I arched up, letting the glorious feeling rush through me, and I didn’t even hide my smile when Jackson murmured, “Yes, oh, baby, the way you respond, it’s fucking incredible.”

Incredible.

I swallowed a sigh. If being incredible meant that I could feel that way, then I was absolutely beyond thrilled.

“Now tilt your seat back,” he said. “Just a little. That’s good. Now can you still reach your knees? Not quite, but that’s okay. I want one hand on your thigh. Good girl. Now take the other and move it up to your breast. No,” he corrected, “not like that. Trail it up,” he said, placing his right hand over my left, and moving our joined hands slowly and gently up my thigh.

The sensation was amazing, and as our fingers continued their journey over hips and torso, I tilted my head back, lost in a heated and erotic assault upon my senses. Our movement stopped just under my left breast so that I could feel the soft lace against my fingertips, and as Jackson eased my index finger up higher, I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, then bit down when my hand found my nipple, hard and erect over the cup of the bra.

“That’s it, baby,” he said. “Play with it. Touch it. You feel it, I know. That tightness in your nipple. You want to pinch it. To feel it hard between your fingers. Do that, baby,” he said, and I heard his low moan when I did as he asked, then arched up in surprised pleasure as the electricity jolted through me all the way to my sex.

“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice so low and tight that I knew his arousal came close to my own. “Slide your right hand up,” he said, and I was astounded by how eagerly I complied. I trailed my fingertips along the inside of my thighs, then found the edge of my now-soaked thong.

“There you go, baby. Spread your legs wider and pull the material aside. I want to see your cunt. I want to see just how wet you are. I want to watch as you slide your fingertip inside. And I want to watch your body tremble as you go right to the edge. But not over, baby. You don’t go over until I’m deep inside you. I’m going to fuck you hard, baby. So deep and so hard that you’re going to scream my name when you come, and I’m going to capture the sound with my mouth.”

His words shocked me. Not because they were so coarse and bold and unexpected, but because instead of feeling used by the things he suggested, I felt special. Instead of feeling dirty, I felt powerful. As if I was somehow the one in control and not this man who was demanding such supplication and submission.

“Jesus, that’s hot,” he said, as I stroked my fingers over my own slick heat. A tremor rocked me, making me moan. I was close—so very close, and all I wanted was to explode in his arms. I wanted more, deeper, harder. And with the low command of his voice in my head, I did as he asked, touching my clit, thrusting my fingers deep inside myself, and fighting the urge to beg him to stop the car and just please, please, please fuck me.

“Jackson,” I moaned, as I felt the tingling begin along my inner thighs. The precursor to the explosion I so desperately craved.

“Not just yet, baby,” he said, then closed his hand over mine, the mere brush of his hand over my inner thigh was almost enough to make me come anyway. “Not until I tell you to.”

“Please,” I murmured, more wild, more needful than I’d ever felt in my life.

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me.”

“Oh, baby. Believe me, I’m very much looking forward to that. But right now, I think, it’s time.”

“Time?”

“To go inside,” he said. “And so much more.”

I opened my eyes and looked around, surprised to see that we were in the visitor parking area for my apartment building. I’d had no idea that we’d exited the freeway, much less that we’d parked.

Without another word, Jackson leaned toward me, then very slowly buttoned my dress. As he got out of the car, I stayed there, breathing hard and trying to grasp hold of reality. Every bit of reason told me I should race for my door and shut myself inside, locking out Jackson and the world.

But reason didn’t seem to have any bearing on this moment. Instead, I was running on pure emotion, and for the first time in a long time, I trusted that. Craved it. Wanted to just let go and feel the moments flow over me, one after another after another, leading to some wondrous but unknown pinnacle that I’d never reached before.

“Your expression,” Jackson said as he opened the passenger door and reached out his hand to help me out. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not,” I said, then laughed at the giddy sound of my voice. “Isn’t it wonderful? I’m not thinking at all.”