Works for me and, apparently, works for him too.
"Can’t hold it anymore," he mutters against my neck.
"Good," I grind down harder, searching for that elusive release I want—no, need—so badly.
I feel his finger on my clit, rubbing in circles, sending me over the edge. He’s the first man I’ve met who knows female anatomy this well. Just a few skillful flicks and I’m flying.
My walls clench around him, and I scream into the crook of his neck. Then it all comes crashing down. His cock throbs inside me, jets of cum spurting into me as I cry out in ecstasy.
I don’t know why I didn’t think about condoms. I didn’t really plan on having sex with him when I left the festival grounds this morning. Good thing I’m smart enough to be on the pill. But these are just afterthoughts. My body is buzzing and I’m suspended too high in this blissful white bubble to care about consequences.
We both collapse into the seat, our chests heaving as we try to catch our breath. My face is buried in his hair, and I just stay still for a while, inhaling him.
When I draw back a little to look at him, he’s all sweat and sparkly eyes.
He’s gorgeous when he’s undone.
"That was—" he starts.
"Fun," I finish his sentence.
"Well, fun isn’t the word I was going to use, but that too."
"What word were you going to use?"
"Terrific."
I kiss him instead of speaking. Kiss him because I know my time’s up. After this, I’m done with the guys in the bands. Toomuch drama. Could be my New Year’s resolution. It’s summer, but I’m just making it in advance.
"Did you like it?" he suddenly asks, sounding shy. "Did I make you…you know?"
"You couldn’t tell," I say teasingly.
"I could, but I hear women like to act it out a lot."
"I wasn’t."
"I’m glad."
"Why? You think your reputation will be ruined and the guys will kick you out of the band for not being good enough in the sack?"
He laughs. "That’s some wild imagination."
I grin at him, shimmying a little in his lap. "It’s probably safe that we disengage now." I point down at where our hips meet. His cock is soft and spent, and I’m dripping a little. It’s a mess.
"Yeah. Best to clean up before it sticks to the seats permanently," he mutters, reaching out for the central console with his free hand to fumble around for some napkins.
After we put ourselves back together and I return to my seat, we simply sit there, looking at the rain pelting the windshield and the blurry surface of the lake further down. The song playing on the radio ends and another one starts, and after the intro hits, I realize it’s one of The Deviant’s latest singles that was released this spring.
"Hey, is it weird?" I ask quietly. "Hearing your music like this? Just popping up everywhere?"
Cruz takes a second to think, staring wistfully at the downpour outside. "Not anymore," he admits. "It was at the beginning. I mean, we’d make an event out of it every time we got radio play. Eventually, it all just became a backdrop. Not any different from being an accountant. Every night you punch in, do your work, punch out, go home, be yourself. In the morning,you gotta put on a mask and be that other version of yourself because that’s what your fans expect of you."
"Did you always want to be a musician?"
"For as long as I can remember. I wasn’t very good in school. There was no future for me in college. I actually wanted to play a guitar, but my fingers are butterfingers for the precision you need to play an electric. So I went with the next best thing. Bass."
"I don’t think I can even imagine you as a student."
