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“Me too.” A relentless throbbing shoots straight to my center. I rock sideways in my boots.
Griff frowns. “Are your feet okay?”
“Huh?”
Before I have a chance to remember what feet are or that I have two of them attached to my body, he kisses me again. He slides his hands over my hips and lower, bunching my dress in his fingers and dragging it up.
He bends at the knees and lifts me as if I weigh nothing. “Wrap your legs around me,” he demands, kissing my jawline and then my neck. Eagerly, I hug my knees to his hips and curl my arms around his neck. Primal instinct has me writhing against his body. He’s hard behind his jeans.
He only takes a few steps. My butt hits the hard metal hood and I brace my feet on the bumper. He slides one hand under my dress, dragging it over the outside of my thigh. “You’re so soft everywhere,” he whispers.
Bathing myself in the appreciation shining in his eyes, I lie back against the hood and stretch my arms over my head against the cool glass of the windshield. “Look. No hood scoop in my way.”
“Molly,” he groans. He bends and half-climbs onto the hood with me. The metal thumps under our weight. He braces himself over me, his broad, hard, sturdy body pressing into my softer, smaller one. “What do you want?” he asks.
“Touch me.”
He strokes his fingers against my thigh. “I am touching you.”
I reach for him, hooking my arm around his neck and dragging him closer. He answers with a searing kiss. My blood pounds through my ears. I slide my foot along the fender, opening my legs.
Griff groans against my neck and kisses a path to my breasts. I raise myself a few inches. “Zipper. In the back.”
Between my hair being in the way and the awkward angle we’re splayed in on the car, it takes a few quick jerks to lower the zipper enough that I can push the straps of my dress off my shoulders, baring my sheer purple bra.
“Your bra matches your dress.” He cups one of my breasts with his hand, leans down, and sucks my nipple through the thin material.
“Oh God,” I gasp, as sparks fly over my skin.
He releases my nipple and blows air over the damp tip.
“Griff.” I moan his name and work one bra strap off my shoulder, then the other, baring myself to him completely.
“Molly,” he breathes. “You’re so pretty.” He grazes his knuckles against my straining nipples. “I knew you would be but…damn.”
I arch into his touch and he leans forward, wrapping his lips around my other nipple. My body trembles, and I let my head fall back with a thump. Little daggers of pleasure travel straight to my center.
“Griff.”
He sucks harder and teases his tongue over the tip, driving me wild. Then his hand returns to my thigh, pushing my dress as he slides all the way to my hip. The dress is too tight for him to move higher without me taking it all the way off. But he follows the waistband of the seamless boy shorts I’m wearing underneath. Not the sexiest underwear for this encounter. When I dressed this morning, I was thinking of how short my dress was and how I didn’t want to flash anyone when I climbed in and out of cars at the track. I never dreamed I’d end up here with Griff or I would’ve chosen differently.
Griff explores carefully, like he’s measuring the boundaries of my underwear while mapping the contours of my body. Pulses of pleasure race over my skin with every touch.
“Molly, look at me.” He kisses my cheek.
I open my eyes as he slides his hand along my inner thigh. “Please keep touching me,” I whisper.
Staring at me with a burning intensity so powerful my skin prickles, he wedges his hand between my legs and strokes his fingers along my center. The throbbing at my core intensifies.
“Oh.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Eyes,” Griff reminds me. One finger firmly slides over my underwear, following the seam of my lips. He lets out a low groan. “You’re drenched, baby.”
My breath stutters in my chest. “I?—”
He kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear, “You can be as loud as you want. No one’s here.”
“Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice full of desperate need.
