Our limo driver slams on the brake for the third time, and I fall backwards on the leather seat, laughing so much that my chest hurts. Lo breathes heavily, his hand gripping the seat above me, and as he stares down, he shakes his head. But his own smile envelops his face and dimples his cheeks. “You think he’s doing it on purpose?” he asks, his amber eyes flitting down my body, creating hot trails. “He’d be a grade-A cock-blocker,” I say. “Well, I refuse to be cock-blocked tonight.” The headiness, the desire in his gaze sweeps me into a bigger, better ride than the swerving limo ever could.
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