Corey glanced up at the rearview mirror. He shouldn’t have looked. He yanked the wheel to the right, out of the oncoming traffic he’d veered into.
He couldn’t be blamed. In the back, black skin slid over white. The two women hardly seemed separate any longer, breasts pressed together, legs tangled, and their lips. His eyes darted to the tiny mirror again, watching one pink-red tongue tangle with a red-brown one.
A horn honked and Corey straightened the car. White fingers started opening his pants. Black ones pulled up his shirt and played across his white skin.
“Pull over,” Portia insisted.
