Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)

by Claire Kingsley

The drive to my condo went by in a haze of explosive sexual tension. My entire groin ached, the pressure radiating outward, making my back tense and my shoulders tight. Her scent and the feel of her silky wetness sliding over me lingered, tortuous and tempting. I’d wanted to fuck her right then, in the back of my car. The primal urge to take her—to thrust my cock inside her and claim her as mine—had been almost overpowering. But enough of my rational brain had been functional to stop me. Plus, watching her make herself come like that had been fucking incredible. The sight of her straddling me with her skirt hiked up her thighs, her panties pulled to the side, had been hot as fuck. A few more minutes of that, and I probably would have come too. She sat next to me, her hands in her lap, her cheeks still flushed an adorable shade of pink. It was hard to keep my attention on the road. We were both silent, but I couldn’t have held a normal conversation even if I’d tried. There wasn’t enough blood in my brain. Luckily, it was late, the roads were fairly empty, and we made it back to my building without any delays. I parked and we got out, my heart still thumping, my dick aching. With my hand on the small of her back, I led her to the elevator. When we got in, I didn’t press the button for the penthouse. Instead, I selected the floor of my other condo. My escape. The place I never showed anyone. Showing her was a risk. I was crossing lines with Everly that I’d never crossed with ...