“Excuse you,” She snapped. “I don’t know what you think is happening tonight, but—”

Her train of thought was cut off, and usurped by Callan leaning in closer, forcing her head to draw back. 

His deep whispered gravel feathered over every inch of her as he spoke. 

“Baby, I know exactly what’s happening tonight.” 

She could only blink, and his eyes dropped to her lips. “I thought we could make it back to our place because you need to be fucked.” She shivered. He smirked. “I see now I underestimated your need to come. Is that what you want, baby? For me to make that pussy weep?”

Francesca’s lips, already parted, were still unprepared to answer, so she nodded instead. The way she stared up at him made him wonder how the fuck he would control himself enough to make her come without fucking her raw in the back of this car. 

His jaw was so tense as he stared at her that she could see the muscle ripple under the pressure of his teeth grinding together. Everything he said next made her lose her mind. She couldn’t understand how a man like him wore carnality like a second skin, but she loved it. 

“Don’t you make a fucking sound,” Callan whispered with little restraint. “If he looks, I’ll throw him out of the car while it’s moving.”

“What?” she eked out, before feeling his right hand dip under her skirt. 

Her eyes instantly closed as she felt the material draw up along her calf before his palm covered her knee. She quickly covered his hand with her skirt, her eyes locked to his again, and weakly shook her head, before glancing at the rear-view mirror. But Callan didn’t stop his advancement.  

His hand pressed, his fingers trying to push between where her legs were crossed, but she wouldn’t budge.

Callan’s command was mouthed.

“Open.”

One word. It made her wet. Her body ached to be touched. 

He leaned in close to her ear, saying exactly what she wanted to hear. 

“I don’t ask twice.” 

Her body responded, her leg sliding off the other as she exhaled quietly, emptying the air from her body. 

“That’s it, love. Let me give you what you need.” 

Callan’s hand cupped her pussy, his middle finger swiping up, separating the wet hairs, and gliding over her clit. 

“You’re trying to fucking kill me.” He hummed deeply, I’m supposed to stay sane knowing this pussy was bare all night, goddamn—” 

Callan didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he thrust two fingers inside her.