Free Private Acts by Delaney Diamond Page B

anger and unsatisfied lust.
    “Are you done running?” he demanded. His pupils were dilated, and an almost feral brilliance filled his eyes. He dragged the scrap of lacy panties down her legs and tossed it away from him. His fingers found the incriminating wetness. Groaning, he fondled her, stroking his fingers across the wet lips between her thighs like they belonged to him.
    Samirah choked on the words she should say but didn’t. She closed her eyes, appalled at the impropriety of their actions in the middle of the parking lot where anyone from the event could exit at any moment and see them—see her, sprawled across a stranger’s car with her dress folded up to her waist and his hand between her legs.
    His fingers sank into her thighs, and he dragged her to the edge of the hood. The loose knot of curls on her head finally fell free. Heat radiated across her skin where he touched, and yearning wound its way through her body, shaming her with its intensity. She didn’t even have the strength to stop him.
    “Don’t ever walk away from me again,” he whispered raggedly.
      A thin thread of anger lingered beneath the urgent need in his voice. The soft grind of a zipper’s teeth penetrated the sound of their panting breaths as he undid his pants. He positioned himself between her legs and her eyes widened. She realized he aimed to do the unthinkable—right there, in the middle of the parking lot.
    “What are you doing?” she whispered in a last-ditch effort to stop him, stop herself, from what they were about to do.
    He leaned over her, blocking the glaring lights from the pole nearby. His dark brown hair fell forward and cast his features in shadow. He pushed her knees back to her chest, pinning her down. She felt the broad head of his penis against the entrance to her body. “Giving us both what we want.”
    The raw timbre of his voice exposed the imbalance of his emotions. He was losing himself, his accent so strong she could barely understand what he said.
    He pushed into her with such force, she cried out. Her fingers trembled as she stretched her arms to grab onto his shoulders. Her body twisted and arched in a desperate attempt to accommodate his size.
    He withdrew slowly, bathed in the moisture from her body, and powered into her again. A sob of immense pleasure broke from her throat. She moaned, begged, struggled to breathe. Picking up the pace, he groaned, showing no mercy. But she didn’t want mercy. She got exactly what she wanted—heart-pounding, incredible sex that made her indifferent to their surroundings.
    He restrained her wrists above her head, and with her calves on his shoulders, she couldn’t move an inch. All she could do was take the pounding he dished out. His hips slammed against her thighs in quick succession, jouncing her naked breasts, rocking her body with each advance. Over and over. She took it, trembled from the sheer pleasure and force of it, certain he would dent the metal at her back with the strength of each thrust.
    The coiled tension in her loins loosened under the onslaught. Above her, his breath grew shallow, fanning her temple. His movements became more urgent as he chased release. Her head tilted back, and her nails bit into her palms. Stars burst behind her eyelids.
    The beat of ecstasy pounded through her veins as she gave herself over to such intense pleasure she couldn’t hold her screams. It was too good to keep to herself. Her throbbing cries drifted on the night air.
    He trembled, gripping her slender wrists in a tight hold as he frantically drove into her harder, faster, and with a mighty roar, found satisfaction.

    * * * *

    Beads of sweat dotted Miguel’s forehead. Tendrils of hair clung to his face where his hair had dipped forward across his brow. He eased from between Samirah’s legs and silently zipped his trousers while she slid from on top of the vehicle and adjusted her clothes.
    Her eyes remained downcast, not looking at him, and how could he blame