[ CAR ] / Steve
' FUCK, STEVE. ' words are gasped as his hips rut into hers where they're lying on the back seats of his car. it had been whispered plans before the party, excitement and eagerness with each drink until she was pleasantly tipsy. there wasn't a single free bedroom. so, the car. at least the music blaring in the house was loud enough to cover up the way he's had her crying out for him, loud enough to cover the cries accompanying the two orgasms he's already given her just from letting her grind on his thigh.
HIS JEANS AND BOXERS ARE SOMEWHERE AROUND HIS THIGHS, SHE THINKS. HIS SHIRT IS SOMWHERE ON THE FRONT SEATS. her own dress is bunched around her middle, pulled down and pushed up. she'd ripped her underwear at the side seams in her enthusiasm, the scraps of satin fabric shoved in his jean pocket. right now, all she cares about is the way he's filling her up, his chest pressed against hers. ' harder. '
IT'S A GASPED PLEA, HER NAILS DIGGING INTO HIS BACK. she knows he'll have marks later, trusts he'll tell her if it hurts. thighs hike higher up his hips, ankles crossed over his tailbone. she wants to pull his hair, kiss his neck, meet each of his movements. instead, all she can do is moan and arch her back as her eyes roll. ' kiss me. ' it's a desperate whine, nails dragging down his back to make her need clear.
SHE CAN HEAR EACH WET SLAP ACCOMPANYING HIS THRUSTS, KNOWS SHE'S SO WET IT'S MAKING A MESS OF HIS SEATS UNDERNEATH HER. she wants his mouth on hers as she falls apart a third time, wants him to swallow each sound he pulls from her. she's well aware he's probably going to coax a fourth orgasm from her, maybe a fifth. there's plenty of time for screaming his name later.