Emilie Rose - The Ashtons - Walker, Ford & Mercedes

And then they kissed, as deeply as they could, tongue to tongue, heart to beating heart.

A second later they went mad. He attacked her dress, sending every last button flying. She did the same thing to his shirt, ripping the denim with feminine force.

When she climbed onto his lap, he thought he might die. He breasts were exposed, only inches from his mouth. She was jammed between him and the steering wheel, but she didn’t seem to mind. So much for the blanket, he thought. She’d dropped it, along with their extra clothes, onto the floorboard.

He licked her nipples, switching sides, blowing on each one, making them peak. She pulled his head closer, encouraging him to suckle.

Desperate, he lifted her dress to her thighs, running his hands along the waistband of her panties. She moaned and rubbed against his fly.

He closed his eyes, opened them, smiled at her.

She was watching everything he did, trying to see in the dark. He turned on the dome light, illuminating the vehicle with a soft glow. He didn’t care if it drained the battery. He could stay here, just like this, for the rest of his life.

His body was rock hard, thick and solid and eager to penetrate hers. Only, they were still half-dressed, still torturing each other with foreplay.

She looked incredible, with her luscious curves and golden-brown skin. Her neck was long and slender, and her nipples were damp with saliva.

His saliva. His hunger. His insatiable need.

“I could eat you alive,” he said.

“Then do it.” She rocked forward in his lap, creating friction, giving him a slightly shy, slightly sirenlike smile. “And I’ll do it to you, too.”

Every ounce of blood rushed straight to his groin. He had no idea how she could be so subtle yet so obvious. Women, he thought, were fascinating creatures.

“This could be a dream.” He nuzzled her neck, tongued the shell of her ear and inhaled the fragrance on her skin, the lotion that drove him to distraction. “A wet dream,” he added, dragging her into the backseat.

Once again, he hiked up her dress, but this time, he removed her panties, clutching the piece of lace. He wondered if she’d chosen them for him or if she always wore such sexy little underthings.

When he kissed her there—right there—she bucked against his mouth. Wanting more, he pushed her legs open even farther, showing her how naughty he intended to get.

She practically melted against him, dissolving like spun sugar. Then she took off her dress and boots, tossing them aside, offering him every inch of her naked body.

A sacrifice, he thought. A gift.

Within minutes—heart pounding, soul-spinning minutes—Tamra kept her promise, shifting her body so she could pleasure him, too. So they could make love to each other at the same time.

She dislodged his shorts and took him in her mouth, making his stomach muscles quiver, making his blood swim.

Yet somewhere deep down, he knew this was more than an affair. This was their emotions, a blend of sex and sin, of passion and warmth, of unbridled affection.

A pleasure so deep, he feared he might drown.

He kept tasting her, licking her while she did erotic things to him. And when she climaxed, when she convulsed against his tongue, he fought the urge to come, too.

Knowing he couldn’t let her take him all the way, he stopped her before it happened. She sat up and gazed at him, still glassy-eyed from her climax.

Finally she smiled at him, and he realized why. His shorts were halfway down his legs, and he was still wearing his shirt, the fabric she’d torn to smithereens. He grinned and tackled her, pinning her to the seat.

She wrestled with his clothes, and they went crazy all over again. By the time he was completely naked, she dug her nails into his skin, clawing him like a dark-eyed cat, a feline in heat.

He thrust into her, full hilt. She wrapped her legs around him, and they gazed at each other, trapped in a candid moment, in being as close as possible.

She grabbed on to the plastic handhold above her head, bracing herself for a deep, driving rhythm, telling him, without words, what she wanted.

He didn’t disappoint. He took her, hard and fast, rough and dangerous.

There was no other way to describe their coupling. The crush of their mouths, the clank of teeth, the greedy, frantic, carnivorous sensation of pounding straight into her.

The woman stealing his senses.

She made his mind spin, his breath catch, his heart nearly beat its way out of his chest.

Together, they let themselves fall. She clung to him, gasping in his ear, shuddering in his arms. He came, too, spilling into her, warm and wet and drugging.

In the moments that followed, they remained still, afraid to move, to break the connection.

Finally he withdrew, leaving her damp with his seed. Unsure of what else to do, he grabbed his discarded shirt and tucked it between her legs, letting her use it like a towel.

“You’re not sorry, are you?” she asked.

“No. Why would I be?”

“Because you said we were going to be sorry afterward.”

“I said that before I knew you.” He scooted next to her, smoothing her hair away from her face, thinking how beautiful she was.

“I’m not sorry, either.”

He smiled, then noticed she looked chilled. He remembered the blanket she’d brought and climbed in the front seat to retrieve it.

“Here.” He slipped it over her shoulders, and she invited him to share it with her.

He turned off the dome light, darkening the car, bathing them in the pitch of night. And as they snuggled in the dark, he wondered if they would be sorry later.

When he left the reservation without her.

Morning came too soon. Tamra heard the clang of pots and pans, the familiar soundof Mary fixing breakfast.

Was Walker awake, too? Was he sitting at the kitchen table, pretending that he hadn’t sneaked out of the house last night? Or crept back in several hours later?

She sat up and reached for her robe. She could still feel Walker’s touch—his mouth, his hands, the strength of his body, the erotic sensation of flesh against flesh.

Although she kept telling herself it had been lust, a hard-hammering, desperate-for-sex release, she knew better. Because after the sex had ended, they’d remained in each other’s arms, not wanting to let go, to break the spell.

And now, God help her, she was nervous about seeing him, anxious about facing the man who was seeping into her pores, the man playing guessing games with her emotions.

They were getting too close too fast, and it scared her. Yet she liked it, too. She envisioned marching into the kitchen or her bedroom or wherever he was and kissing him senseless. But she wouldn’t dare, not in front of Mary. Walker’s mom had slept through the entire event.

Tamra washed her face and brushed her teeth, but she didn’t take a shower or get dressed. She simply tightened her robe and headed down the hall. She wanted Walker to see her this way, to look into her eyes on the morning after, to appreciate her tousled hair, to remember running his hands through it.

She entered the kitchen, but he wasn’t at the table. She took a deep breath and decided he would awaken soon. He didn’t seem like the type of man who would sleep the day away.

“Oh, my. Look at you.” Mary turned away from the stove, from the old-fashioned oatmeal she was stirring. “Did you have a rough night?”

Tamra blinked, forced a smile, fought a wave of guilt. “Rough?”

“Did I keep you up?” The older woman sighed. “I was snoring, wasn’t I? I need one of those mouthpiece devices. Or a nasal strip or something.”

“It was fine. I hardly noticed.” Because she’d been parked on the plains, having carnal relations with Mary’s son.