Naughty or Nice

10. Rora

10

RORA

DECEMBER 10

A s shit as today has been, I’m not so cut up about it that I can’t appreciate the sight of Henry, one hand on the steering wheel, flying down the snowy highway like a pro. He made good on his promise of warming up the car, so much so that I pulled off my sweater, scarf, and gloves five minutes after we pulled out of the parking lot.

I unwrap a lemon candy and set it on my tongue, breathing a sigh of relief as the sour taste hits me and Wintermore disappears in the rearview, replaced by the powder sugar dusted mountains lining the highway.

What a fucking day. What a fucking year , I mentally correct myself.

Wyoming is beautiful when I’m not being subjected to inflatable snowmen and Christmas music being blasted into the streets. Noelle has never been a fan of the mountains looming over the town. She says they make her feel small and insignificant, but I love them.

My parents moved to Wyoming for the mountains, and I took my first steps on a winter morning when I spotted a moose peeking out of the forest beside our campsite. My mom snapped a picture of me reaching for it, then handed me off to my dad and disappeared for half an hour, returning with a camera full of pictures of the moose meandering through the trees. One of those pictures ended up on the cover of an international wildlife magazine, but, to this day, my mom swears the picture she took of me is the best she’s ever taken. She keeps a crinkled copy in her wallet and shows it off to everyone she meets, telling them how proud she is of me.

I turn away from the Mountain View, staring straight ahead down the highway instead.

“You alright?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Henry drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “You want to try that again, sugar?”

Sugar . The drawl. For fuck’s sake.

I glare at him. “Stop calling me ‘sugar’ like that because you know it makes me more agreeable.”

Henry’s lips lift in a sinful smirk. “I don’t think I will, actually.” He sets his free hand on my knee, and my heart pauses. I can still feel the ghost of his touch from a few days ago. “I’m sorry today’s been so rough.”

Should I be concerned that he can make my breath catch with just a hand on my leggings?

“Thank you. And thank you for driving me.”

“Anytime,” Henry says with a smile, his blue eyes twinkling, even though we both know it’s not true.

In a few weeks, we’ll both be on our way out of Wyoming, and who the hell knows when we’re going to cross paths again? That thought has me reaching out to brush the edge of Henry’s hand with my pinky. Electricity sizzles where my skin touches his, and I pull my hand back. I look away, staring out the window but seeing nothing. I feel the heat of Henry’s gaze roaming over me before returning to the road, but he doesn’t remove his hand.

Silence stretches between us like elastic pulled to the breaking point as we continue down the highway. The occasional car passes us in the other direction, but the road is quiet.

“You’re awful tense over there.” Henry’s hold on my knee is loose, casual, but he grips the steering while like a vise .

“It’s been a stressful day.” Not a lie, but not the truth behind the fraught tension between us.

Henry hums, a noncommittal sound of agreement low in his throat. His fingers twitch on my knee. “I reckon I could help you out with that.”

His words suck all the air from the car, muffling the sound of the tires skating over the salt on the road. I look up, but his eyes are trained ahead. My hand itches to reach for his.

It feels inevitable; why bother to resist? Did we really think we could spend the rest of the season stuck in a ten-by-ten room, content with the memories of one night? A perfect night, sure, but I’ve never been satisfied with perfect. I always crave just a little more, like I have to keep proving perfection wrong.

“We shouldn’t. It was supposed to be just one night.” It’s barely a protest, but I tell myself it’s enough to say it, even if I don’t mean it. My voice is barely a whisper, so hushed I’m not sure he hears me until he replies.

“I’ve never been good at doing what I’m supposed to. And something tells me you’re not either.”

“I’m not.” I let myself reach for his hand, gasping at the electric shock where our skin meets.

Henry’s shoulders relax, the tension between us snapping as he turns his head and meets my eyes. He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm in the split second his eyes are off the road. “Take off your leggings.”

His words don’t register right away, and even when they do, I’m not sure I’ve heard him right. “Take my leggings off … here? We’re on the highway; people could see.”

“And here I thought you liked being watched, baby.”

When it’s just me and Henry in the privacy of my living room, sure. But flying down the highway just shy of sixty miles per hour where anyone could see us…

Why the fuck is that turning me on?

It’s Henry; it has to be. There’s no other explanation for me suddenly developing not only a Santa kink but, apparently, a touch of exhibitionism.

“Fuck.” It falls from my lips like a resigned whisper.

Henry’s low chuckle sounds in the car as I inhale a deep breath of cool mountain air. I know better than to undo my seatbelt on a snowy highway, even for a second. I lift myself as much as it allows and wriggle my leggings over my ass, and I have to kick my boots off to remove them entirely; the whole thing is completely ungraceful, but Henry’s eyes are on the road.

I sit back down in the seat, my heart racing. I’m sitting in nothing but my underwear and a shirt in a car that technically belongs to my mom. What the fuck am I doing?

Every anxious thought disappears in a flash when Henry’s warm fingers land on my bare skin. “Breathe. This is supposed to be calming.”

“I’m calm.”

Henry tuts, his fingers creeping up my thigh and pausing over my underwear. The thin cotton is no match for the heat of his fingers. My eyes flutter closed, my legs trembling with the urge to do the same.

“Lying is a naughty list offense, sugar.” He slides his hand inside my underwear and sucks in a gasp. “But fuck , you feel so damn nice. You’re so wet, baby. Is this all for me?”

“Fuck, Henry,” I whimper. “Yes. Yes .”

He presses one finger down on my clit, and my legs snap closed, trapping his hand. I’m semi-consciously aware that this makes Henry driving with one hand on the wheel even less safe, but it’s hard to care when he’s circling my clit like he’s striking flint against steel, and I’m seconds from going up in flames.

I protest when he stops, but Henry lifts my leg over his thigh, spreading me open. “Keep this here for me.” He runs his hand up my calf, my thigh, sliding it back in my underwear.

The road is getting busier the closer to Jackson we get, and I make eye contact with the driver of a passing Jeep at the exact second Henry presses a finger inside me. I throw my head back against the headrest, my back arching against the seat. His hands are so fucking big that he has his middle finger inside me, doing incredible things to my G-spot, while his thumb swipes back and forth over my clit.

I clench around his finger, sobbing his name. “I’m so… Fuck, I’m so close.”

Henry’s voice is gravelly when he responds. “Lift your shirt, sugar.”

I do as I’m told, the other cars on the road barely crossing my mind. I’m wearing my favorite bra: black, strapless, and plunging. Henry steals a quick glance at me, groaning as I palm my breasts, squeezing them.

“God, Rora.” For the first time, his fingers falter, and I realize this is affecting him almost as much as it is me.

I move my leg, trying to shift my foot closer to Henry’s cock.

“I wouldn’t do that unless you want me to crash this car,” he warns. It still takes me a second to pull my leg back, begrudgingly. “Good girl,” Henry says with a pained chuckle, rewarding me by pressing a second finger inside me. “You’re driving me wild, sugar.”

Flames lash me, spreading over my skin like wildfire. “Shit. I… Fuck, Henry, I can’t. I?—”

“You can. Show everyone how pretty you are when you come for me, sugar.”

Everyone . The reminder that any passerby could look in the car and see what we’re doing knocks me off my axis. The road blurs before my eyes, fireworks exploding inside me.

Henry coaxes me through it with hushed, barely discernible praise and slow circles over my clit. By the time I’m coming back into myself, the tinny voice of the GPS is directing him to pull into the strip mall carpark. He heads for the empty far corner. Whoever plowed the parking lot didn’t even bother coming in this far, making it the perfect hidden spot for me to undo my seatbelt and swing onto Henry’s lap the second he puts the car in park.

Am I proud of the way I practically shove my tongue down his throat? No. But the sweet taste of him mixed with the lingering lemon on my tongue is incredible.

His cock is pressing hard against his jeans, and I grind down on him, knotting my hands in his hair. Henry groans into my mouth, slipping his hands inside my underwear and squeezing my ass. He bites down on my lip, and I roll my hips over him.

Henry gasps, pressing his forehead to mine. “Fuck. Fuck .” He comes with a shudder, gripping my ass hard enough to leave marks.

I hope he leaves marks.

He draws his hands up my back, wrapping them around me in a bear hug, panting. “I don’t think I’ve come in my pants since high school.”

“That’s so hot.” The words slip out without thought, but I’m too blissed out to care that I sound like an early 2000s reality TV star. Or to think too hard about the mess Henry’s going to be dealing with until we make it back to Wintermore.

Henry leans his head back against the headrest, a lazy smile on his face. “I fucking love your car.”

“It’s actually my mom’s car.”

His smile falls away, and I can’t help but laugh at the look of horror that replaces it. “I wish I could go back in time ten seconds before I knew that.”