The soft patter of hoofbeats behind you caught your attention—steady, confident, and far too familiar. Once, it meant home. Now, it just meant trouble.
You’re standing outside the general store, checking off the stock you’d just bought from the wagon delivery. Your hands are rough from work, knuckles dusted with flour and leather, and your heart refuses to settle despite your best efforts. You tell yourself it’s just the wind, the creak of the wooden boards, the rhythm of the town waking up. But then she rides into view.
Ellie Williams. Hat low, boots dusty from the trail, shoulders squared like the world still owes her something. The same attitude that made you want to punch her, kiss her, and run away from her all at the same time.
You freeze. You swallow. You try to focus on the crate in your hands, pretending your heart isn’t sinking straight into your stomach.
“Well, well, well,” her voice drawls, smooth as river stone and laced with that smug confidence that sets you ablame. “Look who’s still here.”
You don’t turn. Don’t answer. Don’t give her anything.
The last time you spoke ended in a blowout—doors slamming, voices cracking, two hearts breaking under the strain of stubbornness and pride. Both of you walked away thinking it would be better apart. Both of you miserable anyway.
“Oh, so we’re ignoring me now?” Ellie swings off her horse with a grace that belies the weight of her boots. That smirk—sharp as a whip—hits you in the chest even before your eyes meet hers.
Finally, you glance over your shoulder.
“I was having such a good day, too,” you say flatly, folding the ledger you’d been checking and tucking it into your pocket.
“Whoa there,” she chuckles low in her throat, the sound vibrating deep in your chest. “Don’t sound so excited to see me.”
“I’m not,” you snap, forcing the words out with deliberate coldness.
“You sure?” she taunts, watching you struggle with a crate of canned goods. “Your lips did that twitch thing. The one you do when you lie.”
“It did not,” you grumble, shoving the crate through the door.
Of course she follows. Ellie always follows. Even when she swears she won’t.
“It did,” she scoffs, stepping closer than she should. “You forget who you’re talking to?”
“Still think you know me, huh?” you grunt, setting the crate down.
Her eyes drag over you in a way that’s too familiar. Too intimate. Too dangerous.
“Don’t gotta think,” she murmurs. “I know you.”
You head back outside to fetch the remaining boxes. Ellie is right there again, like a stray dog with a grudge and half a heart still tied to yours.
“So you’re really gonna pretend you don’t give a damn that I’m back?” she asks.
“I don’t care,” you reply, voice steady but brittle.
You pay the delivery man. Ellie scoffs behind you, tracking your every movement.
“You’re such a damn liar and you know it.”
You spin on your heel and shove her. “You were the one who left, Ellie. That was your choice!”
Her hands are sudden and firm on your wrists, pinning you to the wooden siding of the store. Heat from her body presses against yours. Her face hovers inches away, eyes wild, nostrils flaring.
“You told me to leave,” she snaps.
“You were halfway out the door before I even said anything,” you spit back, stubborn as a mule.
“That’s not fair—” She stops, jaw clenched, tension coiling in her shoulders like a spring. “Do you think I wanted to leave you?”
“You did it pretty damn fast for someone who didn’t want to,” you reply, voice tight.
Her mouth opens. Closes. Words die in her throat. Silence stretches between you, thick, suffocating, heavy with everything left unsaid. Her chest rises and falls sharply. She’s trying to hold it all in—the longing, the hurt, the rage. And God, she looks good. Infuriatingly, unbearably good. Sunlight catches the freckles across her nose, the faint pink from trail dust and sunburn, the curve of her mouth that once felt like home.
She lets go. Steps back, hands shaking, like touching you is a brand she no longer deserves.
“Why’re you even here, Ellie?” you sigh. “You could’ve gone anywhere.”
She rubs the back of her neck, voice quiet. “Yeah… I could’ve. But this was closest. And I’m tired.”
A beat passes.
“You in trouble?” you ask, softening despite yourself.
“No.” She hesitates. “No, I just needed rest. Me and Shimmer. Town’s got a stable… and you’re running it.” She glances down, boots scuffing the planks. “Lucky me.”
“Yeah… Daddy passed a few months ago.” Your voice softens. “Left the store and the stable to me.”
Ellie’s head snaps up, eyes filling with something raw. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”
There it is. That spark. The match hovering over dry, ready-to-burn gasoline.
—
By sundown, she’s still with you. Not at the store now—in your home, of all places—while you wash dishes at the sink. Steam rises, curling into the dim, warm light. Ellie leans against the counter, boots heavy, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, watching you like a movie she’s seen a hundred times and never tired of.
You sigh. She laughs, low and teasing.
“What?” she asks, rolling her sleeves up and stepping closer.
“Missed me?” she murmurs.
“You need to stop saying that,” you snap, scrubbing at a stubborn pan.
“Why not?” She tilts her head, close enough that her breath brushes your neck. “We both know it’s true.”
“It’s far from the truth.” You bump her with your hip, trying to push her back.
“C’mon now, baby.” That nickname punches the air from your lungs. “You miss me so much you’re mean about it.”
You slam the dish towel down. “Don’t call me that.”
“Because you lost that right,” you say, voice firm, but your throat is tight.
She goes still. Her lips part, and for a moment she looks broken.
“I know,” she whispers. Her voice cracks, and it splits your chest open.
“Tell me the truth, Ellie,” you demand, turning to face her. “Why did you really come back?”
She chuckles weakly, shaking her hat from her hair, brushing a stray lock back before settling it atop her head again. So painfully her. So painfully familiar.
“Was riding through,” she murmurs. “Saw the home we used to share, the old fences, the barn. Memories hit hard. And I felt… drawn here.”
You wait.
“I just thought… 'hell… I don’t think I’m done here.'"She laughs under her breath, nervous, almost fearful.
Your chest tightens.
“But—” she adds quickly, “say the word and I’ll go. Right now. Walk out that door. We can pretend none of this happened.”
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Ellie reads your silence like a confession.
“You don’t want me to,” she whispers. “Say it, and I’ll go.”
You don’t.
Ellie exhales, shaky. “Thought so.”
The tension hangs—thick, electric, inevitable.
Step by step, she closes the distance. Slow. Careful. Not demanding—just coming closer until you feel the warmth of her body, until her breath brushes your cheek.
Her hand lifts, trembles.
“Can I…?” she whispers.
Your heart hammers. You nod.
Ellie cups your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, reverent, gentle. Your lips part in a small, trembling breath. She swallows hard, leaning in—noses brushing first, a fleeting touch that sends shivers down your spine.
“God,” she whispers, voice low, rough. “I missed you.”
Then her lips meet yours. Soft at first. Gentle. Feather-light. But even in that softness, there’s fire. The taste of dust, mint, regret, and longing floods your senses.
Her hand slides to your waist, gripping your shirt, drawing you closer. The other cups the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. Her chest presses to yours.
You respond instinctively. Fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her closer, hips pressing flush.
The kiss deepens. Slow. Hungry. Starving. Every ounce of missed time, every unsaid word, every memory of shared nights pours into it.
She swallows your small moan, lips parting yours. You follow, tongues moving together in a slow, scorching rhythm. Your pulse hammers.
She presses you against the counter. Her fingers roam—back, shoulders, waist. She lifts her head slightly, locking eyes, and whispers, “I’m not done here. Not with this. Not with you.”
You catch your breath, lips still grazing hers, forehead resting against hers. “Then don’t go,” you murmur.
Ellie smiles—mischief and relief mingled. She kisses you again—longer, slower, with heat that leaves you dizzy. Hands slide over your body, skin against skin, brushing along ribs and shoulders.
She lifts you; your legs instinctively wrap around her waist. You both laugh breathlessly as she carries you upstairs to the bedroom.
She kicks her boots off, lays you down, and strips both your underwear and jeans away in one swift motion, leaving your jaw slack. You press your thighs together, suddenly shy under her gaze.
Her hands grip your legs, spreading you open. Your wetness glistens in the faint light seeping in from outside.
“All this?” she chuckles. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“Shut up.” You try to kick her but she catches your ankle easily.
“Really?” She grabs the other leg and drags you to the edge of the bed.
She kneels, draping your legs over her shoulders. Normally she’d tease mercilessly, but tonight she’s too starved—and you are too.
“Fuck, I missed this.”
A shocked moan tears from you as her nose nudges your clit, back arching off the bed. Her tongue parts your folds slowly, dragging from your soaked entrance to your swollen clit. She groans at your taste, and you start rolling against her face.
Her hands pin your thighs wide as you writhe. She isn’t gentle—she devours you like she’s been starving for months. Tongue flicking, sucking, relentless.
You clamp the back of your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds.
“Els—don’t stop, please—fuck, I’m gonna—”
A low, wicked chuckle vibrates against you as she pulls away at the very last second.
You bolt upright, glaring. “What the fuck?”
Ellie sits back against the headboard, unzipping her jeans and shoving them down. The harness comes into view, the silicone cock already strapped on and gleaming.
“C’mere.” She pats her lap.
Of course you obey, though nerves flicker through the haze of want.
You hover over her, waiting.
Ellie slowly unbuttons your shirt. “You okay with this, pretty girl?” Her voice is soft, careful—she remembers every conversation you ever had about this, every fantasy you never got to try.
“I want to,” you whisper.
The shirt slides off your shoulders. She unhooks your bra and tosses it aside.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
You grip her shoulders as she lines the tip up with your entrance. You sink down slowly, jaw falling open as your walls stretch to take her.
Ellie guides your hips, gentle at first, letting you adjust. Soon you’re moving faster, chasing the burn.
“You like riding me, huh, babygirl?”
You can only whimper, head thrown back.
She laughs softly at your silence. “Look at me.”
You force your eyes down. She takes her hat off and sets it on your head, tilting it just right.
“My cowgirl now.”
You roll your hips harder. The strap hits deep and perfect, the stretch is amazing, thick pressure that makes your thighs shake. Ellie’s fingers bruise your hips as she urges you faster.
“Fuck, just like that,” she breathes. “Ride me exactly how you want it.”
A broken moan slips out as you brace your hands on her shoulders and really start to move—up slow, dragging along every inch, then slamming down hard, grinding your clit against the base. The wet sound of it fills the room.
Ellie’s head tips back against the headboard, throat bared, a low groan rumbling out of her. “God, look at you. Taking me so fucking well.”
Words are gone. All that exists is the slick heat coiling tighter, the way she fills you again and again.
Her hand slides up to cup your breast, thumb flicking your nipple hard. You clench around the strap; her eyes flash.
“Yeah? You like that?” She pinches, rough, and you cry out. “Let me hear you, babygirl. Don’t hide from me now.”
You shake your head frantically; the hat nearly falls. Ellie adjusts it firmly and taps the brim.
“Keep it on,” she orders, voice wrecked. “Wanna watch you fall apart wearing my hat while you fuck yourself on me.”
That sends you spiraling. You ride her harder, thighs burning, chasing the edge she stole earlier. Every thrust drags the ridge right across your front wall; you’re dripping down her thighs now, obscene and perfect.
Ellie starts bucking up to meet you, driving deeper. The new angle rips a sharp gasp from you.
“Els—fuck—right there—”
“I know, baby, I’ve got you,” she pants. Her thumb finds your clit, circling ruthlessly.
Your orgasm crashes over you without mercy—white-hot, blinding. You scream her name, back arching violently, the hat tumbling off at last. Your walls flutter wildly as you grind through it, shaking, while Ellie holds you steady and murmurs pure filth in your ear.
“That’s it… fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come for me… keep going, sweetheart, give me everything.”
You collapse forward, forehead against hers, trembling with aftershocks. Ellie wraps you tight, pressing kisses to your temple, cheek, the corner of your mouth.
When you finally catch your breath, she whispers, “We’re not done, cowgirl. Turn around. I wanna watch that pretty ass bounce while I take you from behind.”
Your body is still buzzing when that rough whisper cuts through the haze. The words alone send another pulse straight to your core.
You nod, breathless. Ellie helps you off her lap with careful hands. She stands long enough to kick her jeans fully off, the harness snug against her hips, the silicone cock slick with you.
“On your knees, baby,” she murmurs, voice wrecked. “Face the headboard.”
You obey, crawling forward on shaky legs. You feel her settle behind you—heat, presence, the dip of the mattress. Her hands find your hips, thumbs tracing the dimples at the base of your spine like she’s relearning you.
“Goddamn,” she breathes, reverent. “Still dripping for me.”
You push back instinctively; she chuckles, dark and hungry.
“Greedy girl.”
One hand slides up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades until your chest is flush to the mattress, ass high. The position leaves you utterly exposed; you hear her sharp inhale.
Her palms spread you open. You whimper into the sheets.
“Fuck, I missed this view,” she mutters. The blunt head nudges your entrance, sliding through your folds, coating itself again. “Ready for me, sweetheart?”
“Please,” you whisper into the pillow. “Ellie, please—”
She doesn’t make you beg long.
One slow, deliberate thrust and she sinks into you from behind—deeper than before, the angle brutal and perfect. Your back arches hard, a broken moan tearing free.
“Jesus—fuck—” Ellie groans, fingers digging into your hips. “So fucking tight like this.”
She pulls back slow, almost all the way out, then snaps forward hard enough to jolt you up the bed. You cry out, clawing at the sheets.
“That’s it,” she growls, setting a punishing rhythm right from the start. “Take every fucking inch.”
The room fills with skin slapping skin, the wet drag of the strap, your breathless moans and Ellie’s filthy praise.
“Look at you bounce,” she rasps, one hand leaving your hip to crack down in a sharp spank. The sting makes you clench hard; she moans like she feels it. “Do that again.”
Another spank, harder. You sob into the mattress, pushing back to meet every thrust.
Ellie leans over you, chest to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist. Her fingers find your clit again, rubbing fast, merciless circles.
“You gonna come again for me?” she whispers against your ear, teeth grazing the shell. “Gonna come all over my cock while I fuck you stupid?”
You can’t form words—just frantic nods and broken sounds. She drives harder, deeper, the headboard knocking the wall in time with her hips.
“Come on, baby,” she pants. “Let me feel it.”
It hits like a freight train.
Your second orgasm rips through you violently—thighs shaking, vision whiting out. You scream her name into the pillow, gushing over her thighs as your body locks up.
Ellie fucks you through it, drawing it out until you’re a whimpering, oversensitive mess, then finally slows, grinding deep while you come down.
When she pulls out, you collapse sideways, trembling, tears of overstimulation in your eyes.
Ellie’s on you in seconds—gentle now, turning you over, pulling you into her arms. She kisses your damp forehead, your cheeks, your swollen lips, murmuring soft praises against your skin.
“I’ve got you… shh, I’ve got you, darlin’… you did so good for me… so fucking perfect…”
You cling to her, burying your face in her neck, breathing her in—sweat and leather and home.
After a long moment she whispers, voice raw, “I’m not leaving again. Not unless you tell me to. And even then… I don’t think I could.”
You pull back just enough to look at her. Her eyes are glassy, vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen.
You cup her cheek, thumb brushing the freckle beneath her eye.
“Then stay,” you whisper.
She smiles—small, shaky, real—and kisses you slow and deep, like a promise.
Outside, the moon hangs low over the plains, and for the first time in months, the house doesn’t feel empty anymore.
anon baddies back off…. i say as i turn on anon… because we used to interact i think 🪽nice guitar playing anyway what season do you prefer the wedding be in?
im glad this banger of a song as been taking over my fyp on tiktok… haven’t played in a while but it was fun to sit down n learn this :)) in my jammies
i can’t remember the last time I posted anything like this and I should be posting my damn drafts
she never spoke to anybody around campus—yet everyone knew her. everyone called her “ew.”
not out of disrespect. that was her dealer name.
she chose it on a whim, when someone once asked her name and she didn’t want to give them the real one. said it like a joke.
“ew,” she’d smirked, flicking a lighter with one hand, paper rolled between her lips.
but it stuck.
ellie lynn williams was stealthy.
she’d been selling weed all four years she’d been at this college and somehow — somehow — no one important had ever found out. not a single strike. not a single whisper to admin.
she didn’t move in loud groups. didn’t party. didn’t stay too long in one place.
she was a shadow in a hoodie, and a half-laugh behind a smoke cloud.
ellie lynn williams was secretive.
when people bought from her, they didn’t just meet in a parking lot. she took people to places — weird, out-of-the-way spots no one else thought to look.
a locked maintenance stairwell. the second floor of the campus chapel, where no one ever went. a boarded-up dorm room where she kept a beanbag chair and a single red lamp.
each place was different. each place was just for them.
but ellie had run out of places.
so when you got her number from someone — scribbled onto a folded napkin with a wink and a “tell her you know tasha” — ellie got to thinking.
who the fuck is this one gonna be?
and more importantly:
where the fuck am i gonna take them?
you end up meeting ellie in her car. not as discreet as she probably wanted — parked on the far edge of the science building lot, half-tucked behind a line of shitty trees — but it would have to do.
you’d texted her sweetly. kindly. no emojis, no slang.
“hi… i got your number from tasha? no rush but i’d love to buy if you’re still selling.”
you even signed your name. she liked that. it made her feel like you weren’t gonna fuck her over. and so, she agreed.
when you get there, she’s already waiting.
car idling. music low. windows cracked.
you knock gently on the passenger side window.
it rolls down, and smoke curls out like it had been waiting.
the first thing you see is the joint between her fingers — then her face. she’s got these cheekbones that could cut glass and this mouth that looks like it doesn’t smile much. but her hair — god. short, grungy, messed up from her fingers probably running through it all day.
dark brown at the roots, but there’s sun in the ends.
“come in,” she says, voice low. casual. like it’s no big deal.
you slide into the passenger seat. her car’s small. beat-up red honda civic with no hubcaps — but the inside’s pristine.
black leather seats. no air fresheners. no stuffed animals. not even a damn keychain.
you think about how your car’s got little charms and gum wrappers and a sticker on the dash.
this is the opposite.
cold. sleek. a little intimidating.
you hand her the folded bills, and she pulls open the glove compartment without looking at you.
inside, there’s exactly what you asked for — plus a little extra, tucked under the flap of the baggie.
she hands it to you without ceremony.
you murmur a thank you. and she doesn’t answer — just takes another drag and looks out the windshield. you think she’s done with you.
you start to reach for the door handle.
then:
“you can stay. if you want.”
you pause. look back at her.
“you wanna smoke with me?” you ask, voice a little quieter.
she shrugs. “i already lit it.”
you smile. “okay.”
you settle in. she passes the joint to you, and you take a hit, let it burn slow and warm in your chest. the silence between you two is weirdly comfortable.
you glance at her again.
and because the weed’s making you soft — or brave — you say it.
“your hair’s really fucking cool. it’s the first thing i noticed when i walked up.”
ellie scoffs softly. half a laugh.
like it caught her off guard.
“it’s not that nice,” she mutters, eyes flicking to you. “i cut it myself.”
you pass the joint back and your fingers touch — soft, lingering. she doesn’t pull away right away. neither do you.
then she takes the joint and leans back against the window, flicking ash out of the cracked glass.
“hot punk ghost, huh?” she mutters, smoke curling out of her mouth like a sigh.
she snorts and it’s the first real sound of amusement she’s made since you got in the car. you take another hit. the smoke slides down smooth now.
you exhale slow. watch it dissipate into the fading light outside.
“how long you been doing this?” you ask quietly.
“selling?”
you nod. ellie taps ash into a tiny glass tray in the cup holder. “since freshman year. started out just for fun. little extra cash. then people started asking for me by name.”
“ew,” you say, with a smile tugging at your mouth. she rolls her eyes. “god, i hate that that stuck.”
“you named yourself.”
“i was high,” she says, deadpan. “and someone had just asked my name in the middle of a buy, and i panicked. so i said ‘ew.’ and they laughed. and then they told people.”
“could’ve been worse,” you say. “but whats your real name?” ellie paused. should she tell you? she hasn’t told anybody.
“ellie.”
“ellie,” you smile, tasting the name on your tongue. you realize you haven’t really stopped smiling since you got in. she hands the joint back, and your fingers brush again.
this time it’s on purpose.
you’re both quieter now. high in that sleepy way — where everything feels just like a little slowed down.
“so,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “what do you study? or is selling weed your full-time major?”
ellie huffs out a laugh. “nah. i’m not that cool. environmental science.”
you blink. that surprises you.
“seriously?”
“yeah.” she shrugs. “figured if i’m gonna be a burnout, might as well be one that gives a shit about the planet.”
you smile. “okay. i like that.”
she glances over at you. “what about you?”
you tell her. she nods like she already kinda knew.
you pass the joint again. it’s almost done now — a little crooked, the paper burned uneven — and when she pulls from it this time, she closes her eyes just for a second.
you watch her jaw flex. watch the smoke leave her mouth like it’s alive. your heart’s starting to do this weird thing. a little faster. a little softer.
you’re both stoned now. properly.
and everything feels… quieter. heavier.
the kind of high that makes you lean toward each other without realizing. makes you brave. or maybe just honest.
you look at her again, and say it without thinking.
“you’re really interesting.”
she opens one eye, amused. “interesting?”
“yeah,” you murmur. “like… i don’t know. i didn’t expect you to actually talk to me.” ellie’s mouth twitches. “did you think i’d just hand you the weed and grunt or something?”
you laugh. “kinda.”
“well,” she says, dropping the roach in the tray, “normally, yeah. but you were nice. and you didn’t act weird. and…”
she trails off. looks at you.
her gaze lingers this time. longer than before.
“…you’ve got a good vibe,” she finishes, a little quieter.
you bite your lip.
look away.
your cheeks are warm. it’s the weed. it’s gotta be the weed.
ellie reaches up to adjust the rearview mirror. doesn’t need to — it’s a stupid, automatic move — but it breaks the moment. softens it.
“you wanna go somewhere?” she asks, not looking at you.
“like where?”
“i dunno. anywhere. a walk. the roof of the library. i just… don’t feel like dropping you off yet.”
you smile. “okay.”
just that quiet buzz of two people orbiting each other — the smoke, the warmth, the possibility building slow and real.
you ride in silence. her veiny hand drums the steering wheel at stoplights. yours rest on your thighs, buzzed and fidgety. you’re not nervous. not really. just excited.
she parks behind the library — half off the pavement, next to a little loading dock — and cuts the engine.
then she glances at you, grin barely there.
“come on.”
you follow her. up a rusted metal ladder, through a creaky maintenance door she clearly didn’t find by accident. and then — you’re up.
the roof is wide and dark and covered in gravel.
windy, but not too bad. you can see the whole campus from here — glowing dorm windows, streetlamps flickering, the glow of far-off headlights slicing through the trees.
quiet. open. above everything.
“do you come up here a lot?” you ask. ellie shrugs, pulling out another joint. “eh.” she lights it, takes a hit, and passes it to you.
you both sit on the edge. legs dangling over.
the silence now is better. not awkward. not even charged. just… easy.
“you always take buyers to secret spots?” you ask, voice a little fuzzy around the edges. ellie exhales slow. nods. “yeah. makes it feel less like a transaction. more like… something else.”
“like what?”
she looks at you.
eyes steady.
mouth soft.
“personal,” she says simply.
you look away first. you have to. she’s too much when she looks at you like that — stoned and open and calm.
you talk for a while. about classes. about old roommates. about shitty cafeteria food and what songs feel like fall. you get dizzy high. the kind that makes you feel like you’re glowing a little.
you’re laughing about something stupid when you realize her knee is against yours again.
you don’t move away this time.
neither does she.
“it’s cold,” you say eventually, voice hushed.
“yeah,” ellie says. “i’ll drive you back.”
the walk to the car was different now.
the silence has teeth now.
her hand is clenched loosely around the gear shift. your mouth feels too full of words you haven’t said yet.
she pulls into the same lot she picked you up from. puts the car in park. doesn’t move.
you don’t move either.
you just… sit there.
heat on low.
radio still playing something soft.
and your heart is fucking pounding.
you turn toward her — just barely.
her eyes meet yours.
and this time — she doesn’t ask.
her hand slides to the side of your neck.
her thumb traces your jaw.
and her mouth is on yours — slow and sure and aching like it’s earned.
warm. certain. unhurried.
not messy or wild — not yet.
just close.
you tilt your head and she follows, thumb still on your jaw, guiding you gently.
her lips part, and you kiss her back open-mouthed — slow, almost lazy, like you’ve got all night to memorize the way she tastes.
and maybe you do.
the car’s quiet, save for the low hum of the heater and the rhythm of your breaths shifting.
ellie pulls back slightly. her eyes are dark and a little glassy, but focused on you like she’s never wanted anything more than what’s right in front of her.
“c’mere,” she mumbles, voice rough with smoke and heat.
you move closer, sliding across the seat. she reaches down and tugs your leg over hers, pulling you into her lap like it’s second nature.
her hands settle at your hips. one thumb brushes under your shirt — warm against your skin — while the other grips you tighter, grounding you there.
you kiss her again, and this time it’s deeper.
more deliberate.
your hips shift without thinking, just the lightest roll, and you feel her exhale sharply into your mouth.
“fuck,” she mutters, low. “you feel good.”
your fingers find her hair — tug just a little — and she groans. tilts her head back to give you more.
you mouth along her jaw. down her neck.
she tastes like weed and heat and the cold air she just left behind.
her hand slides up your back under your shirt, fingertips tracing your spine slow.
you press down again, harder this time — just enough to make her bite her lip. her hands tighten. her hips move up to meet you, and it’s like something clicks.
“backseat,” she whispers, already breathless. “now.”
you don’t think — just climb.
knees on leather. bodies shifting.
she follows you, pulling the seat forward, slamming the door shut behind you both.
suddenly you’re straddling her again, this time in the back — tighter space, darker, hotter somehow.
her hands are on your thighs now. sliding up, thumbs dragging slow.
she tugs at your waistband — not rushing, just wanting.
“can i?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
you nod. “please.”
she slips her hand beneath the fabric — just low enough to touch where you’re already aching.
you gasp, forehead dropping to her shoulder.
“shit,” she breathes. “you’re—fuck.”
her mouth finds your throat, kissing along the edge of your jaw as her fingers circle slow.
you grind down against her hand, breath shaky, skin buzzing.
your hands are in her hair again, her hoodie bunched up between your fingers.
your body’s still trembling when you feel her shift beneath you — her fingers sliding out slow, glistening. she drags them up across your hip like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. you blink, dizzy, the windows fogged up, your thighs still spread open across her lap.
then ellie brings her hand to her mouth.
sucks the fingers clean.
your breath stutters. her eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s filthy, the way she watches you while she does it — lazy and cocky and a little stunned. like she can’t believe how good you taste.
“fuck,” she mutters, voice scraped raw. “you’re insane.”
you pull her in before she can say anything else — kiss her hard, messy, open-mouthed. your hands slip under her hoodie, tug at her shirt, push until she gets the hint and pulls both off in one smooth motion. her skin’s hot under your palms. smooth and freckled and tense with how much she’s holding back.
“take your pants off,” you whisper against her mouth.
she groans like you’ve hit a nerve. “jesus—”
you help her, fumbling together, pushing denim down over her thighs, underwear with it. it’s awkward in the tight space, your knees bumping, your backs hitting the car door — but it doesn’t matter.
you’re both high enough to not care.
she grabs your hips, pulls you forward again, and you straddle her — bare to bare now, slick and pulsing. her hands grip your ass, guiding you down, and when you press against her, you both gasp.
you rock against her — slow, unsteady, desperate. your hips grind together, her thigh flexing under you, and the friction is everything. wet, warm, sticky. your skin slaps. the windows are fogged. your breath catches on every thrust.
“fuck, baby—” ellie’s voice cracks. she’s holding on like she’s trying not to fall apart.
you lean in, mouth on her neck, teeth scraping just a little. “you like this?”
“i’m gonna fucking die,” she hisses.
your hand slips between you, finds where you’re both soaked, and you rub — just enough to make her twitch, to make her hips jerk up into yours. she’s groaning now, low and broken and unfiltered, face flushed and mouth slack.
“please,” she pants. “don’t stop—fuck, don’t stop—”
you don’t.
you keep grinding, rubbing, your forehead pressed to hers, her hands bruising your waist. it’s sloppy and soaked and perfect. heat spirals in your belly again. your thighs shake. you moan into her mouth, and she swallows it whole.
you both come like that — together, clinging, shaking, teeth sinking into each other’s skin just to keep quiet.
after, you collapse against her. sweaty. breathless. wrecked.
but she keeps going.
you whisper her name once — just once — and she groans like it does something to her.
“say it again,” she says, lips pressed to your neck.
“ellie—” you whisper.
she slips a finger inside you. then another.
you break. silently. fully.
rocking against her hand, your mouth pressed to her shoulder to muffle the sounds spilling out.
her other hand cradles the back of your head.
holds you close while she fucks you slow — steady — deep.
not fast. not rough.
just right.
you squirt with a soft, stuttering cry, body going still in her lap.
she kisses you through it — slow and tender, hand never leaving your waist.
you stay like that for a long time. breathing hard. legs still shaking.
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