We’re in public, damn it, but Dean doesn’t seem to care. And even though it’s cold outside, his fingers are surprisingly warm as they dip under the crotch of my panties.
Chuckling, he rubs the wetness pooled there. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
He’s mocking me again, and my indignation returns in full-force. “Get over yourself,” I mutter. “I’d be wet if any guy was rubbing up against me.”
“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” His thumb brushes my clit. I almost fall over. “It’s me. You want me.” He pushes one finger inside and my inner muscles betray me by tightening around it. “And as long as this hungry pussy keeps dripping for me, we’re not fucking done.”
Oh God. He’s fingering me in earnest now. The pleasure is unbearable, centered between my legs, pulsing in my veins. It’s all I can concentrate on.
“Dean…” Somehow I remember how to talk. “Anyone can walk outside right now.”
“Good. Let them. Let them see what a bad girl you are.”
I moan so loud it’s embarrassing. Dean adds another finger and works both inside me, curling them until they hit a spot that brings white dots to my vision. I rock against his hand, no longer putting up a protest, but greedily taking what he’s giving me.
“Should we give them a real show? Should I take you right here against the wall?”
My vision comes back into focus. His eyes are blazing with unadulterated lust. His free hand hovers over his zipper. He tips his head, waiting for me to respond.
I don’t know what spell he’s cast over me. I should push his hand away. Tell him to keep his pants zipped and stop being a jerk. We’re in public. Someone really might see us.
So why is my heart pounding even harder?
And why am I dipping my head in a nod?
Approval flashes in his eyes, along with a dose of pure need. His fingers slide out of my core, and then he spins me around so I’m facing the wall.
I tense when muffled voices drift toward us from the street beyond the alley. What if we get caught? What if we get caught by a cop? People go to jail for this, right?
Dean’s hot breath fans over my neck as he lifts my dress up to my waist. The chill in the air raises goose bumps on the backs of my thighs.
I should stop this. Probably. Maybe. But I don’t.
I hear the sound of plastic tearing, clothes rustling, and then his erection slides between my ass cheeks. It moves lower and lower until the tip nudges my opening.
“You better come fast,” Dean whispers in my ear. “I’m so hot for you I won’t last more than a couple strokes.”
I don’t know if I’ll last more than a couple seconds. My clit is swollen to the point of agony. So are my breasts. I’ve never had a quickie outside a bar before, and everything about this moment is different and thrilling and terrifying. The added element of danger, the risk of someone catching us, has turned my body into a live wire just waiting for one spark to ignite it.
And that spark comes in the form of one deep thrust from Dean.
My cry of climax is cut short when he claps a hand over my mouth. For someone who just taunted me about putting on a show, he’s suddenly cautious of our surroundings.
I, on the other hand, can’t even remember what continent we’re on. The orgasm races through me and leaves me breathless. I bear down on Dean’s shaft with every uncontrollable shudder, and he gives a barely audible groan and buries his head between my neck and shoulder as he pumps into me from behind.
He wasn’t kidding. He comes so fast I don’t know whether to be impressed or tease him about it. He drives into me one last time and trembles wildly, his hands clamped tight on my hips.
I’m trembling too, but I don’t know if it’s from the orgasmic aftershocks or the frigid breeze on my bare butt.
When loud voices break the silence, I jump away from Dean and shove my dress down to my thighs. A peek behind the dumpster reveals shadowy figures ambling along the sidewalk. Not a single head turns toward the alley.
I pick up my coat and hurriedly put it on as Dean tucks his still-hard cock into his pants. He flicks the condom in the dumpster and gives me a wary look.
“What?” My voice doesn’t sound like my voice. It’s lower. Throatier.
His gaze rakes over me from head to toe before locking with mine. “We’re not done,” he says gruffly.
I bite the inside of my cheek and say, “I know.”
19
Allie
According to Homeless Lou in Brooklyn, whenever you get a déjà vu, it’s simply a glitch that happens when aliens attempt to access your memories. I guess that’s what the little green men are up to now, because holy hell, déjà vu city.