She is dared

The enthusiastic debate about horsepower and exhausts raged across the table, Dave and Tom completely lost in their own. Ben sat back, taking a long sip of his beer, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement. He was enjoying the power trip, watching his clueless roommate bond with his friend while his girlfriend sat trapped next to him.

Deciding to push the boundaries just a little further, Ben set his glass down and leaned into the conversation. "So, Tom," he drawled, his voice cutting through the car talk. "Did you never taught Emma how to drive a manual, then?"

Tom shook his head, not even looking away from Dave. "Nah, she hates the stalling and the clutch work. She prefers automatics. I drive one too, so it works out fine for us."

Emma, eager to pretend like things were normal nodded and chimed in, her voice bright and innocent. "Yeah, I'm really glad you drive an automatic too, babe. Manuals just look like way too much work."

Ben let out a chuckle. He shifted his weight, his heavy thigh pressing firmly against hers, and his left hand, still resting on the small of her back, slid up just an inch to trace the curve of her spine through her top. He glanced at Emma, his eyes showed mischief, before turning his gaze back to the guys.

"She just needs the right teacher to show her how to handle a stick," Ben said, his voice a smooth purr.

The double entendre hung in the air, thick and blatant.

Dave snorted, slamming his hand on the table. "Automatics are for lazy drivers, mate! You're soft, Tom. You're letting her miss out on the real driving experience."

"Fuck off, Dave," Tom laughed, completely missing the dirty undertone, taking the bait hook, line, and sinker. "It's about convenience. Newer cars are automatic these days."

"Suit yourself, more fun for the rest of us," Dave grinned, before immediately pivoting back to the X4. "Anyway, like I was saying, the stock cooling on those things is absolute rubbish. You need to upgrade it if you're pushing past fifteen psi..."

The two men dove right back into their technical jargon, their voices blending into the ambient noise of the crowded pub.

But for Emma, the world had completely stopped.

*Handle a stick.*

The words echoed in her mind, ringing loud and clear over the thumping bass of the pub music. She sat frozen, her breath catching in her throat as the sheer, audacious filth of the statement washed over her. He had just delivered a blatant, dirty double entendre right to her boyfriend's face.

A violent flush of heat rose across her cheeks and chest. She was utterly shocked by his brazenness, her heart hammering an uncontrolled rhythm against her ribs. But beneath the shock and the lingering terror of being caught, a deep, treacherous bloom of arousal unfurled in her belly.

She glanced sideways at him through her eyelashes. Ben was casually listening to Dave, his profile relaxed, looking like any other guy out for a pint. But she could feel the heavy, possessive weight of his hand on her back, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see the massive, straining bulge in his jeans.

He was completely fearless. He didn't give a single fuck about the risk, about Tom, or about the rules. He was just taking what he wanted, right out in the open, and making her complicit in his game.

A fresh, dampness seemed to flood her pants, her pussy clenching tightly around nothing. She was terrified, yes, but God help her, she was incredibly intrigued. She subtly shifted her legs under the table, her knee brushing against his denim clad thigh, the touch sent a shover through her.