eric asked Maurice. "I want you to last a while."

"So do I," Maurice responded breathlessly. "Look at her! She's flushed up just like a rose."

Charity grinned to herself but didn't bother to shake her tail. She didn't want to make her watchers laugh.

She liked how serious they were. This, it seemed, was a Very Important Screw.

"Come closer," Eric said. "Let's see how your heights match."

Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and the heat behind her increased. A brief discussion ensued during which the men decided to slide her body higher on the hood until her feet dangled off the ground. The position made her feel intriguingly helpless.

"I want to touch her," Maurice said.

"Go ahead," Eric allowed graciously.

A big, hot hand cupped her gently between the legs. Maurice's palm was callused, but his grip was nice.

His thumb roved backward, giving her a tingle she kind of liked.

"That's enough," Eric said before he could get far.

A noise she'd had no intention of making escaped her throat, a noise that—if she were honest—probably qualified as a whimper. Determined not to make another, she pressed her lips between her teeth. She might have saved herself the bother. Eric wasn't focusing on her.

"Spread your hands beside hers on the hood," he said to Maurice. "And keep your weight off her back.

I don't want you holding her hips or thrusting hard."

"But… how am I supposed to do this if I can't grip her? You know I'm too big to slip in easily."

"I'll guide you. I'll hold her steady enough."

"I want to drive all the way," Maurice said, clearly struggling against making it a plea. "I want to feel her around my root."

"You will," Eric assured him. "You just won't be able to do it right away."

She was close enough to hear Maurice's headset buzz. To judge by Maurice's groan, his boss wasn't overruling Eric. Just imagining what he might be saying had arousal trickling down the inside of her thigh.

She knew when Maurice saw it because he groaned even louder.

Eric took this as his cue to guide the other man into place behind her. That done, Eric's fingers spread her for entry. She heard gasps, pants, and then an impossibly broad, hot glans pressed against her gate.

She knew Eric held it in place.

"There," he said. "Feel how ready she is." The huge tip waggled up and down, either because Eric moved it or because Maurice was that excited. With her hips hanging at the edge of the sunwarmed car, Charity was even more dependent on help than Maurice. Luckily, Eric squeezed his second hand beneath her to support her mound. His hold felt lovely, even if he did avoid her best spots.

"Push," he said to Maurice. "Slowly. I don't think her body will stop you now."

Maurice's palms fogged the hood as the pressure against her increased. He went in all right, but with a closeness that made him groan. Charity fought to swallow back a cry. The stretch she felt inside was amazing, on the very pleasant edge of too much. She tried to widen her legs, but her dangling position didn't allow it. Maurice was left to work back and forth as best he could.

"Deeper," he moaned when he finally got halfway in.

Eric obliged him by crooking one of her thighs to the side.

This proved to be the crucial aid. Suddenly Maurice slid in all the way. "Oh, man," he said, his cock jolting inside her. "Oh, man, that is really good."

Charity thought so, too, her sex twitching hungrily around his. She almost didn't care that the back-style entry didn't provide the proper friction for her to peak. The evidence of his gratitude was reward enough.

"You can move," Eric reminded him. "Just not fast."

A quick intake of breath marked Maurice dragging back, followed by a pleasured grunt as he pushed again. The satin strip that lined his trousers brushed her hose. Charity knew she'd never look at a chauffeur the same again.

"Slower," Eric cautioned. "I want a hundred strokes before you come."

"A hundred!" Maurice's muscles knotted as if he was already on the verge. All the same, Charity noticed he didn't refuse.

His fingers pressed beside hers on the gleaming hood, his slab of a chest curling closer with Eric's count.

At twenty, his arms ran sweat. At thirty, his breath began to whistle. At forty, he panted like a freight train and had to stop.

"Can't," he pleaded, quivering from head to toe. "I'm about to blow. My balls are so ready I think they're trying to crawl up my gut."

"I can tug them down," Eric offered. "Help you back off the edge."

"I've come from that," Maurice said with more than a hint of panic. "I've come when people were trying to help me stop."

"I'll be careful. I won't handle you any more than I have to."

Maurice moaned at the words, his cock swelling ominously inside her. "Just let me come," he said raggedly, and Charity didn't know if he was begging Eric or the invisible B.G. "It's been three fucking weeks, and she's as hot as that engine she's lying on. We've never been asked to wait this long. Believe me, I can prove to her how good it is here and now."

"No," Eric said. "If you don't think you can last a hundred, you should pull out."

The names Maurice called Eric then were hardly appropriate for a subordinate. When the tirade ended, Charity spoke up.

"Try," she said, her spine arching slowly with the tension that filled her limbs. "I'd love to have sixty more."

Maurice groaned, but she knew it was a surrender. Eric performed whatever trick he'd been describing and, one by one, huff by huff, she got her remaining strokes.

She couldn't have imagined how much she'd like them. Her pussy felt like it was getting a slow massage.

"All right," Eric said when he hit a hundred at last. "The ride to the end is yours."

Freed, Maurice gripped her fists in his and set his teeth lightly on her neck. Though this surprised her, she didn't object. His thrusts lengthened, growing stronger, faster, until she almost thought they could make her come. She had to remind herself to relax.

"Fuck," she heard him say against her nape. "Pull her legs wider. Yes.
Yes
!"

A flurry of hard, quick strokes marked his desire taking control. Pushed way past its limit, his body was doing exactly what it wished. A sound like a sob wrenched from his chest. "Fuck," he said again, tight and desperate, and then nothing came out but a hoarse, long cry, as raw a noise as she'd ever heard. At that instant, she knew she was little more than a receptacle, a soft tight passage to take the jolts of pleasure streaking through his flesh.

He came in swift, strenuous contractions, pulses that went on far longer than she would have believed a man could experience—as if every week he'd waited must have its own minute. When the spasms finished, Maurice collapsed. The only part of him that moved was his hand petting weakly over her hair.

"Thanks," he mumbled as she tried not to feel too squashed. "That"—he sucked a weary breath—"was the best ever."