Free His Sugar Baby by Sarah Roberts Page B

doing a good job of turning her on right then. “Are you satisfied now?”
    He gave a low laugh. “Hardly.” His hands continued their erotic play. He glanced into the dark night. “A car could come along any second and catch us in the headlights,” he remarked casually.
    Winter quickly looked around to stare down the night-shadowed road. The suggestion, once put into her head, wouldn’t leave. His hands and what he was doing with them, his breath warm on her face, his muscular arms caging her in—pleasure speared through her, and she shuddered.
    Suddenly he turned her around and doubled her over the low door of the sports car. She caught herself in the shallow of the bucket seat, braced her hands, and started to push back upright. He crowded her against the side of the Porsche. Her hair tumbled in her face as she twisted her head to stare up over her shoulder at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
    He flattened one hand onto her upper back to hold her in place, bent over the door. “This is the way it’s going to be tonight, Winter.”
    She felt her skirt yanked up. Sudden coolness struck first her legs then her bare butt. She heard the unmistakable burr of a zipper. “No!” She squirmed and bucked, but the angle was too steep, his hand was too firm, and her splayed thighs were pressed too close against the metal side of the car by the weight of his body. She heard a tearing sound, the snap of a rubber. She bucked again, and he hissed.
    “Someone could come along at any time, Winter.”
    At his husky reminder, excitement gripped her again, more strongly. The thong stretched tight across one ass cheek as his fingers pulled it aside. She sucked her breath in sharply. She felt the blunt questing nudge against her exposed, wet sex. Then his thick, rigid cock penetrated her, stretching her wide with a single hard thrust. He was fully seated, his length burning her passage. Her inner muscles clenched. Michael grunted and swore. “God, you’re so tight, so hot.”
    With a sharp shift of his hips, he began to move. She arched again, uttering a muted cry, but he held her tightly in place. His heavy shaft stroked deep inside her, setting up a steady, hard rhythm. Winter caught her breath in little pants as his rocking pushed her against the car. The top of the door bit into the tender flesh of her stomach. The clunky necklace hanging from her neck banged over and over against the door handle.
    His fingers bit into her flesh. The wet smacking sound of their joining was underscored by his swift rasping breaths. The smell of sex permeated the night air. The speed of his possession increased. Every hammer thrust drew a grunt out of her. Tears blurred her eyes, and she bit her lips, but it wasn’t because there was pain. A sensual haze encompassed her. All she could do was hold on while he forged fiery heat and humiliation through her.
    Michael stiffened, uttering a hoarse shout. When he shuddered, when he was done, Michael pulled out of her body and rolled off the used condom, dropping it to the ground. He let the thong snap back in place. Breathing heavily, he stepped back to adjust his still-rigid shaft back into his tux pants.
    Winter levered herself up, twisting to face him. “You son of a bitch!” She blazed with anger. She took a hasty step away from the car, her open palm flying out at him.
    Michael caught her forearm before her palm could connect with his face. His fingers tightened, and he dragged her arm out at an angle to her body, holding it there. At the same time he yanked her against him. She fell into his body, trapping her other arm between them.
    “Let go of me!” she panted. She squirmed against his chest, arching as far from him as she could. Ignoring her struggles, he cradled her ass and lifted her, pushing her pelvis into him. The bulge under his zipper pressed into her belly.
    His breath was warm on her face. “You may not have altogether enjoyed that encounter. But I suspect,