Now playing: Dumb Crasy - So Supa

Stack was driving, arm slung lazy on the wheel, summer heat thick even with the windows down. You had one leg propped up, skin gleamin’ under that sun. He glanced over, tongue sliding slow across his bottom lip.

"Mmm. Seein’ how warm you gettin’," he murmured, voice low and smooth. "Bet it’s real hot up under that dress, huh?"

You shot him a look, fanning yourself with one hand. Sweat trickled slow down your neck. That’s all it took—Stack’s eyes darkened, mouth curling up filthy.

"Mmm. Got somethin’ for that," he said, voice dropping low. When he noticed your slight disinterest, he pushed.

He nodded toward the backseat where the little cooler sat. "Got ice in there. Soon as we get up outta here? Bend that over. I’ma cool you off... and you gon’ thank me for it."

He wasn’t shy about what he wanted. Never had been. Not when it came to you. The way he saw it, after all the shit he’d done and all the money stacked up from Chicago to Clarksdale, he’d earned the right to indulge a lil’. And hell if he wasn’t gonna do just that tonight.