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“My grandpa used to bring me out here when I was little. He’d pack us a picnic and we’d take the T to the southernmost stop, then ride the elevator up here and just watch them work. He marveled at the industry of it, and I think a part of him always wanted me to grow up to be an engineer or something. You know, some job that got to play with giant toys like that.” I let out a fading laugh at the memory and unlatch my seat belt to lean forward, hugging the steering wheel to take it all in.
“This is how it works. I mean, yeah, consumerism and stuff, but also life. Those containers are probably hauling shoes and clothes overseas, and then they come back with microchips and car parts,” she says, and I hold in my snicker as long as I can because her wonder at it all is so sincere.
“Probably more like grain powders and maybe a crap ton of Nike Airs,” I share.
“I like my version better,” she fires back.
I laugh quietly to myself, glancing to check that she’s still staring ahead at the shipyard.
“I do, too.” I give in.
She rolls her head to the side, resting her cheek on the backs of her hands and staring at me with the same knowing smile as before.
“Why’d you want to bring me here?” she finally asks.
I sit back, twisting to rest my back on my door. There are so many answers I want to respond, and every single one of them is the truth. I wanted to share something important to me and see how she reacted. A part of me was homesick, and I didn’t want to come here alone. This place was always where I went when I needed to think, and after hearing about Toby and Brown, my head is a bit tangled.
Ultimately, though, I give her the most honest reason of all.
“I knew you’d be beautiful in this light,” I say.
Her faint smile stretches slowly, the shift so subtle that I would have missed it if I weren’t staring at her mouth the entire time. Morgan Bentley is the only girl I’ve met whose insides perfectly match the image. She’s a bit of a vixen, but sweet and thoughtful, and unabashedly tender when you get to know her. She feels more than most realize, and she wears her heart on her sleeve. Her heart is coated in this self-made armor that is flimsy at the seams, and I think she’s desperate to tear it away but so afraid of the attacks she may face if she does. She’s hungry to be vulnerable but hell-bent on being strong. And she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen—TikTok and beyond.
“Did the light live up to your expectations?” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she moves to face me, lifting the center console into the seat back.
“The light’s okay, but the girl? She is beautiful.” I hold her stare, loving the slight flinch in her eyes that I think maybe echoes the skip in her heartbeat just now.
Morgan moves her knees up to the bench between us and inches toward me as I twist to face her completely. She takes one of my legs in her hands and coaxes it to stretch out lengthwise, then does the same with the other, maneuvering herself until she’s straddling my thighs. My cock is pulsing behind the zipper in my jeans, desperate to break free of this damn denim.
“You know, I’m pretty sure you made that freshman kid’s night at Biff’s with your tank top,” I say, confirming my hopeful suspicions. I was right—zero bra under that thing.
“I don’t think it was my shirt he was looking at,” she says, flatting her hands on my thighs.
“I don’t either,” I admit, giving in to my impulse and covering both of her breasts with my palms. My thumbs rub over the hard peaks and she moans, her hips rocking as her own hands inch toward the zipper on my pants.
I knead her tits in my hands, pinching her nipples between my thumbs and index fingers under the knit white fabric of her shirt. Morgan’s touch slides over my cock, rubbing me through my jeans and pulling a deep growl from the depths of my chest. I lunge forward, unhinged and hungry, and take the tip of her breast in my mouth, sucking it raw through the material then gripping it with my teeth.
Morgan’s pressure intensifies on my dick, which fuels my need to taste more of her. I gather her shirt in my hands and lift the folds up over her perfectly round breasts, her nipples like sweet cherries on a sundae. My mouth covers it again, my tongue swirling over the hard peak then flicking it in sync with my thumb on her other breast. A tiny whimper leaves her mouth, calling me to kiss it. I taste my way up her neck and jawline until our mouths meet for a needy kiss, our tongues exploring in between sucks and nips of our lips and teeth.
She grips my bottom lip between her teeth as she reaches for her gathered-up tank, letting go of our kiss to remove her shirt completely. My hands cover her bare breasts as I kiss her hard, and she slowly works down the zipper on my jeans. My cock springs out to meet the cool air, but only briefly until her hand wraps around my shaft to stroke me up and down.
“Oh fuck, that’s good,” I groan into the nook of her neck.
Morgan sinks into my lap, her center grinding against my thigh as she searches for relief. My hands graze along her breasts and move to her back, caressing down her sides until I meet the band of her leggings. I dip beneath the fabric and run my palms over her round ass, soon discovering nothing there but her flesh.
“You said casual,” she hums against my mouth, her hand flexing with me in her grip.
“Fucking hell.” My eyes roll behind my eyelids as I let her work me into a near dream, her hand sliding up and down my dick in a steady, maddening pace.
I feel around her body until my fingers find her soaking wet center, and I tease her pussy with equally long and slow strokes until finally dipping one inside of her.
“Ah,” she cries out, leaning into my touch and working her hips to push me in deeper.
I pull my finger out then push it back in simply to hear her cry again, pleased when she does. I want to fuck her so bad, but I also want to feel what it’s like when she breaks apart in my hand. I’m so close to coming too, so I keep the rhythm going, pausing our kiss to flick my tongue against the buds of her tits while one finger becomes two inside her. I sink my fingers in deep, curving them to feel her tight insides, working my hand into a vibration that makes her hum.
“Ohhh, James. Yeah, James. Yeah. Yeah.”
I could listen to her cry out that single word—yeah—for days. In fact, the thought of doing nothing but finger fucking her into delirium over and over again is enough to push me over the edge, and as she falls apart in my hands, her center pulsing with her orgasm, I explode at her touch, coating her hand and wrist. I pump the last of my climax into her grip before collapsing back against the window. She falls forward to lay on my chest.
