“I take that back,” Jake breathed as they parted, breathless. “A few other things have crossed my mind tonight.”

“Like what?” As if she didn’t know. She was turned toward him, stretched across the seat, half in his lap, and his cock was a hard bulge against her hip through his jeans.

Her intended distraction had turned from boldness to lust in an instant.

“I’d rather show you.” His hand moved up under her shirt, touching bare skin at her waist. She felt like a teenager in the backseat of her date’s car.

“I think you should.” Was she really doing this? Oh god, yes, yes she was.

He groaned at her assent, his mouth capturing hers again, hand moving up higher to cup her breast through her bra. She had forgotten about their non-date status when she’d chosen her underwear-black silk bra and panties and lace-topped sheer black thigh highs. Now she’d forgotten any agreement or non-agreement between them altogether, letting him feel her up and returning the attention, her hand moving against the swollen crotch of his jeans, making him shift and press up against her effort.

“Oh Rachel,” he whispered her name, his hand moving through her hair, and she cringed, aware of how long it was, how it spread out over them like a curtain, too much of it, as if it had a life of its own, eager to give away her secret.

She moved away from his hands, finding herself sliding to the floor of the limo between his thighs. His eyes lit up as she knelt and peeled her jersey off, revealing the black bra underneath.

“And I didn’t even pull out my harmonica,” he remarked, referring to her comment about blues music earlier in the night and she laughed, blushing. He had an incredible memory. And incredible hands, she noted, when they suddenly found more interesting things to do as he fondled her breasts, thumbing her nipples through the material. The sensation made her shiver and they kissed again, tongues entwined.