Fifty Shades Of Lovia
Flames roared up behind us, painting the night orange as we slipped back through the fence and into the SUV.
Shane drove with one hand again, the other sliding high between my thighs, pressing the seam of my pants against my clit until I was grinding shamelessly against his palm.
Half a mile away, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Alejandro saying.
“You’re dead. Both of you.“
Shane read it, laughed once, low and dark, and tossed the phone onto the dash.
“Let him come,” he said.
I leaned over the console, bit his earlobe hard enough to make him hiss. “Drive faster,” I whispered. “I want to celebrate on something that isn’t concrete.”