He lifted me by the waist. I felt the thick head of his dick pressing at my entrance. Instinctively, I stopped him with my hand.
“Condom,” I reminded him breathlessly.
“I don’t have one,” he panted. “I’m clean. I’ll pull out.”
That made me pause. Made me see the man behind the dick. I almost pulled my skirt down and told him to get the fuck out of my car. If he was this comfortable raw-dogging a stranger, I didn’t want to know how many other bitches he’d played Russian roulette with.
I almost walked away.
Almost.
“I do,” I said, pulling one out from between my breasts. I held it out.
He looked offended. Like I’d broken the fantasy. Like he was hoping I was stupid enough to play the fool.
“What’s wrong?”
“You came prepared,” he said, like I was supposed to pretend this wasn’t what it was after everything he’d just said.
I ignored the flash in his eyes. Tore open the foil and rolled the condom down his thick shaft myself, distracting him.
He sucked air through his teeth as I sank down on him—slow, tight, deep.
Somebody whimpered—probably him. I smiled through the stretch.
I sat still for a second once he was all the way in, adjusting to the pressure. His dick was almost too big. It pulsed inside my throbbing walls. I could feel the curve, every thick vein.
Then I moved—just my hips at first. A slow roll, like I had all night. He hissed and gripped my thighs. I kept going. Ground down harder, let my clit drag against his pelvis with every pass.
“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping back against the seat. His hands moved to my ass, squeezing like he needed something to hold on to.
I lifted up slightly, then dropped. Did it again. A steady bounce.
He bit his bottom lip. “You riding’ the fuck out this dick…”
I rode him harder. Gripped the back of the seat for balance, letting him slide out halfway before dropping back down. The sound of skin on skin filled the car—wet and filthy.
He started to meet my rhythm, hips rising to catch me mid-thrust.
I gasped, legs trembling as the friction built and the heat in my belly knotted tight. My body begged for release, and I chased it, grinding circles against him, letting his dick hit every spot inside me.
His fingers dug into my waist. “Shit, baby. You ‘bout to make me cum.”
“I’m close,” I whispered, voice ragged.
He grabbed a handful of my hair and tugged.
I snapped.
My body clenched around him, wave after wave ripping through me, stealing the breath from my lungs. I buried my face in his neck and came with a cry I couldn’t swallow.
He grunted, cursed, and fucked up into me harder—one, two, three deep thrusts before he froze, chest heaving as he spilled into the condom.
I stayed there, limp and breathless, his dick twitching inside me. My sweat mixed with his. Our chests rose and fell out of sync. I caught my breath.
Then, without a word, I lifted off, climbed out of the backseat, and slid into the front like he wasn’t even there.
I caught his expression in the rearview. He looked confused.
