Chapter 33: The Rain and The Ride
Liza sat stiff in the passenger seat of Wyatt’s car. Outside, the late afternoon sky looked swollen with storm clouds, the kind that promised more than a drizzle.
She realized she had forgotten her umbrella back at the office. Now the thought of stepping out into a downpour in her pencil skirt and blouse annoyed her. Beside her, Wyatt drove with one hand resting easily on the leather steering wheel, the other relaxed on the gearshift.
That morning, she’d chosen a blouse with a low neckline to show off her cleavage and a skirt that hugged her curves. She could feel him looking even when his eyes were fixed on the road.
“You didn’t ask where we’re going,” Wyatt said finally.
“You said client meeting,” she replied.
His smile flickered in the windshield’s reflection. “That’s what I told them.” He shifted gears as rain pattered against the glass. “But we’re not.”
Her stomach dipped. She smoothed her skirt with her palms. “Then where are we going?”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if giving him a drumroll. He flicked the wipers on before he finally, his gaze sliding briefly toward her, turned back to the road.
“You look… daring today,” he said instead.
Her heart gave a hard thud, but her lips curled into a faint smile. “It’s called dressing professionally.”
He chuckled. “Professional,” he echoed, eyes trailing briefly down her front. “That blouse of yours disagrees. And that skirt—” he tapped the wheel with a slow rhythm, “—I’ll say, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”
Heat prickled at the back of her neck. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. Outwardly calm.
The storm outside deepened, rain hammering harder, thunder cracking closer.
Then Wyatt’s hand slid from the wheel to her thigh without warning. His touch was casual at first, fingers resting there.
Liza’s pulse leapt, but she didn’t move to stop him. She kept her eyes on the blur of lights outside, pretending indifference while her body betrayed her with heat pooling low.
Slowly, Wyatt’s thumb traced slow circles above her knee, climbing higher. “You’re quiet,” he said. “Does my hand bother you?”
She forced her gaze back to him. “If it did, I’d say so.”
He smirked. “Good girl.” His fingers pressed more firmly into her thigh, testing and claiming.
Lightning split the sky, thunder following close behind. His hand slid higher. “Loosen it,” he ordered, eyes fixed on the wet road ahead. “That little zipper at the back. Do it.”
The command was blunt. For a second, pride told Liza to resist, but her fingers moved anyway, slipping to the small of her back. The zipper glided down, loosening the fabric around her waist.
Wyatt smiled as though he’d known she’d obey. His palm pressed deeper between her thighs, spreading the skirt further apart. “There,” he muttered. “That’s better.”
She shifted in the seat, nerves sparking into arousal.
“You’re soaked already,” he said. “And we’ve barely started.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. Excitement knotted in her stomach.
Then Wyatt steered the car into a deserted parking lot; the world outside blurred into gray streaks of water. He killed the engine, leaving only the storm as their cover.
Before Liza could register the shift in air, he reached for her and crashed his mouth onto hers. The kiss was hard, demanding, and almost punishing, and she yielded instantly. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his suit jacket, tugging him closer across the center console as if she’d been waiting for this.
Wyatt’s hand slid into her loosened skirt, pressing against her damp core through the thin barrier of her underwear. He broke the kiss just long enough to let his lips graze her ear.
“I know you’ve been waiting for this,” he taunted, sliding her underwear aside and pressing his fingers to her center.
Liza gasped, clutching his wrist, not to stop him, but to steady herself as his touch circled harder.
The windows fogged, condensation clouding the storm outside until it felt like they were suspended in a private cocoon of heat and water. Wyatt pushed her seat back, opening it for him. “Skirt up. Now.”
Her hands obeyed before her mind could argue, gathering the fabric at her waist, baring her thighs. He tore her panties aside with a ruthless tug.
His mouth found hers again, a brutal clash of lips and tongue, while his other hand pushed his belt free. She could hear it—the metallic clink and the hiss of the zipper—and it made her pulse leap.
“Say it,” he ordered between kisses, his breath hot against her cheek. “Say you want me.”
“I—” her voice caught on a whimper, hips rocking against his hand. “I want you.”
That was all he needed. He yanked her onto his lap, her soaked center swallowing him to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The force knocked the air from her lungs, her cry muffled against his shoulder. The car rocked violently, suspension squealing as he fucked into her hard and mercilessly, setting a ruthless pace.
Every brutal slap of skin echoed through the car, each ragged gasp and filthy curse spilling between them. Wyatt fisted her hair, yanking her head back so he could crash his mouth against hers, kissing her like he meant to devour every sound she made.
Liza’s nails tore at his back through the thin cotton of his shirt, her moans swallowed by his mouth as the vehicle continued to rock violently.
“Fuck, that’s it, good girl,” he growled against her lips, driving into her with a savage thrust that made her whole body spasm around him. “Taking every inch like you were built for my cock.”
Her answer came out as a broken cry, needy and shameless. She clung tighter, grinding up to meet every brutal stroke, the wet, filthy sounds between them obscene as he thrust into her harder and faster, dragging her closer and closer to the edge until the world beyond the fogged glass ceased to matter.
Outside, the storm raged on. Inside, they were a storm of their own.