Page 18 of Her Crew

Her warmth and weight press on my thighs as music rattles the speaker beside my head. The song changes, and she softly sways to the music as her mouth forms silent lyrics. I look forward to the day she’s comfortable enough to belt out the words like the rest of the crew.

She still looks so uncomfortable within the group setting, but she’ll see us as family eventually. Spending this much time together means something to all of us. It fosters a sense of comradery I’ve never felt before and probably never will again. And that’s why I haven’t aged out of this damn job yet.

What would I be without it? And how can I possibly leave before building a crew of my own? Because that’s the end goal. I don’t want to be a lackey forever. I want to be a leader.

Tegan shifts on my lap again, and now her ass is right against my dick, which hardens beneath her warmth. If she feels it, she doesn’t react. She’s either too polite or too preoccupied by her thoughts.

I put my hand on her thigh and lean forward, and she leans closer so that she can hear me.

“Sing, pup,” I whisper.

She shakes her head, shifts her weight for the third time in as many minutes, and gets close to my ear with her mouth. “No way.”

I leave my hand on her thigh, as if I merely forgot I’d placed it there. I haven’t forgotten. I’m memorizing every curve of her body with my fingertips.

Delia looks back every so often. With narrowed eyes and pinched lips, she’s the picture of a jilted lover. Sure, I’ve hooked up with her a few times over the years, but that’s what happens when drugs and alcohol are involved. We’d get high, have a little fun, and forget about it the next day.

She clearly hasn’t forgotten about it, though.

Tegan shifts on my lap again, and I close my eyes and turn my attention back to what matters. That swaying. Fuck. With every unintentional grinding motion, she does something terrible to me.

I grip my jeans with my left hand as pleasure radiates from my lap. Having to play it completely cool in a van full of people is difficult, but I spread my lips and let out a soft moan that I hope no one hears. I just need to release that pent-up sound somewhere or I’ll explode.

And that’s what I’m worried about.

The song’s tempo speeds up, and so does Tegan. She shakes her head as she sings quietly enough to remain undetected. For the first time, I see the girl release the tight hold she has on herself, even if her grip has only loosened.

I’ll get her to let go eventually. By the time I finish with her, she’ll have the confidence to sing with her entire chest, no matter who might hear. I want that for her.

My fingers curl. I try to keep from digging into her thigh, but there are other things I want. Things aside from her happiness. Selfish, dirty things.

I drop my head back, close my eyes, and pretend to doze. No one will think anything of this, and I can only hope Delia grows bored enough to stop staring. We’ve all fallen asleep like this after a run, so it’s nothing new.

But then the song changes, and the beat is even faster. Tegan’s hips don’t just sway now. They rock and grind and swivel to the beat, pushing her heat against my stiff dick. She has to know what she’s doing to me right now. She has to.

I roll the ball of my tongue ring between my teeth as I try to think about anything other than the way she’s moving on me, but it’s useless. The pressure and the rhythm are too sensual to ignore.

With closed eyes, my mind drifts to an image of Tegan on top of me. I imagine her riding me. Right here, in front of everyone. As they watch, I shamelessly bend her over the middle seat and please her in ways I’m sure she’s never felt.

“Ah, fuck,” I whisper on an exhale.

She’s going to make me come without ever touching me. I can’t say I’ve ever had this happen to me. Nothing even close. My trauma has caused a lot of weird . . . problems for me. Having some difficulty getting hard at times is one of them. Intimacy is another. Wanting things that are a bit . . . out there is just the cherry on top. In the company I keep, these out-there things are pretty tame, but that’s another reason I stick with this group.

But coming in my pants? That would be a new one for me.

My knuckles blanch from the pressure. I squeeze the denim in my left hand to try to keep from busting, but it’s going to happen. There’s too much pressure in the base of my dick. Every breath I take drags me an inch closer to the most embarrassing thing that will ever happen to a man my age. Maybe even the most embarrassing thing to ever happen . . . ever.

No matter the age, coming in your pants is not sexy, but she’s removing the option to stop it from happening. Without even trying, she’s taking me places I want to go. I just don’t want to go there right now. Not like this, with a genuine smile as she lets her body move to the music. It feels so wrong.

That thought sends me over the edge.

I lose control of my hands as I come, and my grip tightens on her thigh. She leans back because she thinks I have something to say to her, and the back of her head lands on my shoulder. My dick twitches as I spill my load in my pants.

I hope the warm wetness doesn’t seep through my jeans. I’m covered in my own come, and I’d prefer if no one ever found out about this, least of all her. How pathetic.

Meanwhile, she seems completely oblivious to the hold she just had on me. As if her hand were around my dick, stroking me.

I lift my hand from her thigh and raise it to where her chest meets her throat, as if I’m just pulling her closer to talk to her.