Good Girls Don't (10 page)

Her breasts seemed larger than he remembered as they hovered beneath the two wisps of fabric centering each full mound. But, even though they may have grown, they were undoubtedly real. There was nothing fake or enhanced about Lettie Campbell. The genuine jiggle that teased his senses when she strutted out of the building had proven it.

Plus he’d watched those firm little buds peak and harden when he told her, commanded her, to turn around. Those hard points told him what he’d suspected all along. Lettie liked guys who took control—and right now she liked the one driving this car.

He’d feared he wouldn’t be able to pull it off, being tough and assertive for Lettie Campbell. But anything that involved having Lettie was worth it, even if it meant he wasn’t being completely honest. Eventually, he’d tell her the truth, that he’d love nothing more than to treat her like a queen, the way she deserved to be treated.

But first, he’d treat her the way she wanted. Like a hot little plaything made for his personal enjoyment.

He turned onto the interstate and rolled the windows down. The rush of wind and the noise from the surrounding traffic would intensify his next attempt to remind Lettie there was much more to what they could share than friendship.

He moved to the HOV lane, away from eighteen-wheelers and other tall vehicles. Sure, he’d planned to do this, after dinner and a show. Much later in the evening, when the traffic had died down considerably.

Accelerating, he attempted to space himself an even distance from the other cars on the road. He wanted to thrill her, not embarrass her. But he would thrill her. Thoroughly.

C
HAPTER
8

L
ettie watched her window slide down, then blinked her eyes at the onslaught of warm air whipping through the car. He said he wouldn’t make her wait long, and she believed him. But she hoped they got there fast. Because she was so ready to
get there
. Fast.

“This feels wonderful,” she said, leaning her head back against the leather headrest and letting the wind wash over her. The air fanned her chest, penetrating the flimsy fabric and tickling her already-aroused nipples. God, she hoped he didn’t plan on driving very far.

She closed her eyes and fought to gain control over her itching-for-sex body. Surely, she could make it until they got where they were going. Though right now, she knew a few slides of her fingers against her drenched panties would do the trick.

It wouldn’t take much.

But she’d been taking care of business herself for entirely too long, and she wanted—needed—a male-induced orgasm. Was that too much for a healthy twenty-nine-year-old female to ask?

Evidently, with Jeff, it had been.

With Bill, however, Lettie believed she could ask him anything, and he’d rise to the occasion. Literally. But the first thing she wanted to ask was how much longer they’d be on this highway.

“Where are we go—”

Her words stalled in her throat and her eyes popped open as his fingers slid beneath the left side of her halter and captured a nipple. “Oh.”

Bill’s eyes focused on driving down the road, while his hand focused on driving her crazy. Pulling the soft strip of silk toward him, he exposed her breast completely, the bulge pushed out farther by the bunched sliver of fabric.

“I, um,” she said, then cautiously surveyed the traffic on the interstate.

“Do you want me to stop, Lettie?” Still staring straight ahead, he continued to drive, as though he weren’t baring her body on a six-lane interstate.

“No.” And what a no-brainer that was. She’d rather stop breathing than have him quit now.

Forgetting about the potential for voyeurs, she dropped her gaze to her chest, where Bill’s thumb and forefinger pinched and rolled the exposed nipple.

Yeah, it was dark out, but the lights from the interstate spilled into the car, making the pale pink nipple appear even more boldly presented. As if it were spotlighted. For Bill.

“You didn’t wear a bra.” His fingers continued rolling and pinching, squeezing and kneading, while her uterus twitched to get in on the action.

He turned his head slightly and glanced at the breast on display.

She wet her lips. He’d known from the moment he saw her walk out of the apartment building that she was braless. Particularly after he’d insisted on a thorough examination to see if she’d changed. And if that weren’t enough, he couldn’t have missed her high beams pushing against his shirt when he’d pulled her body to his.

But he wanted to talk about it now. Maybe pointing out that she’d deliberately chosen a dress that left no option for a bra turned him on. And if so, she was ready to play this game. Ready, willing and able to turn Bill Brannon on.

Feeling bold, Lettie twisted in the seat and allowed him better access to her chest. Then she slid the other strip of fabric aside, so both breasts were blatantly bare and pushed together, while Atlanta rushed by in a swirling commotion of wind and noise.

Her blood pumped madly at the wildness, at the spontaneity, at this side of Bill Brannon. It was exhilarating. And maddening.

She wanted him. Now.

“Bill.”

“Yeah.” His hand ventured to the other breast, pulled at the nipple.

“How much farther?”

“I promised I wouldn’t make you wait, didn’t I?”

“You did, so I was wondering—”

“I forgot to tell you the rule,” he interrupted, ignoring her question while his attention turned back to the road ahead.

“Rule?”

His mouth twitched, as though fighting a smile; then his cheeks lifted and he set that gorgeous smile free. “Damn, you’re hot, Lettie.”

She leaned across the seat, kissed the solid line of his jaw. He was playing a game and enjoying it. Needless to say, she couldn’t wait to find out how she’d get to participate in the fun. “What kind of rule?”

He cleared his throat. “For riding in my car. I’ve got one rule, and right now you’re breaking it.”

She blinked. Was he serious? Bill Brannon? One of those weird-about-his-car kind of guys? And she’d been so certain he wasn’t when she viewed the no-reason-to-compensate Camry.

“What rule am I breaking?”

“The rule about girls who don’t wear bras.”

She smiled. Oh, this had nothing to do with his car. And everything to do with them. Bill Brannon
had
changed. Or come out of his shell. Or something. But he was definitely, positively taking their relationship to a whole new, wonderful level.

Her pulse soared and her nipples burned. Tonight promised to be fun.

She shifted closer, put her lips to his ear. “You have a rule that only applies to girls who don’t wear bras?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” His rolling laugh bubbled down her skin, making her tingle. Everywhere.

“No, everybody doesn’t. But I don’t want to break your rule, and I’m obviously not wearing a bra.”

“I’ll say you aren’t.” Still grinning, and looking sinfully sexy in the process, he caressed the breast in hand.

“So what’s the punishment? For a girl who blatantly breaks your rule?”

“The punishment fits the crime,” he said, his throat pulsing as he swallowed. “Girls who don’t wear bras . . .” He paused, while Lettie held her breath.

When he didn’t complete the sentence, she exhaled, dying to know what he had on his mind. “Girls who don’t wear bras . . .” she prodded.

“Can’t wear panties either.”

Even with the speedometer creeping steadily higher, the wind whistling around them in a steady, rolling
whoosh,
and the sounds of Atlanta at night penetrating the car, Bill heard Lettie’s gasp.

Hell. Was his rule over the top? Maybe commanding her to remove her panties wasn’t exactly what the doctor ordered for a first date.

He kept his eyes peeled on the road ahead. If he looked at her now and saw shock, or revulsion—or worse—embarrassment, it’d kill him. He did not want to hurt Lettie, didn’t want to humiliate her. Matter of fact, by the end of the week, he hoped to woo her into thoughts of long-term commitment. Instead of ordering her to remove her clothes.

Damn. Had he messed up?

Her lips had been nuzzling his neck when he stated the totally-beyond-first-date-etiquette rule. Now she’d retreated to her side of the car, taking those delicious lips, and everything else, with her.

He took a breath. Time to fess up. Bill Brannon had no clue how to be that assertive. That commanding. That bad. But before he could speak the first word of an apology, she spoke.

And blew him away.

“Let it never be said,” she said throatily, lifting her hips from the seat, “that Lettie Campbell doesn’t follow the rules.” Then, as Bill fought to keep the car within the lines, and fought even harder to watch the show, Lettie lifted her skirt to her waist.

Bill had never been one for bragging, hadn’t been the kind of guy who’d make some unbelievable claim about how much weight he could bench. But right now he’d swear he could lift a car. With his dick.

“So I need to remove these?” she purred, running a finger along the top of a red satin triangle between her legs.

He nodded. That was all he could do at the moment.

She smiled like the vixen she was and slid the panties down.

Bill caught a glimpse of heaven, a completely bare, shaved and slick version of heaven. “Lettie.” Then she slid her skirt back in place and lifted the tiny scrap of red fabric that had been, one second ago, exactly where he wanted to be.

“You did want me to take these off, didn’t you?” She reached for his wrist and placed the wet fabric in his palm.

Wet. For him.

“I’m keeping these,” he informed, squeezing his fist around them, then pocketing the sexy wisp of clothing.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” She ran a finger along his jaw. “Now that I’ve paid the fine, what happens next?”

Bill turned his head slightly and sucked on her extended finger. “I have to examine the evidence, make sure you conformed to the rule. Completely. Raise your hips, Lettie.”

Her eyes widened; then her lips curved, and she did as he asked.

With one shove, he pushed her dress up to her waist. “Now lower your hips and spread your legs.”

Evidently, his foot had eased off the gas as he’d been enthralled with undressing his sexy passenger, because an eighteen-wheeler started past them on her side.

“Bill?” she said, her head turning toward the approaching vehicle, and a tinge of panic in her tone. Then she twisted her shoulders to hide her breasts from the man’s view.

Bill grabbed the edge of the skirt and pulled it down, holding it in place until the trucker passed. Then, as soon as the intrusion was gone, Bill set the cruise control with one hand, while the other edged the skirt back up. “I told you I wouldn’t make you wait.”

“That’s right. You did.” Her voice was raspy, sexy, needy. She needed what he’d give her. And God knows, he needed to give it.

“And I keep my promises.”

His hand slid between her legs, found the slick source of those damp panties held captive in his pocket. She was so open, so accessible, shaved and smooth and wet. He brushed the soft folds with his knuckles, then gently glided a finger into her slippery, hot center.

Lettie’s back arched, legs spread wider, as she pushed toward his sweet invasion. She clenched around him, held on tight, in spite of her drenched heat.

Hell, he hadn’t considered how hard it’d be to keep his eyes on the road, or at least one eye on the road, while touching Lettie Campbell. Damn near impossible. But he wasn’t about to stop driving now. He had no doubt her excitement had been heightened by the situation. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop touching her. Ever.

“Please,” she urged.

Bill glanced toward his passenger, the woman he’d wanted more than any other for the majority of his life. Her mouth opened in a silent plea. Back arched and breasts thrust forward, letting the wind kiss those perfect pink-tipped nipples. Nipples that Bill would personally lick, kiss and suck before the night ended.

He withdrew his finger, added another, then delved them both into her dripping passion, steadily thrusting in and out, in and out, while she jerked beneath him.

“Bill.” His name was a whimper on her lips. A pleading request that he would fulfill.

He’d wanted to make her wait a little longer, build up to an explosive climax she’d never forget. But the way her thighs had tightened, flexing for the touch that would send her soaring, he knew he couldn’t make her wait any longer.

His thumb moved up her tender folds to her swollen clit.

Lettie hissed through her teeth.

“Is that it, Lettie? Is that what you want?” He knew he’d found her secret spot, and he caressed it fervently as he waited for her response.

When she didn’t answer, Bill stopped, holding his thumb steady on her aching nub. It pulsed beneath his touch, so ready to push her into a frenzied climax.

“N-no,” she pleaded. “Please, Bill.”

“Please what? What do you want?”

His dick pushed against his pants, as though wanting to help her give the right answer.

“I want—”

Bill pushed his fingers deeper, pulled them out, plunged them in again, while she flexed around them. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“Make me come.”

While those might not be the three words he wanted to hear most from Lettie Campbell’s luscious mouth, they sure as hell weren’t far behind.

“With pleasure.” His fingers continued pumping, while his thumb joined in, softly circling her tender cleft, then gradually increasing pressure. Faster and faster, harder and harder . . .

Her hips jerked off the seat as she screamed into the wind, while the depth of her passion soaked his fingers.

Then, as her body shuddered through the aftermath of her climax, Bill eased his hand away from her center and, while Lettie watched with sex-glazed eyes, he sucked her essence.

Shifting in her seat, she leaned against him. “Bill?”

“Yeah.”

“I want you.”

Lettie definitely had a way with three-word sentences. Particularly the ones that put an up-periscope in his pants. Who was he kidding? His dick had been on red alert since he’d glimpsed that dress. Those eyes. Mouth. Legs.