Find more from this author on:
About the author:
Asher Ames pays bills by working as a professional copywriter and creative director, but would prefer to have no bills and only write sex-filled fiction (though, to be fair, some copywriting is fiction and some is sex-filled).
What inspired you to write your book?
Long road trips and the strangers on the way inspire all kinds of imaginings and dirty thoughts.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Dana slowed the car. She couldn’t miss this. Didn’t want to run them off the side of the mountain.
The zipper eased down and then stuck, the shorts too snug. Lacey lifted her butt off the seat and sucked in her slender gut – what there was to suck in. She worked the zipper down all the way. Glanced at Dana with dewy eyes.
Was she about to cry? Dana didn’t bother to look away, in for the whole show this time.
The car crept along. Did Lacey even notice that?
Dana thrust her chin forward, a sign of encouragement.
Lacey swallowed hard. Slid her hands under the waistband. Wiggled her bum as she eased the shorts down over her wide hips. The first site of panties – plain white cotton – sent a rush of moisture from Dana’s steamy cleft. When the shorts slid over the roundness of Lacey’s Georgia peach, her two ass cheeks rebounding as they came free, Dana bit her lip. Not much longer now.
“I…um…” Lacey stammered.
Dana placed her hand on the girl’s thigh, stroking it. “It’s okay. You’ll feel better.”
“Yes. We’ve been cooped up in this hot car all day. Think of it as taking advantage of all the relief the mountain air has given us.”
“It’s not that,” Lacey said.
“Well, what is it?”
“So, you’re just a chicken, then?”
Lacey grimaced. Took a deep breath. Pulled the shorts down across her thighs. Flopped back down onto the seat.
A musky aroma met Dana’s nostrils. Not their sweat, for that had long since become the scent du jour. No, this smelled like…sex.
Holy crap…was Lacey…
The hitchhiker pulled the shorts down her legs and over her shoes and dropped them on the floor. Covered her crotch with both hands.
“What’s wrong?” Dana asked, her voice cracking.
Dana tried to steady her shaking hand. Touched the fingers protecting Lacey’s most secret of places. Moist heat pooled in the girl’s lap.
Dana’s own pussy twitched. She knew what she would find when she lifted the girl’s hands. “It’s okay. Let me see.”
“No,” Lacey said, face crimson.
“Lacey. Show me.” Dana stroked the hitchhiker’s hand. With a gentle touch, lifted it. Not to expose the girl and embarrass her. To bring the hand to Dana’s own lap.
She spread her legs enough to give Lacey access. Put the girl’s fingers over the fabric of the running shorts that had ridden up against Dana’s sweltering pussy to make a camel toe.
A shudder went down Dana’s spine and her foot found the brake pedal, bringing the car to a stop, half in the travel lane, half in the shoulder.
Lacey’s lips parted, a sharp sigh escaping her beautiful lips. “Oh, lord.”
Dana left the hitchhiker’s fingers there. They didn’t move. Nor did Lacey. She didn’t even breathe. Just licked her lips.
Dana found that Lacey’s other hand, the one protecting her own lap, no longer offered resistance. It gave up the girl’s hot, humid goods like the autumn soil gives up its harvest. When Dana cupped Lacey’s sex, damp fabric met her palm.
Knowing she had gotten the seductive nymph so turned on only turned Dana on more.
“What are we doing?” Lacey whispered.
“I don’t know. But it feels good, doesn’t it?”
Lacey smacked her lips. Nodded.