I park near a lamp post and turn my attention to her.

She smiles warmly at me. She looks like she’s glowing under the amber lights provided from above.

“Wet,” she whispers, angling her body, her hair spilling over the edge of the seat.

I lean closer, fitting her sweet face between my hands. “What’s that, gorgeous?”

She inhales sharply as I slide my mouth against hers. Her perfect fucking lips open for me, inviting me to take her. We both moan, her hands fisting my shirt and mine moving to her neck, tangling in her hair as I tilt her head. Her warm tongue strokes along mine.

“It makes me wet,” she says breathlessly between kisses. “I’m . . . so wet, Mason. God, my thong is probably soaked right now. Useless. I can take it off if you’d like.”

I groan as my hand falls to her lap, then moves along the smooth, warm skin of her upper thigh underneath her dress. I press against the lace of her g-string.

Soaked.

“Yes,” she moans, her head flopping back. “Yes, please, touch me. God, I need this.”

I lick up her throat, dragging my teeth along her skin as I slide one finger inside her, then another. She’s silky and hot. She trembles when I press against her clit.

“Mason.”

“I want to take you out on a proper date,” I whisper against her ear, my fingers slowly pumping inside her, slower when she starts to rock into my hand.

“Greedy little devil. You want to come?”

She groans and I suck on her lip.

“This weekend. Dinner. Say yes to me, Brooke.”

She growls, chewing on her lip. “Mm, what? Dinner? Why are we discussing dinner? Can’t you just . . . focus on one task at a time? This first. Negotiations later . . . Jesus.”

I bite back a chuckle. Her plea, even though it is humorous, sounds desperate all the same.

She wants this, my fingers fucking her in a vacant field under the stars. My mouth clamping down on every visible, flawless inch of her body. Maybe she’s thought about me doing this to her. God knows I have. I’ve thought about doing everything. Right now, I’m thinking about pulling her over the seat and stripping her of these clothes, tasting the soft skin between her legs. Toying with her clit while I pump my shaft against her heavy tits.

But anything with Brooke is perfect. This right here, my cock throbbing, straining against my zipper, harder than fucking steel, her breathless words against my mouth . . .

“Harder,” she whispers.

“More,” she begs.

I move my thumb over her clit and she arches away from the seat, gasping.

“Like that?”

She nods frantically, clawing at my arm, my shirt, the hand between her legs. Her hips begin circling, her pussy seeking friction against my palm.

“God, Mason . . . Mason.”

I twist my wrist and claim her mouth again, swallowing her indecent noises, the sweet way she pants my name. I want to drown in her. I want her taste to linger in my mouth, her smell to cling to the walls of my lungs.

Brooke.

How can I be so lost in this woman already?

“Perfect,” I whisper against her jaw. “You are fucking perfect.”

She turns her head to capture my mouth, biting and sucking at my tongue. I add another finger and grip the back of her neck, keeping her pinned to me.

“You’re close, gorgeous.”

“I know that,” she growls, her head rolling back, thighs spreading wider. “If you stop right now, I swear to God I will make it so you never have children. I will pin your balls to the seat with my heel.”

I laugh quietly. My cock surprisingly doesn’t react in an offensive way to that threat.

I’m too hard to care. To stop. To think.

Curling my fingers, I pump them inside her and move my thumb wildly over her clit. It only takes a few more seconds and she’s drenching my hand. Writhing against the seat, she gasps into my mouth, the pleasure tearing through her so perfectly, so exquisitely, I break the seal of our lips and lean back to get a better look.

I thought she was beautiful before . . .

“Mason,” she pants, eyes heavy-lidded, her hair sticking to her cheek as she tries to steady her breaths.

“Dinner, Brooke. This weekend. What’s your answer?”

Her eyes fall closed. “Yes,” she says through a heavy exhale. “Okay, fine, I’ll go out with you to dinner. You earned it. That was . . . worth a meal.”

The light from above catches in the corner of her mouth. It’s lifted slightly. A hint of a smile.

Fuck me. I’m so done for.

I’m suddenly grateful she can’t see me clearly. My mouth stretches into what has to be the biggest grin of my life.

I want dates with her. Dinners. Conversation. Hours upon hours of what we shared tonight.

And she said yes.

I slide my fingers out of her, anxious for a taste. A little desperate for it. At the sound of my gluttonous moan, Brooke peeks her eyes open, then gasps and leans forward, getting an inch away from my mouth.

“Well?” she asks, an unruly gleam in her eye as her hand circles my wrist.

She wants to know how she tastes. I could describe her for hours.

I slip my fingers out of my mouth, tracing the wetness along her jaw. “I could live with my mouth between your legs, Brooke. I could die there too.”

Her eyes fill with curiosity, and something else. Fear, maybe? Have I said too much?

I pull back and grip the wheel with both hands. My head hits the back of the seat.