Summary— After a flirty late-night confession about a car sex fantasy, Nick surprises you weeks later by making it a reality in the back of his McLaren.
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Contains explicit sexual content (18+), car sex, dominant dirty talk, fingering, praise kink, and heavy tension with enthusiastic consent.
The clock on your nightstand reads 1:12 a.m. Your room is quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists past midnight—soft, still, like the world’s holding its breath.
You’re buried under a cozy fleece blanket, legs tangled up, your oversized t-shirt riding high on your thighs. Your bonnet’s snug around your head, keeping every hair tucked away for the night. Phone pressed to your ear, you bite your bottom lip, listening as Nick’s voice fills the other end.
He’s talking about something stupid one of his friends did at a club earlier—laughing, his British accent lazy and familiar, like a song your body knows by heart.
“…and I swear, he walked into the wall like he thought he could go through it”
You laugh softly, voice muffled against the pillow. “That’s actually embarrassing.”
“It was. I was cringing so hard I left early.”
“Liar. You just missed me.”
“Obviously.” His tone shifts slightly—lower, warmer. “I always miss you.”
Your smile flickers, heart stuttering for a beat.
“Y’know,” he says, suddenly quiet. “You’ve been soundin’ a little funny tonight.”
He pauses. “I dunno. Just quiet. Like your mind’s somewhere else.”
You grip the blanket tighter, hesitating. “It kind of is.”
“Yeah?” Nick’s voice dips, all curiosity now. “Where’d it go?”
You hesitate again. This is so not the kind of thing you just say out loud. Especially not when you’ve kept it to yourself for weeks. You don’t even know why it started—maybe the first time you saw him slide into one of those low black sports cars, his hands on the wheel like they were made to be there, jaw clenched, gold chain glinting in the sunlight, looking like sin.
All you know is the idea stuck. And now it’s…a thing.
“I don’t know if I should say.”
“Babe,” he says, soft but firm. “Talk to me.”
You turn onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s dumb.”
Nick lets out a low groan, dragging a hand down his face. “God, will you stop? Nothing you think is ever dumb to me. Ever.”
Your heart fluttered as you let out a shaky laugh. “You’re probably gonna think I’m crazy.”
“I already do,” he says easily. “Now spill.”
You chew your bottom lip, heart jackhammering. “Okay… fine. So you know how you have those fast-ass cars…”
“And like, how the windows are kinda tinted, and the seats recline, and they’re all dark inside…”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’ve just kinda always thought about…doing something in one of them.”
You groan, pulling the blanket over your face. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Oh no, no, no. You absolutely have to say it now.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ve thought about us having sex in one of your cars, okay?”
“Nick?” you whisper, panicked. “Oh my god, say something—”
Then he laughs—but not the teasing kind. The delighted kind. “Fuckin’ hell, babe.”
“I’m not!” he says, grinning through his voice. “I’m just—god, you’re so cute when you get all shy like this. Been sittin’ on that fantasy this whole time?”
You bury your face into your pillow. “Yes.”
There’s a beat of quiet on the line. Then:
“…Thought about it more than once, didn’t you?” His voice is low now, warm and rough around the edges. “You in my car… late at night… just us and all that dark glass.”
“Seat pushed back… your legs across mine…” He trails off, not finishing the thought—but your imagination rushes to fill in the blanks.
He chuckles softly, not teasing—just…knowing. “I should’ve known you’d be the type to keep somethin’ like that tucked away.”
You shift under the covers, warmth spreading across your cheeks.
“Don’t worry,” he says, voice softer now, laced with something heavier. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You freeze for a second. “What does that mean?”
Another pause. Then, like he’s smiling to himself:
“Means you’ll have to let me surprise you one day.”
Your heart stumbles in your chest.
“Get some sleep, yeah?” he says gently. “Before I start askin’ for more details.”
You let out a nervous laugh, but you’re still smiling when you whisper, “Okay.”
You end the call, phone still warm in your hand, heart racing like you already said yes to something he hasn’t even asked for yet.
And somewhere deep in your chest, you know…
He’s absolutely going to do it.
It had been weeks. Like… six of them.
Life happened. Fast. Between your work schedule and Nick’s impulsive tendencies—last-minute weekend trips, motorcycle rides through the hills, him sneaking you into fancy hotel rooftop pools at night—your days bled together in a blur of stolen kisses and inside jokes.
You weren’t thinking about that late-night phone call anymore. Not really.
You’d even laughed to yourself a few days later, cheeks warm in the mirror, like “Okay, girl. That was bold.” But Nick hadn’t brought it up again, and you figured maybe he’d forgotten too.
You weren’t expecting a full-on dinner reservation.
But when Nick texted you earlier with a cheeky, “Wear something black and short. Trust me,” you should’ve known he had something planned.
Now you’re seated at a moody rooftop restaurant, warm light dancing off the wine glass in your hand, city lights twinkling behind Nick’s silhouette as he leans across the table.
“You look ridiculous tonight,” he says casually, like it’s a weather report.
You blink. “Um—thank you?”
“Not like that,” he says, smirking. “I meant—ridiculously good. I’m tryin’ to focus on the risotto, and you’re sittin’ there lookin’ like sin in a dress.”
You laugh, a little flustered. “That’s your fault. You told me to wear something short.”
“Didn’t think you’d follow instructions so well.” His voice dips. “Should’ve given more detail.”
You sip your wine to cover the way your breath caught.
It’s been an easy night. Fun, light. Good food, his hand brushing yours under the table every so often. But there’s something simmering underneath. Something different about tonight.
You feel it in the way his eyes linger just a little longer. In the way he watches your legs when you stand. In how, when the server walks away after bringing dessert, Nick just leans back and says, “You full?”
You nod, patting your stomach. “Stuffed. That was insane.”
“Good.” He throws down the black Amex without looking at the check. “C’mon. I’ve got one more stop for us.”
You don’t ask where you’re going. You know better by now.
You just slide into the passenger seat of the car he brought tonight—a sleek, low-profile black McLaren—and let him drive.
He doesn’t say much at first. Lets the city fall behind you. Lets the music fade into the background as the roads open up.
Your head turns toward him as the skyline fades in the rearview. “So where are we going?”
He just glances at you, then back to the road.
You squint at him. “That’s ominous.”
“It’s not ominous,” he says, smirking. “It’s suspenseful. There’s a difference.”
He takes a right off the highway, and suddenly the streetlights are gone. You’re on a quiet backroad now, winding along the hills, nothing but moonlight spilling across the dashboard.
A gravel path leads into an overlook. Wide. Empty. Quiet. The city glitters faint in the distance, but here, it’s just the two of you. Trees framing the car. The air still.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
He just kills the engine.
Then he turns to you, fully this time. The quiet hum of tension between you spikes the second his eyes meet yours.
“I know it’s been a while,” he says, voice low. “But I didn’t forget.”
You frown slightly. “Forget what?”
“That night on the phone,” he says simply. “The thing you told me.”
You stare at him, stunned. “You remembered that?”
“I said I’d keep it in mind,” he says, casually resting a hand on your thigh. “And I did.”
The inside of the car feels warmer all of a sudden.
“I figured…” he continues, his thumb slowly brushing your skin, “after dinner, after dessert…you deserved something sweet too.”
He leans in just slightly, his tone still calm but deliberate.
“No one’s around. Seats recline. Windows are tinted. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve had this image of you in my lap stuck in my head for weeks.”
Your heart is hammering now.
“I wasn’t even thinking about that anymore,” you whisper.
“Still want it?” he asks softly. “What you imagined?”
You look at him—really look. The moonlight on his face. The quiet heat in his eyes. The way he’s watching you like he already knows your answer.
His hand tightens gently on your thigh. “Good.”
He reaches behind his seat and reclines it with a smooth click, then nods toward his lap.
You climb over the console slowly—nervous, breath catching—but he’s already reaching out, steady hands guiding your hips as you settle into his lap. Your dress rides up, silky fabric sliding high over your thighs.
He lets out a slow breath, hands still resting on your waist. “You feel that?”
You nod before you even realize it.
Nick’s hard beneath you. Fully. Pressed up against the thin lace of your panties like he’s been waiting exactly for this.
He brushes your hair behind your ear with one hand, the other still holding your hip. His voice drops, low and patient.
“Y’know how long I’ve been picturing this?”
“Since you told me.” His thumb circles your waist. “Every time I got behind the wheel. Every time I saw you in one of your little dresses.”
Your thighs instinctively press around him.
“Didn’t think you’d actually do it, did you?” he asks, leaning in so his lips hover near your neck. “Didn’t think I’d remember.”
“I forgot,” you whisper, breath shaking.
“No, you didn’t,” he murmurs. “You just hoped I wouldn’t.”
You tilt your head slightly, exposing more skin. The interior of the car is dark, lit only by the soft glow of the dashboard—and you swear the air is thicker now.
His lips ghost along your jawline. “Can I touch you?”
The moment you say it, his hand slides from your hip to the back of your thigh, gripping firmly as he tilts his head up and kisses you—slow and deep, his tongue teasing yours, his grip tightening when you moan against his mouth.
Your fingers bury into his curls, nails grazing his scalp as your body melts into his.
Then he pulls back slightly, breathless but in control.
“Take your time,” he says, running his hands slowly up your thighs. “We’ve got all night.”
You grind your hips forward instinctively, testing the friction. The moment your body brushes against him just right, a low groan rumbles from his chest.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Just like that. You’re such a fuckin’ tease and you don’t even realize it.”
You lean in again, kissing him this time—deeper, hungrier, your body moving on its own. Your hands clutch at his shirt, and his fingers slip under your dress to stroke the crease of your thigh.
The windows are starting to fog. Slowly. Just around the edges. You notice it when your hand brushes the glass, leaving a faint print behind.
It makes your chest ache with want.
Nick’s lips trail down your neck. “You want me to keep going?”
“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”
He smirks against your skin. “I love when you ask nicely.”
Then his fingers slide under the edge of your panties.
You gasp—soft but sharp—and his grip on your waist tightens.
“You’re soaked,” he groans. “And we’ve barely even started.”
You whimper when he presses two fingers against you, slow and deliberate. His other hand slides up your back, under your dress, pulling you closer until your chests are pressed together.
“You remember what you told me?” he asks, voice low in your ear. “Back then? About how you imagined this?”
You nod against him, dizzy from how warm your body feels.
“And did I pull over just like this?”
He slides his fingers deeper and you arch into him.
“What else?” he murmurs. “You remember?”
“Windows were fogged,” you whisper. “Seat pushed back.”
He leans forward, lips brushing your collarbone. “You riding me?”
You look at him—his curls messy from your hands, his eyes dark and full of heat, the city lights reflecting faintly in the windshield behind him—and nod slowly.
“Good,” he says softly, kissing the hollow of your throat. “Take what you need, love.”
The rest happens like muscle memory.
You shift your hips, freeing him from his jeans, your hand wrapping around him with a shaky breath. His lips part when you stroke once, twice, teasing.
Then you line yourself up and sink down—slow, so slow, gasping as he fills you.
His hands fly to your waist, grip grounding you.
“Shit,” he hisses, throwing his head back against the seat. “You’re tighter than I remembered dreaming about.”
You move slowly at first—just grinding down, letting your bodies adjust—but he’s watching you the whole time.
“You look so fuckin’ good like this,” he breathes. “Dress all bunched up. Ridin’ me like it’s yours.”
That makes something flicker in his eyes.
He grips you tighter and rolls his hips up into yours, dragging a moan out of your mouth.
“Yeah,” he growls. “Say it again.”
Your rhythm builds—hot, slow, intense. Skin on skin. Breathing heavy. Hands everywhere. You’re moaning, panting, grinding down harder as your thighs start to shake.
One hand slaps against the window to brace yourself—leaving a perfect, sweaty palm print in the fog.
“Look at that,” Nick pants. “You’re gonna leave your mark all over this car.”
“I don’t care,” you gasp.
“Don’t want you to,” he growls. “Want every inch of this car to remember how good you fuckin’ feel.”
You cry out, body shivering, so close now it’s hard to hold yourself up. He feels it too—his hands guiding your hips, matching your rhythm, his voice rough and strained.
“Come for me,” he says, whispering it like a command. “Right here. Right now. You know you want to.”
You fall apart on him—trembling, whimpering, forehead pressed to his shoulder. He holds you through it, murmuring in your ear, slowing your hips gently before gripping you tighter and thrusting up with a ragged groan as he follows you over the edge.
It takes a long moment before either of you speak.
“Okay,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “That was not what I expected after dessert.”
Nick laughs, tucking a hand into your hair as he leans back against the foggy glass.
“What can I say,” he murmurs. “I like to deliver.”
