Sex On The Seats (Love After Midnight Book 4) by Elise Faber (most inspirational books .txt) 📗

in the little farm town, drinking too much and finding trouble wherever I could.

And that trouble had been few and far between.

Because small town.

Because . . . truthfully, I wasn’t much for trouble. Never had been. Never would be. Though, I thought, my gaze drifting to Dominque’s, I was definitely into finding the type of trouble she’d bring. “Niki?” I murmured.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not the LA type.” I grinned. “I could be your type, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “You think you’re charming.”

“I know I’m charming,” I teased, relaxing when she picked up her plate, went back to consuming large amounts of carbs.

“Shut up and eat,” she muttered, shoving a bite in. “I need to get my car back.”

“That’s extortion,” she grumbled as we walked out of the office. “Three hundred dollars?” Her scowl was fierce as she strode across the parking lot and handed her papers to the attendant.

I shrugged. “It’s reality.”

“It’s a shitty reality,” she huffed as she took back the papers and started walking in the direction the attendant pointed.

“That much is true,” I said. “Next time, just park in my guest spot, Niki girl.”

She glared at me. “First, what makes you think there’s going to be a next time?” More glaring. “And second, why do you keep calling me Niki? No one in my life has ever called me—”

I snagged her hand, drew her against me. “Good,” I said.

Fuck, she was pretty when she scowled. “That’s ridiculous—”

I kissed her, sweet and spice in my nose, on my tongue, affection blossoming in my heart. Well, it had been there already, had been, to keep with the metaphor, blooming over the last month, and the extra time with her, with her sass and fierceness, had watered that vine, had helped it grow into something hearty, something with the promise of so much more.

“You taste like pancakes,” I murmured, after gentling the kiss, after slowly peeling my lips from hers.

My hand was still in her hair, the silken locks beyond soft, matching the emotion in her eyes, and I had the sense that I’d won a victory, albeit a small one. She smiled. “What else can you cook?”

“Park in my guest spot tonight and find out,” I cajoled.

“I . . . can’t.”

That sense of victory tanked, the promise shriveling up. I still had plenty of determination, wouldn’t give up easily, not when whatever this connection between us was more than just lust. But I could also only do so much in pursuit. If she truly didn’t want me, want more between us, then it wasn’t like I could force her to like me enough to take the leap.

Either she would jump, or she wouldn’t.

However, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t attempt to charm her into taking that first step and—

“I have to work,” she said, and I didn’t think I was losing it when I thought I saw real regret in her expression. “And it’ll be late, considering that I’ve spent the morning downing pancakes when I should be searching through servers and organizing data.” She stepped back, and I released her hair.

“You’re sexy when you talk about your work.”

She bleeped her key fob, and I heard her car respond the next row over. “Should I discuss security parameters? Or maybe tell you how to avoid ransomware?” She smiled. “I can also give you techniques for how to utilize the back door.”

My cock twitched.

It shouldn’t have, since I wasn’t into anal.

But . . . I think I’d be into pretty much anything if it involved this woman. Role playing, spanking, toys, public sex. The only limiting factor would be my imagination—and I had a vivid fucking imagination.

“You know, you never told me why you call me Niki.”

I hadn’t.

Because I didn’t have a good reason.

To me, she was just . . . Niki. And that no one else called her that was a bonus. It was another thread between us, tying us together, tying her to me when I was desperate to keep growing those connections.

“You hate it?” I asked.

Dominque paused, her hand on the door handle. “No.” A sigh. “I just . . . well, my childhood wasn’t one for informalities. My parents were strict, and I don’t just mean about using my full name.”

I leaned against the roof of her car. “What else were they strict about?”

She was quiet for so long I expected her to not answer, especially when she tugged open the driver’s side door and sat down in the seat. “An easier question to answer would be what weren’t they strict about?”

“Boys?” I asked lightly.

Laughter. “Yes, they were strict about boys.”

“And clothes?”

A roll of her eyes. “Yes, also about clothes.”

“Movies? TV shows?”

“What, is this a rundown of the typical teenage girl’s life?”

“No,” I teased, crouching down next to the car, resting my palm on her thigh. “It’s a rundown of my life.”

She had a magnificent smile, one that seemed to change the atmosphere around her, making it writhe and tingle with electricity. Static crawling down the skin on my bare arms, lifting the hairs there, that charge gathering, waiting, just coiling, readying itself to release.

“Such a wild thing,” she said sardonically.

“So true,” I told her. “Give me an easel and paints, and I just go bananas.”

More smiling, though this one was accompanied by laughter that glazed over all the rough spots inside me, smoothing out the barbed edges, so that when she asked, “What were your parents like?”

“Great,” I said, the memories washing over me. Fuck, they’d been really great, had filled my life with easy happiness. I’d never for a moment wondered if I’d been loved. “I was one of the lucky ones. My friends would always hang at my house because they were so cool.”

“Let me guess”—her lips curved—“your mom would bake homemade cookies and deliver them to you and your friends while you juggled game controllers.”

“Not quite,” I said, squeezing her leg. “My dad would make the cookies. My mom was a doctor with her own practice. My dad stayed home with me and