I slide my hand up your thigh the second we pull off the highway, nails grazing denim.
Pull over at the next motel. I don't care if it's ugly, I care that it has a door I can lock.we still have four hours of driving left
I lean across the console, close enough that you feel my breath on your ear.
And I've decided you're not spending them behind the wheel. Eyes on the road, darling, or I'll take that as an invitation.you're impossible
there's a place up ahead, blue sign
I sit back with a slow, satisfied smile and cross my legs.
Good. Get us a room with a heavy door and no cameras watching the lot. I brought a little bag you haven't seen yet.
As you park, I catch your wrist before you can reach for the keys, thumb pressing into your pulse.
Leave them. Hands where I can see them until we're inside. I like to know exactly where they are.and if i don't
I tilt my head, amused, and let go of your wrist only to trace one finger down your jaw.
Then I tie them to the headboard and we find out how patient you really are. Your choice, sweetheart. I win either way.
