Route 69 : Anthology series : Part 1
Pairing : Bucky x Reader
Word count : 6240
Relevant tags : R18, Smut, rockin the truck, touch starved, touch aversion, oral F receiving, multiple orgasms, say his name, AU, moody Bucky
Masterlist : Bucky Masterlist
Your thumb was stuck out, pointing up towards the bright, white, blazing sun. The scenery ahead was dusty, barren of any growth of green, left in a sandy tan and dried brown of broken trees and dusty clay.
The asphalt ahead was a cracked grey with faded lines of paint to separate each lane.
You walked on, keeping only a few feet between you and the road for fear of becoming splattered meat under the unforgiving tires of a speeding 18-wheeler.
You kicked the heel of your boot at the ground, catching a small rock and sending the little pebble out into the road. The hem of your boot clings to your ankle with its leather strap, and you momentarily stop to pry it off your skin and readjust your sock.
You hit the ground with your foot, wiggling your heel to better fit the shoe before putting the other foot forward to continue your stride. The rough denim of your dark blue shorts scratched at your bare thighs and pressed heavily onto the soft cotton of your panties as they stuck to your sweat-dampened skin.
You reached through the collar of your ratty t-shirt, dragging your thumb under the loose strap of your bra to tug it back into place.
Ever the image of discomfort, you trudged along in hopes of actually getting somewhere apart from more open nothingness.
Loose strands of your unruly hair cling to your skin, forcing you to push them back behind your head.
You turn with the motion of your hand, looking back and finally seeing something shimmer some distance behind you.
The hint of dark green paint is skimming up the horizon as it draws closer and you hear the discharge of gas clicking out of an old tailpipe.
It looked as if it were floating on the waves of false water drawn in the air by the heat permitted off the old asphalt.
You stand off the road, taking each step as small as possible, thumb out to signal him to stop.
You turn around and start walking backwards, now seeing the green truck drawing closer. Your boots are almost dragging as you saunter back on tired feet.
It draws closer and closer when it does indeed slow down to a stop. Pulling itself to the road’s shoulder just a foot ahead of you.
The window rolls down clumsily as you approach, no doubt done with an old crank handle instead of the ease of a button to be pushed.
Once you're in view, a man’s head and shoulders poke to better address you. Eyes like light steel looking down at you, almost studying you to gauge whether you were a potential threat.
His hair is a shaggy brown, oily with the wear of the day and heat of an old truck but brushed enough to suit a man. His eyes are barely squinting as the sun cuts his gaze.
His cheeks were a patchy sort of tan, an uneven burn on white skin, and his brow was creased with what looked like a year’s worth of unnecessary worry.
His chin and jaw were flecked with long and sharp stubble that bore a slightly lighter color than that of the hair that dangled towards his shoulders.
“Where’ya headed, doll?” He asked, assessing that you couldn’t conceal a weapon in your scant attire if you tried.
“South.” You answered back curtly.
He raised one thick dark brow, the lines on his forehead growing thinner on one side of his head with the movement. He hummed slightly, almost a sigh, as he questioned you again.
"South where?”
“However far you’ll take me." You added, shifting your feet in the dusty grass poking up along the side of the asphalt.
His mouth opens slightly, beginning to understand what you meant with a drawn-out sound. “…I see.”
“If you're not headed that direction, then I understand." You were quick to give him an out, not interested in getting dragged back the way you came by misplaced kindness.
He shook his head, shifting slightly in his seat before reassuring you, “No, no. I think I can make it work. You just tell me when to stop, little lady.”
You smile back up at his agreement to your terms, already shifting to walk around the front of the truck towards the passenger side, giving a cheerful "can do” as you walk.
You reached for the handle, pressing your boot up on the step tread as you yanked the passenger side door open. You nearly vault yourself into the seat beside him with a hop and hip wiggle to find a comfortable spot against the old leather.
He twisted the key, and the engine kicked and coughed back to life. With the quick maneuver of the gearshift, he gets the big metal mule back in motion to rumble up the road towards your unknown destination.
It would be only a few minutes of slight silence before this man breaks it with well-earned questions.
“How come you don’t have a bag?”
“Hm?” You hummed back, an act of obliviousness to your obvious circumstance.
“How come..” he began to repeat his question, assuming you chose not to hear him. But, you quickly answer before he can finish repeating himself.
“Don’t need one.” You spoke back curtly. “Never had much to begin with.”
His eyes flick towards you and back to the road in quick succession before he readdresses the issue, “You don’t even have a purse?”
“I have pockets.” You chirped up, amused at the familiar concern you’d seen many times before.
He switches gears, asking more directly as to the length of your possibly dire situation.
“D’ya have any money?”
“Not enough worth stealin from me.” You shot back quickly.
He scoffed slightly, cutting back with, “That’s not what I meant.”
He sighed, settling his nerves before getting back to his original worry regarding your possible situation.
“D’ya need money?”
“All I need is a ride,” you say a little more softly. “It’s all the kindness I require.” You twisted your head, giving him what little smile you could muster in response to his unnecessary concern.
“I see.” He tutted, not entirely convinced but willing to drop this part of the conversation to revisit it before your journey would end with him. For now he’ll switch gears.
“What’s your name?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the road before adjusting the stick shift.
“You actually wanna know?” You shoot back with a chuckle.
“I guess I shouldn't, but I’d kick myself later if I didn’t ask.”
“Alright.” You mused back with a smile. You give your name, stretching in your seat. Showing your belly slightly before setting back down.
His eyes rolled slightly, stealing a glance in your direction for a split second to graze against that small measure of bare skin before steadying back on the broken asphalt ahead.
“What about you?” You asked back, twisting again to look at the side of his face, watching as his jaw clicked slightly to make the hollow of his cheek bob against the bone.
“Me?” He shot back quickly.
“Yeah, you gotta name?”
You gave him yours when he asked, so it’s only fair to return the favor.
He rolls his eyes, adjusting in his seat to lean against his door while one hand holds the steering wheel.
“James.” He answered without looking at you, pressing his thumb against the worn rubber of the wheel in his grip.
“Well, thanks for picking me up, James.” Another shift in in your stiff seat, another quirk of your brow, and a sarcastic lilt to your voice to mingle with just a little sincerity.
“Hm…don’t mention it.” His own way of saying he was ‘happy to help’, and to ‘not worry about thanking him’.
“Is there a reason you were looking to hitch a ride?” You didn’t look at me as he spoke, eyes averted towards the dirty windshield.
You lift your head slightly, pulling off of the leather that had begun sticking to your skin.
“Don’no?”
“I’m a wanderer at heart, I guess.” You shrugged, smiling slightly with a soft, inaudible chuckle. An inside joke you’d often tell yourself.
“Free-spirit, and all that.”
You settle back against the seat, one knee falling against the handle of the door and the other nearly over the center console to let your knee brush his elbow, still sitting against the frayed leather.
He pulled his arm away the moment your skin grazed his, grabbing the wheel with both hands slightly tighter as he spoke back.
“You're certainly spirited.”
Everything was quiet for a short while as James drove. The soft hum and buzz of an uneven radio signal at its lowest volume act as a cloud of white noise to help combat onset insanity.
He seemed stiff, his elbows kept rigid as he held the steering wheel.
Even as the oasis of gas pumps and diner fare perked up on the horizon, neither of you made an exclamation as if there was ‘land ho’ to be seen after years at sea.
He let his eyes tilt back towards your slumped form, somewhat comfortable and yet not quite in the right position.
“You hungry?” He asks.
You pushed up slightly onto your elbow to look back up at him as his eyes rested back on the road.
“Hm?” You hummed back in question.
“Do you want something to eat?" he puts emphasis on his words as if already assuming you don’t listen.
“You think that’ll make you feel better? Helping the less fortunate.” The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on you as you took his charity for a ride in the first place. But, the last thing you wanted was a man that thought you owed him for a meal.
He ignores your chiding and teasing, asking again.
“Well, when’s the last time you ate?”
“If you're not hungry, I won’t make you, but I’d feel better knowing you got a meal before our paths split again.”
“Hm.” You hummed back, sliding down in your seat as if to recline against something unmaneuverable.
“Alright…if you're buying, I won’t complain any further.”
He huffs through his nose with a small smile, amused but somewhat glad he got you to agree.
He continued to grip the wheel, and you stayed slumped in your seat until he pulled in to park in front of the small diner still standing tall at the birthplace beside the old gas pumps and yet mutated with a more well-painted store of convenience having grown out of its side.
You move slowly at his lead, leaving the truck last and trailing behind him into the building.
The meal wasn’t of any use in perking either of you up, the air of awkwardness still lingering as two strangers sat and ate without a word.
You circle your straw around in your milkshake after eating half your burger and fries.
He grazes just as slowly, somewhat awkward in the presence of this young stranger, as neither of you speaks.
“Thanks for the food." You finally break the weighted silence, if only to say, “Sorry I didn’t have much of an appetite.”
“Doesn’t bother me.” He stutters for a second, watching the older waitress gabbing with the cashier near the front of the shop.
He looks back at you pulling the straw up, your own eyes not carrying any desire for the sugary treat you have chosen.
He raises his eyebrows slightly, not in intrigue but taking in all that has happened so far since picking up this perfect stranger. The mundanity of such an odd situation somehow surprises him more than if you had turned out to be an ax-wielding maniac.
The night was still young, of course, but for now everything seemed totally emotionless, like bland flour left on the tongue.
You take a deep inhale, shifting back against the booth. "So…”
You paused, leaving the one word hanging in the air before picking it back up.
“What are you expecting in return?” You pick at him again, pulling that loose string you’d previously played with upon its discovery.
“…for this," you reiterate, gesturing to your half-eaten meal.
He sits up, stiffening straighter in discomfort as he stands firm on your intermediate questioning of his motives. “I’m not looking for anything in return.”
You twist your straw back into the strawberry bog of your milkshake as you bat at what you had assumed to be an animal well hidden in your psyche. Something caged, something quiet. But, in your mind, something every man had lurking in his heart.
“What do you mean?” He said back, hiding a stern grating that was creeping into his voice.
You abandoned the plastic pinched between your fingers, leaning forward slightly with a smirk as you whispered towards him.
“You know what they say. Cash, grass, or ass. Nobody rides for free.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, choking back in a stray cloud of spit before coughing back against it, all before keeping his voice low in his breath so the few around you can’t hear.
“I didn’t mean…I never assumed you were a hooker.”
He dropped his voice further with the last word so as not to garner any attention from the few dead-eyed truckers that were in the diner.
“I wasn’t expecting anything.”
You laughed back at his shock and awe, garnering another raised eyebrow tainted slightly with agitation.
“I’m just joking.” You continue to chuckle at your own lowbrow joke, the mood finally lightening slightly as he catches his breath.
You smile again, your lips pulled in a slight smirk at the effect you had on him. “This lizard would be a bit too far from her lot if I were a hooker. Don’t you think?”
"No, I didn’t think.”
His gaze was hard, unamused with your playful banter, as if your witticism wasn’t at your own expense. Even if it was your style of humor, it rubbed him slightly raw to watch a woman kick at her own feet as she walked ahead of him.
“I didn’t think that at all.”
You watch as he picks up his coke for a quick sip, possibly to clear his tickled throat.
“Not that you aren’t handsome enough to give it out for free.” Just another shot, one last jab at the bear while he still chooses to turn the other cheek.
Just as you assumed, he would be sucked into the flat, soft drink instead of air and began coughing all over again.
“Joking again.” You reassure him more loudly than before.
“Just joking.” You brandish a wink with the last word.
Pranks aside, he wasn’t bad looking. Hard muscles on display with just a thicker, wife-beater tank top. Perfumed with his sweat and natural scents of any hardworking and handy man. His eyes were somewhat intense, although you could tell he was trying to hide it in both his features and his voice.
Even now he had to clear his throat before giving you a warning.
“You need to knock that shit off.”
“I take it you're kind of shy.” You chuckle, a small giggle of mischievousness hiding at the back of your soft laughter.
“Maybe you’re just too crass.” He shoots back harshly, standing up from his seat while flicking cash from his front pocket onto the table to pay.
He cuts the lurid conversation, stepping around it towards the matter at hand.
“Am I driving you further, or is this your stop?”
“I’ll go as far as you’ll take me.” You shrug back at him as you stand and follow him out, standing as he does and abandoning what was left of your meal.
He waves farewell to the grey-haired waitress with a tight smile, which she mirrors back at the both of you.
Just a hop, skip, and a jump and you're back in the truck and back on the road.
Your window rolled down, and your hand rolled along out the window, following the flow of the whipping air with your hand.
You twisted slightly in your seat, stretching your back with a soft bow. The heels of your boots pressed together unevenly, knees wide as you lay across the seat almost sideways.
It steals just a little of his attention, nothing different from what he’d awarded your efforts before.
“I take it you don’t get around much.” You sighed, shifting your ass to keep your skin from sticking to the seat due to the glue of your sweat. You ended the sentiment with the ghost of a wink. If he’d blinked before shifting his gaze, he would have missed that small move.
“I don’t think that’s relevant.” You watched his jaw flex, an agitated tick of the nerves, and he grit his teeth slightly before responding. “Let alone appropriate.”
Characteristic deflection, but you can see the subtle burning at the edges of his ears. Was it the sun having tinged his skin like most of his body or the little blush that could creep up his body?
“Touchy subject?” You mused back in question.
He didn’t answer back right away, pausing, possibly battling with the prospect of sharing a more tender piece of himself with a complete stranger. Like showing his belly to a possible predator just hiding its sharpened teeth.
But, you weren’t nearly playing with him like food on the end of a knife. You held genuine curiosity, choosing to dip into the water to find what lies beneath its darker pools.
“Kinda…” He left the one word to fall between you. His inflection rose slightly, but as his lips parted a second time, they only gave a slightly exasperated breath instead of pushing further on the subject.
You raised an eyebrow, watching as you settled back against the seat, not prying further.
For now.
The truck fell silent again, letting the day pass over it as the sun began its slow descent westward.
By now the sky is growing darker and darker, old signs in chipped green and blue passing by.
He pulls into another truck stop. Something slightly empty with two trucks on the other side as he pulls in on the dark end of the lot not graced with the one flickering LED.
He cuts the engine before stretching slightly in his seat by leaning back.
“I’m stopping for the night," he said, turning to you, somewhat expectant of how you’ll react to the statement as it hangs wide open for interpretation.
It wasn’t strange for a man to camp out in his vehicle during small points in his journey, but he’d understand if you chose to continue past his stopping point.
“You cutting me loose so soon?” You ask.
“Not if you don’t want to be.” His eyebrows were up and his forehead slightly creased, waiting for you to simply ask for help. But he was still always offering a hand, silently and without prompt.
“Won’t you feel uncomfortable sleeping alone out here?” You ask back.
He shakes his head at that statement.
“You just don’t stop, do you?” He scoffed more-so to himself regarding your persistent flirting.
“Do you really hate it?” You spoke softly, not hurt by his constant rebuffs, aware of his reluctance, and yet not entirely dissuaded. In the end it wasn’t about the chase, nor was it a game as if to tweak someone’s emotions and desires.
From the beginning he seemed stiff, gentlemanly, and yet uncomfortable with what little proximity you took advantage of.
He seemed like the type of man that denied himself even the simplest of pleasures. A man who buried desires in order to avoid the consequences that often followed failed affairs of lost love and false affections.
You saw what he fought to hide, a weary heart left empty. You only wished to fill it even for a short time.
You reach for him, and for the first time it’s with an outstretched hand to properly caress him with your hand.
Sadly, he would flinch away as soon as he felt your fingers graze his arm.
Touch-starved, like an abandoned animal with wounded trust. He cannot comprehend the gentle press of skin on skin, and it can’t be helped when he jumps away from it.
Your hand hovers, waiting for further consent. You’ll play with words, but you won’t try to jump his fence again without his input.
He watches your fingers, eyes moving with each digit as they relax back against his skin, trailing over the hair on his arm as it stands stiffer against the onslaught of your gentle touch.
Dragging your hand slowly towards his knuckles and carefully tracing the faint and small scars that littered his skin, you made an effort to show you could earn his affection.
He allowed this, trying to drop the tension from his shoulders with little result as you cradled his thick fingers with yours before slowly taking his hand between yours, letting it dwarf your fragile digits as you mapped the thick line of scarred skin and raised calluses, all with your curious and eager fingertips.
His palm was warm, damp with a clammy kind of apprehension coupled with the stiffening of his phalangeal joints as he allowed you to move him as you pleased. Letting your touch wander over the scattered course of hair that journeyed from the sun-kissed and rough skin of his forearm to nearly grace his hard knuckles. Tanned, tinged with pink after a long day of work outdoors, the threat of a burn leaves his body with its rough exterior in perfect contrast to your smooth skin, fragrant with feminine oils and the old scent of lingering perfumes to mask that morning's natural musk.
You were unpolished ceramic, delicate carvings, and soft pastel paints making you a once-perfect centerpiece for admiration.
He was rough terracotta, functional and sturdy clay covered in years of scratches and chips but still holding strong to its intended shape.
His fingers were pulled, a slow extension of his arm as you guided his touch to the warmth of your plush chest, carefully resting his palm on its center so he could feel exactly what he had done to you.
His lips barely parted, his own chest seeming to jolt from where he’d had himself curled away from you. You heard his voice, a shiver of a gasp, low and deep as your heart hammered from your breastbone and hummed across his palm.
He could feel it now, the same way you sneakily felt his pulse while skimming along his wrist with your fingers.
“You make my heart race, James.”
The excitement was practically building in your veins with anticipation. Waiting, wanting to be pounced upon like the smaller prey you were in contrast to him.
With his build, he could be compared to a tiger, a grizzly bear in proportion, or any giant, imposing beast to stand several feet above you and bare their menacing grin of sharp, white teeth. His demeanor didn’t match such ferocity, seeming timid, uncertain, maybe even shy.
Was he scared?
Scared of you?
No, he was scared of hurting you.
He cleared his throat with a short "ahem" before trying to speak.
His voice was gravelly, curt, and low but just as hesitant.
“I can feel it.”
“I’m not frightened.” You said quickly, hoping to quell his apprehension and possibly lower one of the barriers that kept you from finally colliding.
The arch of his brow lifted, but was it surprise or intrigue? Either way it gave you a glimpse of some genuine emotion breaking through his steely expressions.
You had his attention and hopefully piqued his interest.
If you could peer behind his stonelike exterior from the very start, you would have known that you were his only thought. The way your seemingly soft thighs brushed together with each small movement, even the quirk of your blushing lips as you nibbled at the lower lobe.
It made him feel this bizarre sense of attraction, infatuation, and maybe even lust. Something was bubbling in his stomach with an uncharacteristic warmth, spreading over his abdomen, letting his own heart pound against his veins and arteries as it pumped more and more blood to his hardening cock still well hidden behind his jeans.
“No?” He asked back, finally turning to look at you. His face is still somehow hiding within a small curtain of his hair. A few loose strands brushed across his shoulder as they fell from behind his ear.
You smiled, something soft and slow, as you drank in every bit of his inquiring gaze. A deep, dark blue like a bottomless cavern in a big wide ocean. But, there was a glint of something lighter treading near its surface.
You spurred him further, hoping he’d grant you this one wish.
Your fingers pulled his apart, fanning his thick digits out across your soft breast and pushing them to venture past the barrier of your clothes.
“I want you to touch me."
His middle finger penetrated first, pushed past the cup of your bra, and was followed by the index and then the ring until you had his whole hand hidden in your undergarments. You curled his fingers to cup your breast, letting the weight of it be cradled in his wide palm. His calloused skin tickled the raised bud of cherry pink hiding behind too many layers of fabric.
He was still again, eyes cutting through you, lost in contemplation. You tried to meet his gaze but just couldn’t find that connection you had.
The moment you called for his attention, a small “James?” to hopefully snap him back to you, his fingers tightened together with a hard jerk. Digits gripped around your supple flesh as he exhaled with a gritty “Fuck.”
It was as if he’d been holding his breath, taking in air but never exhaling until this one shaky moment.
His hand, having found new life, was swiftly torn away from you. But, the fingers curled in a protest of their own, catching the collar of your shirt by its center and yanking you towards him as his arm tried to retreat back to his body.
It only succeeded in bringing you closer, nose bumping along his cheek. A claustrophobic proximity that allowed him to feel the heat of your sweat glossing your skin.
It was an unintended roughness that didn’t seem to surprise him as the top lids of his eyes fell with disappointment.
“You really wanna do this?” He sighed, his warm breath fanning across your ear as his head hovered over your shoulder.
“Please.” You whispered back, tickling his skin along the scruff of hair on his jaw with your lips.
His large fingers gripped the hem of your jeans, coupled with his slow movements as he lowered to his knees before you in the cramped space between the front and back seats.
You reached out carefully, sliding your fingers through his hair, letting them tangle in his soft brown locks.
He pulls at the denim and lace of your clothes, popping the button out of its loop and prying apart the zipper before taking it all down your body a single inch at a time.
He was as gentle as he could afford to be, only showing that hidden roughness when the leg of your shorts caught against the ankle of your boot and caught not to be pulled over the clunky shoe. He succeeds in freeing one leg only to find it tedious enough to leave it hanging around the other ankle.
He leans in closer to your bare flower, his knees pressed against the seat and his frame heavily crouched within the small space. His warm breath tickles your skin as he presses his lips to kiss the soft patch of skin of your lower belly before trailing similar sweet savourings lower and lower. His lips brushing short curls of hair framing soft pink pussy lips, their color flushed and slightly darkened with arousal as a thin rivulet of sap threatened to drip from your lacy fold and pool against the cracked leather beneath your ass.
He looks up slightly, still looking for validation that he was allowed to touch you back.
In turn, you spread yourself wider, legs opening further with the subtle bend of your knees pulling towards your belly.
He takes this silent invitation, falling towards your rosy lower lips. His tongue has already escaped his mouth by the time he reaches you, subconsciously eager to dive into the depths of your slippery lagoon.
He could taste the sweat that had once pooled between your legs, a salted tang that made him thirst all the more for the gush of dew that clung to your inner labia. He wasted not a second more before digging his thick, pink muscles into the tender opening.
Dipping in and out to test your waters before lavishing across your seam to find a small button hiding nearly out of reach before he dug against it. Nearly grazing the pearly bud with his teeth.
His tongue plays with your clit until you drip against his chin. Your breathing left ragged as he devoured you as deeply as he could reach.
It still felt so shallow, so incomplete, and yet tantalizing all the same as he drove to taste every drop of your sweet feminine brandy.
The dip and edging of his tongue against your inner walls spurred you to tear your nails through the frayed edges of his leather seats.
This little death would shudder through you quickly, forcing you to gush across his eager lips. Something felt across the outer portion of your bud and flower, not yet reaching all the way inside towards the end of your core. It was what it needed to be, an accelerant to the spark that finally ignited between you. Just what you needed to catch fire.
He’s drunk on your taste. A man drinking from an oasis after years lost in the desert before finally tearing himself away for a gulp of precious air.
His hands dragged to your thighs, head tilting back and the hard ball of his Adam’s apple bobbing with a slow swallow. Curses tumbling off his wet lips in the dim light.
“Fuck, doll.” He shuddered out with an off-kiltered exhale, reaching for the head of the old seats to pull himself up your body. He covered you entirely, like a shelter to cover you from the quiet storm of night blackening the windows around the truck.
His movements to pull his own jeans away from his waist weren't clumsy, but they bore no familiarity either. His fingers didn’t fumble over his button and zipper, but they moved without haste all the same.
Dark blue denim parting to show the hem of red boxers, both rugged, carefully towards his knees so as to free himself from their barrier. Soft, velvety skin along the length of his body. Its head was blushed slightly compared to its base, with a few seams of thick veins running along the shaft from its previous protest against the confines of its clothes. It all led towards a thatch, of course, of pubic hair to match in color to his own mahogany locks that brushed the bottom of his neck.
You were ready to welcome him, one leg draped over the center console towards the front of the truck, your shorts and panties hanging from your shins.
The other thigh was hiked high, your calf hooked over the backing of the rear seat with your boot pressed against the window, looking out towards the truck bed.
He pushed forward slightly, the tip of him caressing your dewy opening without pushing through just yet.
Your foot came down from the seat carefully, wrapping around his hip to press your heel and ankle against his barely covered ass. A gentle nudge to spur him to break that final barrier.
He followed your somewhat impatient gesture, breaching the soft ring of your core. Watching the head of his cock slowly disappear between your lower lips as you pull apart around his welcome intrusion.
The shudder of your voice would follow as you seemed to suck him further into your body with the constriction of your inner walls.
A lingering nymph, finally satisfied with this first bite of fruit after longing for it from the extent of its branches. You bathed in its warm nectar as it washed over your relaxed muscles.
He was much less composed than you were now and more-so compared to his previous demeanor. Once the length of him was fully buried in your welcoming heat, all well-cultivated restraint crackled at its foundation as his hips began to move with haste.
He fought to hide his own voice from you with the almost unseen bite of his inner cheek. The deeper grunts slipped into the air as they rumbled from his chest and settled in his throat.
You tried to move your hips, following the pivot of his cock as it drove in and out of your fluttering cunt. Unrelenting and savage as it tore through the opening of your flower, welcomed by damp petals greedily sullied by the gush of sweet sap.
Your efforts were spurned and yet dutifully rewarded as his wide hands engulfed both sides of your waist. His thick thumbs pressing hard to pin your hips to the sticky leather seat, silencing the movement of your lower body as he crashed upon you like angry, rolling waves.
Both bodies, damp with the warm sheen of sweat, intermingled as skin collided again and again. Water was churning, creating energy and filling the small, small world of this old truck with a thin coat of steam, fogging out the desolate lack of life outside the dim windows.
He gained that hidden ferocity, the upper hand tight in his grasp as he drove into you, bashing, crashing, and shattering your smaller frame. It was all you’d begged it to be, something beautiful to hammer you down into a wreck of chiseled stone and rubble.
Each thrust hit you, drowning you in another slamming wave, and you fought to suck in each hot puff of air. It was like breathing in vapors and clouds of humidity, and you’d find that every exhale was mingled with the soft cry of your broken voice. Like the jagged drag of a bow across the untuned strings of a violin, you cried with every burst of rapture that overtook your little body.
Your joints jerked as if tensed by small currents of electricity, bending your shaking knees as they pressed around his torso and curling your toes as your heels dug hard into the dimpling of his tensed ass.
Your tongue twisted, tearing each word into the chanting of incoherent muses across his burly bare shoulder.
A shattered 'yes,' a broken 'more,' a shaking 'please,' until finally crashing into a cacophony of small shrieked “James!”
He gasped with a shaking exhale of once tightly held air finally escaping from his burning lungs.
Each utterance of his name was like thin shards of ice peppering his skin to cut towards his nerves before melting into his body like searing magma.
“Ah, fuck. Again… Say my name, Doll.” He called out to you, eyes half-lidded and nearly falling shut. There was a sliver of that tantalizing blue hidden in his lust-drunk gaze, an empty ocean waiting to swallow you into its cold waters, crashing into you with each smack of his hips and drive of his cock as he gained more speed, waiting for your voice to ripple him forward even harder.
His hands clawed away from your belly, throwing themselves up to tear through your hair and pull your head back down against the seat. Stealing your focus from the joining of your two bodies and back towards his steely azure burn of his half-lidded eyes.
“James.” You whimpered back. Voice uncontrollably, creaking under its own weight as you called to him in your final moments of lingering clarity.
You crash, finally drowning as the tight spring in your belly finally twists and pops with a heralding cry and gush of warm feminine slick to coat him through his own ending.
His hips falter as he tries to keep his pace, fighting each flex of pleasure that causes his cock to twitch against the right vice of your inner walls.
His voice is a mindless groan, like the low rumble of a busted engine; it catches in the back of his throat as he hits his release.
It’s almost like falling.
Falling headfirst into a cold pool after working in the blazing sun all day. It’s the shock of that freezing water seeping through his skin and flesh and directly hitting his bones in almost an instant. His body goes stiff, and every muscle in his lower body seizes at once as he spills messily against your inner walls with a heavy gush of pent-up cum.
Your body shivers, holding its position before falling back against the seat like broken sticks and cloth.
Your skin begins to chill as the layer of sweat clinging to your flesh catches each stray gust of air that still flows through the truck.
An open window later, lit cigarettes, and a night that bleeds into morning.
