Chapter Five

Blaze

Georgia's trembling by the time I pull her into the back of the limo waiting to whisk us away. Her knees actually knock together as I help her into the vehicle, raindrops splattering us both. As soon as she's in, I spin on the driver. He's a full two decades older than I am, his chest concave in his crisp chauffeur suit. Like most professional drivers, his expression is perfectly blank, a look honed by years of practice.

"Keep the privacy screen up and your eyes on the fucking road," I snarl anyway. The thought of him seeing any part of what I do to Georgia in this limo pisses me off. But there's no way I'm going to be able to keep my hands to myself.

"Of course, sir." He doesn't even bat a lash. I'm guessing he's been down this road before. Not with me. Georgia is the only woman I'll be taking home with me. It'll be her home soon enough anyway. Everything I have will be hers soon. But this is Los Angeles. People fuck in limos and taxis all over this city.

Satisfied he'll give us privacy, I climb into the car with Georgia. And immediately want to snarl for an entirely different reason. The entire limo smells like her.

She's on the far side of the luxury vehicle, prowling through shit like it's her job.

"I've never been in a limo before," she says, pulling bottles out of the minibar one by one to examine them. She turns her nose up at most of them before putting them back where she found them. One, she tucks into the pocket of the overcoat I gave her. It looks better on her than it did on me. Though, she could dress in a potato sack, and I'd feel the same way. She's stunning.

"Come here," I demand, stretching out in the seat across from her to give my dick a little room. I jerk at my tie, pulling it loose. The damn thing has been strangling me since she stepped out of the dressing room earlier tonight.

"Why? I'm busy."

"Now, little one," I growl.

The driver climbs in. A second later, the privacy partition slides into place.

Georgia huffs at me and then reluctantly closes the top of the minibar, her face scrunched up. "You're still feeling bossy, I see."

"No." Impatient to get her where I want her—which is in my lap—I reach across the car and pick her sexy ass up. She squeaks indignantly as I gently haul her across the car toward me. "I'm not bossy, Georgia. When it comes to you, I'm an autocratic, selfish bastard."

"Oh," she whispers, landing in my lap with a sigh. She snuggles right in like she knows it's where she belongs. Her brows furrow beneath her ridiculous hat. "Do I get to be bossy and selfish with you?"

A laugh of disbelief lands between us. She has no clue the lengths I'd go to satisfy her, does she? That's okay, she'll learn. Soon enough, she'll realize she can have whatever the fuck she wants, do whatever she wants. Anyone who tells her no or stands in her way will face my wrath.

"Boss me, baby girl," I say, lounging back against the seat. "Command me."

She sinks her teeth into her pouty bottom lip, thinking about what she wants to do. And then inspiration strikes. She pulls her purloined bottle of alcohol from her pocket, holding it up to me. "Help me drink this," she demands.

I glance at the label and grin. "Have you ever had whiskey before?"

"Nope." She twists the cap off, which involves a lot of wriggling around on my lap. I sink my hands into her hips to keep her still. Otherwise, I'll have her on her back before she gets a taste of the amber liquid. "I'm technically not old enough."

"Technically? You're either old enough or you're not," I say, amused. We both know damn well she's not old enough, technically or otherwise.

"I'll be twenty-one in six months. Seems close enough to me." She shrugs, sniffing the bottle. "It smells like wood smoke."

"Let me see it."

"Are you going to ruin my fun?"

"Never."

She reluctantly hands the bottle to me.

I bring it to my lips and tip it up, allowing the dark liquid to fill my mouth. The bold, smoky flavors mingle on my tongue. Bringing my other hand up, I wrap it around the back of her neck, pulling her toward me.

She leans in eagerly, her lips touching mine.

The alcohol dribbles from my lips to hers, droplets spilling down her chin. She moans, shivering in my arms as I give her the first taste. It's all she's getting. I want her sober for what I'm going to do to her tonight. I want her to remember every minute of it.

I swallow the rest of the alcohol, letting it burn its way down my throat. It's expensive whiskey, decent whiskey. Her taste outstrips it by a mile.

"It's not very good," she says, grimacing when she swallows the sip I gave her.

I take the cap from her hands and place it back on the little bottle before tossing it across the limo. "I agree," I murmur, licking the alcohol from her skin. "You taste far better."

She moans again, wriggling on my lap.

"Kiss me, Georgia," I croon, caught in her spell. Fuck, how many times have I thought about getting her alone like this? Too many to count, so I don't even try. This is better than every single fantasy combined. By miles.

Her tongue twines with mine, her kiss eager, exploratory, and hot enough to scorch the world. Jesus, I'm never going to get another fucking thing done now that I know what she tastes like, what she feels like. I was obsessed with her before. I've spiraled beyond that to whatever comes next.

"Blaze," she breathes, shifting around until she's straddling my lap, her legs splayed wide to accommodate my size.

The sight of her panties beneath that tiny skirt makes my head spin.

"I want to play a game."

"What game?"

"The one where I do what I want to you and you don't make a sound," I whisper, sliding my hand up her bare thigh. Her skin is soft as silk. She jumps on my lap, startling like a frightened little deer. "I'm going to make you come right here, baby girl. Can you be quiet for daddy?"

"No," she cries, quivering in anticipation. "Yes."

"Good girl."

I run my thumb along the seam of her little boy-short panties. They're soaked through, her arousal practically dripping from them. She moans my name, her hands locked on my shoulders. I can't wait to feel them in my bare skin, her nails digging into my flesh while she's riding me.

"Quiet, little one," I murmur, slipping my hand into her panties. "We don't want anyone to hear what I'm doing to you, do we?"

She bites her lip, fighting a sob of pleasure. A soft, keening whimper escapes.

I guess we'll be testing just how soundproof my office really is next time we're there. She's terrible at the quiet game. She tries anyway, whimpering and shaking on my lap, her nails embedded into the threads of my vest.

She's dripping, her cream coating my fingers as I play with her, exploring every fold. Her clit peeps from between her bare lips, begging for attention. I can't wait until she's spread out beneath me and I can see every inch of her, watch every tremble. I plan to know her body better than she does.

I press my fingers against her little hole, teasing her there too.

"Daddy," she moans, throwing her head back when I work two fingers inside. Even soaked, she's virgin tight. Her hat tumbles off, freeing her gorgeous curls. They're plastered to her head and mussed. She still looks like an angel.

I curl my fingers up, searching for her sweet spot.

"Oh, princess," I breathe when I find it, my gaze riveted to the play of emotion across her face. Shock, awe, ecstasy. One chases the other in an endless parade, each one more fascinating than the last. "Daddy's in so much trouble with you."

"M-me too," she sobs.

I stroke her g-spot and clit at the same time.

She nearly levitates off my lap, crying daddy so loud I know the driver hears her. Hell, the car beside us probably does too. Let them hear. Let them know. This little one is mine. I've been denying her for two months, caught up in my own mind. I'm not doing it anymore. She can scream daddy for the world to hear, and I won't miss a beat. I've been fighting against it, worried what people would say about her, what they would think.

Let them judge us. They don't even know the half of it. I will protect her above all things. Love her above all things. Worship her. This woman isn't my plaything. She isn't a toy. She's my soul. We may say filthy things. We may do dirty things. But she is the reason my heart beats. I knew it the minute I met her. The last two months have merely solidified what I knew on day one.

"That's it," I growl, not letting up until she's soaking my hand and those panties. The sweetest little cries of ecstasy fill the limo, ringing out over and over.

"Daddy," she cries, as if she can't stop saying it now that she's finally allowed to do so.

I growl and tumble her backward onto the seat, coming down over her. Her legs go around my waist, her arms around my shoulders. I grunt her name, dry humping her like my life depends on it. I think it might.

"Goddamn, little one," I growl, kissing all over her chest. Alcohol dripped onto her skin here too, giving it a smoky edge. "There's no hiding it now. Everyone is going to know what daddy's doing to you."

"I'm s-sorry," she sobs, rocking beneath me.

I place my lips against the soft skin of her throat, nipping and kissing my way to her ear. "Don't be sorry, baby girl," I whisper, rocking my hips to hit her clit with every thrust. "I want them to hear. I want them to know how much you love it when daddy's playing with you."

"Daddy!" she wails, coming apart again.

I roar her name, releasing in my pants like a teenager.

To date, it's the best orgasm I've ever had.