I lower my speed to match his. He’s doing his best to keep his eyes on the road, but I can tell he doesn’t want to miss a stroke. I make sure he’s watching as I slide my middle finger along my slit and deep into my sweet hole. I use my first and third fingers to gently squeeze my lips together using just enough pressure to make my clit throb. I keep moving in time with the vibrations of the road and the beat of the music. I glance up and the driver’s eyes are glued to me languidly fucking myself. One of his hands moves off of the steering wheel. I give a brief thought to hoping he’s about to have as much fun as I am. I’m getting anxious and I need more. My first finger joins my second sinking knuckle-deep. The heel of my hand continues the delicious pressure on my mound. I can’t get enough and grind down on my hand to get my fingers even deeper. Making little fluttering movements deep inside myself… Oh, God, here I go… I press my head back into the seat and fight the urge. “Me? I’m only bringing you this drink he told me to give you. He’s a little shy, Annie. Give the guy a break. Go talk to him.” The vision of the tall dark reaper was still emblazoned in her brain. A freaking reaper. He had to measure like seven feet, which was what the majority of those black winged death angels measured—really. But this reaper—holy friggin heaven above—he made Zachariel look like a wimpy teenager, and Zak was big as a star-freighter—muscles bulging everywhere with size fifteen feet. Ashriel, as Remi had called him, was a study of bronzed skin pulled taut over pure brawn—B-R-A-W-N—in capital letters with like a gazillion exclamation points behind it. How else would you describe a black-winged Seraph with an eight pack and pecs like that? Just…wow. A face sculpted to masculine perfection and framed by a spill of silken dark hair just past his shoulders accompanied that killer body. Behind wide, bulky shoulders, Anniel had seen the outline of jet-black feathers. The.
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