I take no chances. I grab her hand and guide her purposefully to the last car. She slides in first, her skirt riding an inch or two up her thighs, revealing more of her smooth skin.

I join her, and as soon as we’re in place, my hand is on a mission. As the cars in front of us fill up, my fingers travel to the edge of her skirt and under, then up her thighs, between her legs to the damp panel of her panties.

Then inside.

“Oh God,” she gasps.

And I have two minutes and forty-five seconds to get her to say that again. And louder.

9

She spreads her legs for me, as far as she can, which isn’t much, given the tight quarters of the car and the lap bar that has us locked securely in place.

But as far as I need.

She is slick and soft and so damn silky. My mouth waters because I bet she tastes amazing. The car groans its way out of the station, and I glide my fingers across all that fantastic fucking wetness. We’re facing forward, and there’s not much room to move, but all I need are hands and words. Even with the shoulder harness I can turn my face to her, my mouth near her ear as we begin the climb. “You weren’t lying, sweetheart,” I say as I slide my finger over the delicious rise of her clit.

“Lying,” she says on a broken pant, “about what?”

“About the sweet torture of being near each other. This is sweet torture, indeed.”

She shakes her head, and a harsh breath falls from her lips. “Not lying. Just really turned on.”

“I can tell. My fingers are fucking coated in the evidence,” I say as I move faster over her clit. It practically throbs under the pad of my finger.

Brisk night air greets us as the angle shifts, and we begin the ascent. Gears grind, and metal screeches against metal as the long car climbs slowly. It feels like we’re at a forty-five-degree angle. Hell, maybe we are. Somehow, it works for us. Natalie squirms and pushes against my fingers as we rise.

I move faster while we chug slowly higher. I’m stroking her pussy, sliding firmly up and down her clit, following her cues. My gaze drifts to the padded lap bar. She grips it fiercely, like her life depends on it, or maybe just her pleasure. Even in this confined space, her hips rise to meet my fingers with urgency. I drag them up and down her, and she grows hotter, slicker with each stroke.

Somewhere in front of us, voices rip through the air. The wild words of anticipation. The expectation of the first big drop.

But here, my only words are for her alone as I rasp in her ear, “I want to make you come so fucking hard.”

“Oh God, please. Yes. I want that,” she moans as she pushes into my fingers.

We close in on the crest, and I thrust two fingers inside her. She’s tight and hot, and she clenches against me. Her head drops—to hide her moans, I guess, but it’s hardly necessary. We are two hundred feet in the air, and her groans are part of a chorus of sounds—whoops, hollers, and the loudest sound of all, the crank of the wheels against the tracks.

We hover at the top, all of Vegas spread out before us. Then the earth falls from us, and we plummet.

She screams. A loud, wild, thrilling yell. “Oh my God, yes,” she cries out. “Like that!”

“Holy fuck!” My voice joins hers as the car hurls through the night at the speed of light, and Natalie fucks my fingers. She’s a livewire, and I know she’s almost there, and that nothing in the entire world is going to stop me from getting her off right now.

Desire and determination clutch me in equal measures as I work my fingers inside her while stroking her needy clit with another. Wild thing that she is, she manages to rock her hips into me, grinding and thrusting in the small space. She’s just as fucking determined as I am. The urgent need to come is written in her face, in her eyelids squeezed shut. Rabid concentration is etched in her features.

I center my strokes on her clit as she begs me with whimpers and groans to keep going. Like I’d even consider stopping now.

The hollers of the other riders fill the air as we race along a corkscrew section of the tracks then blast into the loop. I’m such a horny bastard, but a lucky one, too, and I’m going to send her soaring in seconds, judging from the way her mouth is a perfect O as she grinds her pelvis into my hand. Then she’s shrieking, and it’s not just an encouraging you’re almost there, keep doing it. It’s a full-blown climax as we tip upside-down. “Oh my fucking God, oh my fucking God, oh my fucking God!” Her pussy grips me tight as she comes on my fingers.

She screams wildly as we fly through the rest of the ride. Soon her cries morph from orgasmic to joyful at the thrill of the rollercoaster. As the ride slows, she dips her head and blazes a trail of kisses up my neck as we rattle into the station, finishing them off with a nip of my earlobe, and a whisper just for me: “I can’t believe we did that. That was crazy. But crazy good.”

“So fucking good,” I say.

Yeah, being bad is so much better.

When the car stops and the bars rise, I offer her a hand and help her out. The couple in front of us turns around, and it’s the man and woman in matching Hawaiian shirts. The woman gives Natalie a wink, then me a thumbs-up.

Natalie buries her face in my shoulder, but I go with it, giving them a quick wave. “They don’t call it a joy ride for nothing,” I call out.

“That’s for damn sure,” the man says, with a proud note in his voice, like he’s christened the back car of an amusement-park ride at some point or other.