Page 42 of Heaven Help Me

That makes me laugh harder, which I’m pretty sure he meant to do. He hands me a condom, which I hold while he unzips his jeans and shoves them down his thighs. We’re both grunting with the effort of getting them down while I’m on top of him.

“Pretty sure this wasn’t as hard when we were younger,” he says on a groan. “This is why I like beds now.”

I would agree with him, but I’m too busy getting my hands on his cock. It’s gorgeous standing there between us like a soldier volunteering for duty. It’s long, thick, and clearly ready for what I have in mind. I bend in half and strain to get my mouth on him without my ass hitting the horn on the steering wheel. Deuce grunts the second my lips wrap around the tip of his cock. His shuddering breath above me would make me grin if my mouth wasn’t currently stretched around his length. The taste of him explodes in my mouth and suddenly I’m seventeen, giving a blow job for the first time and wondering if I’m doing it right.

Deuce slides his hands into my hair and grips the strands tight. The slight pain shooting across my skull makes me a little feral. I pull my lips off the head to lick around the rim with my tongue before sinking back onto him.

“Valentina. Fuck, V,” he curses, his hips convulsing a bit and shoving more of his length in my mouth.

Then he pulls hard on my hair and he slips out of my mouth. He doesn’t stop pulling until I’m sitting upright again, licking my lips.

“Condom,” he manages to grunt out. A midnight-black lock of his hair has escaped to his forehead.

I grin, loving seeing him out of control. I did that. I made the perfectly poised Deuce lose his mind. I put the condom packet in my teeth and rip it open. Deuce growls low and threatening in the back of his throat.

“You’re trying to kill me again. Not with a knife. Just you.”

God, I love sex. This feeling of power. The way a man looks at you like he just can’t survive without sinking into your body right this second. I crave that look and Deuce is giving it to me in spades. I roll the condom on and take in his jaw clenching so hard I can see why he gets constant modeling contracts, even at forty-one years old.

I lift up and position him where I need him. He loosens his hold on my hair, one hand pushing my hair behind my ear and the other hand trailing down my tank top until he reaches the bare skin of my hip. His thumb sweeps across to part me lewdly. Like, even in the dark, he wants to see us come together. I lower my hips and sink down onto his length, finally slowing things down because I have to.

The stretch, dear God, the stretch. The hitch of his breath the lower I sink. The way his gaze locks on where we’re now connected. It all feels so damn good. Heaven is right here in the small sedan in a back parking lot. Why haven’t we been doing this from the start?

“Valentina,” Deuce whispers.

I realize my eyes have fluttered closed as I inch my way down to take in his full length. I fling them open to see his gaze now on my face. The look he’s giving me now is different. It’s softer, holding something he wants to communicate. But I don’t want to hear it.

So I lift up and then slam back down again, ignoring the slice of discomfort and setting a new pace that could never be construed as slow or soft or romantic. We’re fucking now, the sound of flesh coming together, the heat and humidity that rises with the windows rolled up, the little puffs of air that lead to full-on grunts. He tries to slow me down with a strong grip on my hips, but I won’t have it. I clench my muscles so hard his eyes roll back in his head. I ride him like I’m outrunning everything I left in New York. Like this might be the only time.

And when I begin to break, it’s with a shout that sounds like a strangled cry. My pace falters and I throw my head back. Deuce leans forward and bites my breast through the tank top and bra. It’s the barely there nip of pain that has everything coming together in a painful rush of an orgasm. My thighs shake and I’m oblivious to what’s going on. My brain has finally, blissfully, taken a back seat to pleasure. Nothing outside of this car matters any longer.

Stakeout? What stakeout?

My head flops forward and he releases my breast. Deuce is driving up into me, his own pace frantic now. I grip his shoulders and lay my head on his chest, boneless as I ride it out. He goes still just seconds later and grunts out my name in a way that makes my stomach go queasy. I like hearing my name as he drives up into me one last time and then begins to shake.

We stay like that for long minutes, both of us breathing hard but not talking. I finally get my head to come back down from the clouds and realize that he’s stroking my back. Big long sweeps of his hands that have me almost ready to fall asleep.

No.

I can’t fall asleep on his lap. Cuddling? Absolutely not.

I lift my head and give myself a second for the spins to settle down. He blinks his eyes open and peers up at me.

“Damn,” he whispers.

I grunt in response. I agree with him. That was…amazing. Maybe too good. Which is why I need to get off of him as soon as possible.

As quickly as I got on top of him, I reverse course, fumbling and bumping into the gearshift again as I get back in the passenger seat. It’s inelegant, and I think I left a shoulder print on his driver’s side window when I pushed off, but all in all, I get the job done.

He’s looking down at his own lap for longer than I’d expect. I notice once I have my jeans back on and lift my hips to zip them up. I frown.

“What?” Did I break his dick?

He flicks a glance at me, all that hooded-eye desire gone. “Uh. I think the condom broke.”

“You think? Or it did?” I snap, alarm obvious in my tone. I lean over to inspect the situation, but he pushes me away.

“Hold on!” He rolls it off of him and nods. “Yep, it broke.”