Her hips were in motion, along with her hands. She whimpered and moaned and soon, began to shudder, giving me a memory I'd never forget – the sight of her, the sounds of her, the feel of her flesh, hot and hungry against my hand.
Still gasping, she shifted her hand and shoved aside her panties, guiding my hardness to her opening. She was hot and wet, and everything I'd ever dreamed of. When she lowered herself down, I groaned out loud.
When our hips met, I almost lost it. She was so tight and so sweet. She was a vision of heaven in the darkened car. Vaguely, I realized that we'd left the highway, and were now riding along the deserted city streets.
Soon, we'd be home. I wanted it to beourhome, not just mine. I could almost see it, our home, our life, our everything – joined together like our bodies were now.
Over and over, I said her name. Over and over, our hips rose and fell. Over and over, I let my hands roam free, over her back, through her hair, on her bare breasts, and between her thighs.
When she began to shudder, I stopped holding back. I gripped her tight, and kissed her like our lives depended on it. She leaned forward, grinding against me like I ground against her.
We came hard, and we came fast, falling together as we held on tight. When our trembling ended, I didn't want to let go. I held her in my arms and listened to her breathe.
For a long time, we were quiet, and then she spoke in a soft, sleepy voice. "I guess that wasn't exactly safe, was it?"
I stroked her hair. "What wasn't?"
"You know what." She pulled back to meet my gaze. "I am on the pill though, so you don't need to worry about that." Her voice grew uncertain. "But the other thing…" She let the sentence trail off, unfinished but clear enough.
If she didn't sound so uneasy, I might have laughed. On the nights she'd slept over, I'd seen her pink pill packet sitting by the bathroom sink. And even she weren't on anything, was that really so bad? I wanted kids, and I wanted Chloe. I had plenty of money and a big empty house.
And I loved her. I even loved her dog.
I might have told her that right then and there, except I knew what the real problem was. It was my own fucking reputation, literally.
She gave a nervous laugh. "Never mind."
I reached out for her. "Oh baby." I looked into her eyes, trying to make her understand. "Don't worry about it." I ran a hand along the side of her face. "I'd never do anything to hurt you. Ever. I'm always safe."
It was true. Thanks to my dad, I'd been careful from the get-go. He'd been the wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am kind of guy – a hit-and-run sperm donor of the delinquent kind. And then, there were the other reasons to be careful – syphilis, gonorrhea, and things more serious than a social disease.
She gave me a shaky smile. "You sure about that?" Her tone was light, but tinged with worry. "We weren't exactly tonight."
"You're the first." I met her gaze and stroked her hair. "You and only you."
On her face, I saw the hint of a real smile. "Really?"
"Really." I ran a soothing hand along her back. "Like I said, there's been no one like you. Ever."
At this, she leaned forward and rested her head on my shoulder. "Can I confess something?"
"Anything."
"This was my best birthday, ever." Her voice grew softer. "Thank you."
She didn't need to thank me, and between long, lingering kisses, I told her so. Soon, we were just a couple miles from my place. "Wanna spend the night?" I asked.
"Definitely. I'll just need to grab my stuff." She gave a small laugh. "And Chucky, of course." She glanced down. "And, I guess I should get dressed, huh?"
She was still half-naked, and so was I. But I liked her like this, all sleepy and tousled and yeah, mostly unclothed. "Or," I said, pulling her close, "I could wrap you in a blanket and carry you inside." I meant it. I could even stop by and get Chucky myself.
She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't make you do that."
"You're notmakingme do anything." I thought of other things I could do to her later. Or maybe we'd circle the block, and I'd do them right now.
But already, she was tugging her clothes back into place. She combed her fingers through her hair and said, "I'm a mess, aren't I?"
"No," I said. "You're beautiful." And she was. Rumpled clothes, disheveled hair, none of that mattered. She was beautiful inside and out, no matter what she wore.
