The car thrums underneath me like an animal made machine, all of its muscles working in a flawless rhythm. 

I don’t give a shit about cars. I have one at each of my properties, and my business manager switches them out, upgrading with each model year. I was following my father’s advice when I hired him, and I’ve never bothered to have him stop.

I don’t give a shit about cars, except in circumstances like these, when riding in the back of a town car couldn’t possibly do justice to the urgency humming in my veins. No. I wanted to be in control, so Phillip brought the car from my private garage.

I thought it was thrilling on the way to Conyers Farm. It’s nothing compared to having Ruby in the front seat next to me.

There’s more I have to say to her, and by the way she’s sitting, her legs tensed in high heels, there’s more she has to say to me, too. But I couldn’t stand there on that porch. Words won’t do justice to what I’ve done. I’m hoping the sight of it will win her over, convince her that I do understand. I never would have done something like this for anyone else.

The heat in the air between us is so thick that it’s all I can do to keep breathing. 

I spent every minute from the time I got her text until the time I pulled up to her parents’ estate cajoling and harassing and sweetening the deal. I’m fairly sure that this project alone has put money in the pockets of at least a hundred people. I’d have paid a thousand to have it done on time.

The message comes in while we’re cruising down the freeway in an electric silence, the alert popping up on the navigation screen tucked into the dashboard of the car. It’s a single word: finished.

Instead of loosening the tension stretched across my shoulders, it winds it even tighter. This must impress Ruby. It’s my last shot to show her that I understand where she’s coming from. I understand why this was so important to her. And I didn’t let her down. 

“What’s finished?”

She has my right hand in both of hers, and her grip tightens on my hand when she speaks. One glance at her tells me the curiosity is only increasing. Her blue eyes shine, and her cheeks have a pink color that I wish I could capture in a painting. That’s one work of art I’d keep forever. 

“Nothing you need to know about.”

“What do I need to know about?” I can see her grin out of the corner of my eye. My heart turns over. I don’t want that grin to disappear from her face. I don’t want this to be the wrong move.

“You need to know…” It takes me a solid three heartbeats to choose the words. “…that you’re driving me wild.”

She laughs, her head tipping back against the headrest. “We’re not doing anything.”

“No, we’re not.”

In my peripheral vision, I see the smile fade from her face, and my heart lurches. I take my eyes off the road for a single glance. 

Ruby isn’t frowning.

She’s biting her lip, her eyes narrowed, and the gleam in her eyes has become a smoldering blaze.

“We’re not doing anything now.”

I take the next exit.

It’s reckless as hell, doing this, and I don’t have the slightest idea where I am. I don’t bother looking at the name on the sign, and the moment we’re off the highway, we might as well be nowhere.

Perfect.

Two turns, and I’m on a wooded two-lane highway, looking for the first place to pull off. It’s not twenty seconds before I see it: a gravel road underneath a bower of trees. The rocks crunch under the tires.

I throw the car in park, but I don’t have time to turn the key in the ignition before Ruby is on top of me. I don’t know how the hell she did it—maybe she wasn’t wearing panties in the first place, but I instinctively run my hands up her legs, under her skirt, and there’s nothing stopping me from stroking at her slick folds.

She takes my face in her hands and looks into my eyes. “We’re not done talking.”

“Absolutely not. We’re taking a break.”

Then a wicked grin curls her lips, and she reaches down, unzipping my pants in one smooth motion. “I never do this,” she says, her voice almost casual as she pulls my cock out into the open.

“Never do what?”

“Sex in cars.” Her eyes dart from the left side to the right. “Sex that’s practically in the open. Sex with men who—” She spreads her legs a little wider, guiding the head of my cock to her opening. “—I’m not even sure I’m done fighting with.”

I tighten my grip on her hips and push downward, sliding into her an inch at a time.

“You’re not done fighting with me?” I murmur the words in her ear, and her hands find purchase on my shoulders, digging into my skin through my shirt. 

I sink the last few inches into her. The sigh she lets out when her pussy makes that last thrust of contact is music to my ears. “I’m—” She breathes the word into the side of my neck, her breath hot on my skin. “I’m done fighting.”

“I think you meant to say…” I let the words out sensually, one by one, as I thrust into her, hard and slow, my fingers sinking into her curves. “…that you’re not sure if you forgive me.”

“Yes.” The word is a hiss, and I can’t tell if she’s agreeing with me or urging me on. I don’t care. I thrust into her again, guiding her hips down.

“I’ll give you all the time you need.” Then I reach one hand between us, searching out her clit.

She doesn’t have anything else to say after that.