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“Connor—!” I gasp in surprise, maintaining a slight hover as I straddle him.
“Like this?” he asks, holding me in place by the waist.
I smack his shoulder, but I’m unable to stop the laughter building in my chest as he chuckles. “Yeah, kinda,” I say.
“Kinda?” he asks, intrigued to know more.
“Well, we’d be naked, too, but?—”
Connor pinches my shirt and pulls.
“No—!” I push it back down, my laughter still mirthful, but nervous.
“What? Why not?” he says.
“We’re in a car,” I point out.
“And your dad splurged on the tinted windows. No one’s gonna see ‘em but me.”
I blush. Exactly.
“In my fantasies, I’m confident,” I whisper. “There’s no shame. I’m not even really me, I’m… hot.”
Connor snorts. “You are hot.”
“Of course, you’d say that now,” I joke. “You want to see my tits.”
He grips my waist again and lowers me down, forcing me to break the hover I still hold over his lap. I inhale sharply, my body connecting with the rigid bulge of his jeans.
“Ask me again if I think you’re hot,” Connor says.
He rolls his hips, creating a pleasing rub that’s unfortunately muted through my pants.
Dammit.
Should have worn a skirt.
“Dana,” he whispers, his voice strained as he grinds us together. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my cock in your mouth.”
I shudder, my core tight with tension. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?”
Covering my face with my hands, I cringe. “I mean — not sorry — god, I’m so nervous!”
Connor laughs. “Why? It’s just me.”
“Exactly!” I say, lowering my hands. “You’re the fucking Homecoming king. The damn quarterback. The Halftime Heartbreaker!”
His grin slips a bit. “I really hate that nickname.”
I go quiet. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head. All is forgiven. “I’m not any of that stuff,” he says. “Not with you. Here, I’m just Connor.”
I smile. In a world where he’s Junior’s boy and I’m Johnny’s girl, just being ourselves for a little while sounds pretty good. “Can I be just Dana?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, his smile returning to his eyes. “Your highness.”
