He was hard underneath me, and I ground down on him, feeling the friction through his pants, the thin fabric of my underwear. He groaned again, both hands threaded in my hair now, cradling my head as he pushed up into me.
“Tell me my brother never touched you,” he said against my mouth. “It’s been making me crazy.”
“He never touched me. I wouldn’t have let him touch me.”
Eamonn slid one hand between the two panels of fabric crossed over my chest, covering my breast with his palm. “He’sa dickhead,” he said, his thumb rubbing against the taut, painful bud of my nipple through the lace of my bra. “He’s always been a dickhead.”
I’d started moving on top of him in a pulsing rhythm, like we’d been on the dance floor earlier that night, the way I’d wanted to be as close as possible. Eamonn had pushed one side of my dress down my shoulder, tugged my bra up over my breasts, reached down and shifted me closer by cupping my ass so that he could put his mouth on my nipple without breaking tempo.
I couldn’t help letting out a small huff of air, close to a laugh, which might’ve killed the mood except I felt him smile against me. “What?”
“This is all so surreal,” I said. “Being like this with you, here.”
The fact that my hands were in his hair, touching the soft fuzz above his ears, feeling the shape of his skull. The sight of my own breast exposed through my open dress in the pale moonlight, my nipple wet with his spit, the feel of him against me as he took hold of my hips to drag me hard over his erection.
“Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this all day,” he said. “God knows I have.”
“Really?”
The word came out a little breathless, because his hands had found my bare thighs under my dress, his fingers biting into me as he hitched me higher and then down onto him. If not for the layers of clothes between us, we really would be fucking.
“I’m obsessed with this part of you,” he said, burrowing hisface where my neck curved into my shoulder. He dragged his open mouth over the spot, leaving a trail of his hot breath as he kissed my jaw up by my ear. He took a deep inhale, and when he let it out it sounded a little shaky. “I’m obsessed with your hair.”
Eamonn squeezed my thighs, and I really wanted his hands to keep going, to touch me where I was most crying out for it. He took my lower lip between his teeth, and I let out a whimper that didn’t even sound like me.
“And your mouth,” he said, pressing his against mine, not even a full kiss so much as like he wanted to feel me, just for a second. “Your fuckingmouth, you don’t even know.”
He sucked on my lower lip, sending a pulse straight to my clit. I moaned, wiggling my hips on top of him, trying to create friction where I needed it most.
“You did say you were orally fixated,” I said, panting a little between words. The tension was building to a point where I almost couldn’t bear it, I would do anything to ease it up whether that meant grinding on him harder or saying something light to defuse it a bit.
“That time I wasn’t thinking about your mouth.”
His hands were high enough up on my thighs now that his thumb could press against my underwear, rubbing my clit through the thin fabric. I clutched at his shoulders, arching my back as I leaned into it.
“Please,” I said. “God,please. Touch me.”
His knuckles brushed against me, his fingers playing with the edge of my underwear. “You’re so wet,” he said, running his thumb down my slit through the fabric. “I can feel it.”
“Sofeelit,” I said, pressing into him. “Please.”
When he slid his first finger inside me, I almost felt the rolling wave of an orgasm right then, could feel the tide edging closer before I willed it to recede. I couldn’t say I’d been thinking aboutthisall day, necessarily. My imagination wasn’t that good. But I did have a flash of all the times I’d noticed his hands—wrapped around a stick shift, petting a dog, fixing a stack of books, half under my dress while he grabbed my thighs for the first time. I couldn’t believe he was inside my body.
“Eamonn,” I gasped, because I liked to say his name.
“So wet,” he said, pushing in deeper, filling me up. He was looking down at my exposed chest, which rose and fell as I panted my need on him. When he curled his finger inside me, I gave a strangled cry, leaning into him so he couldn’t see my face. It seemed too intimate, all of a sudden, more intimate even than the way he worked inside me, adding another finger.
His earlobe was right next to my mouth, and I bit down gently on it, giving it a tug with my teeth. NowthatI had thought about, this exact moment, and I wanted to relish it. I swirled my tongue in the shell of his ear, and felt him shudder beneath me.
“Fuck,” he said, his hand pausing for just a moment, his fingers still filling me up, before he started stroking me again. “Fuck, Jess, I want to make you come.”
He had me halfway there, just with those words. “Again,” I breathed into his ear. “Say that again.”
“Come for me,” he said. He rubbed my clit, hard, and I felt that wave cresting again. “Ride my fingers. That’s it.”
I’d started moving my hips on top of him, grinding myself against his fingers even as he was pumping them into me. I held on to his shoulders as I felt my whole body clench, the orgasm hitting me hard enough to make me grip him tight, my nails digging into the muscles of his back through his T-shirt. When it had passed, I was limp and wrung out on top of him, the sound of my own breathing suddenly loud in the otherwise quiet car.
“Jess.” Eamonn’s fingers were still inside me, and he was saying my name, and I understood better what he was talking about before, how if it felt good then why not keep going. But I also felt a little embarrassed, now that the most heightened emotions had passed. I’d woken up from a bad dream and I’d just…attacked him? Started kissing him, climbed on top of him, ridden him like he was some kind of toy for my pleasure?
