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She laughs.
For a moment, the car fills with the sort of awkward energy I imagined at the park. The strange situation, the difficult posture, the limited space.
Then she curls her hand around my neck and all that awkwardness dissolves into need.
I need her. Here. Everywhere.
I don’t take off my shirt. I bring my hand to her hip and pull her body into mine.
She kisses me hard, her tongue circling mine, her need mingling with mine.
My fingers brush her pelvis. Then lower. Lower.
There.
The soft flesh I need.
She gasps as I draw a circle against her clit. She places her hand over mine, guiding me to the right pressure, the right speed.
She groans against my lips as we hit it. “River.” She pulls back with a gasp. She digs her nails into my shoulder.
Then it’s the button of my shirt. The first two. Enough that she can press her palm against my chest.
Her hand feels good against my skin. Like it belongs there.
We belong here.
Right now, I only need one thing and that’s Deanna Huntington coming on my hand. And then on my cock.
I bring my lips to hers and work her with those slow, steady circles.
This time, she dissolves into me, sinks into me.
I lead and she follows. We stay together in that perfect rhythm, with just the right pattern. We move together, again and again, as her nails sink into my skin and her moans dissolve on my lips.
She’s almost there.
Right where I need her.
I work her exactly how she needs me.
Her nails sharpen in my skin.
Her groans vibrate down my throat.
“Fuck.” She pulls back with a sigh. “River.” She knots her hand in my hair. “Fuck.”
Her eyes flutter closed. Her head falls to one side. Her brow furrows. Her lips part.
Then every part of her expression releases into a waterfall of bliss.
She’s beautiful here.
She’s everything.
She tugs at my hair as she pulses on my hand.
I work her through her orgasm, watching every perfect moment. She’s a fucking work of art. She’s poetry.
