I can't move. The feel of her like this…it's too much. I'm so hard it hurts. Need blasts through me, congeals in my veins, obscures my vision, distorts reality, occludes my judgment.
And then she moves. Glides. Gently, slowly, teasingly shifting her hips forward and backward, sliding my iron-hard cock between her ass cheeks.
Fuck.
I grab her hips and squeeze hard. "Quit. I ain't gonna come in my pants like a goddamn kid, Terra."
She leans back and presses her lips to my ear. "So don't. Come inside me like a goddamn man, then," she whispers.
"Don't have a condom."
"I’m on birth control."
"I want to take my time with you."
"I think you're scared."
"Of what?"
"How good I can make you feel."
"Not scared of that."
She lifts and reaches behind herself, finding the clasp of my slacks, my zipper. Undoes them. I bulge out through the opening. She has limited mobility, because of the steering wheel, but she manages to find the waistband of my boxer briefs and tug them down an inch or two, baring the tip of my cock. Nestles it against her opening.
Fuck, fuck. One slide. A nudge. I'm in. Just like that. She wants it. Fuck, she wants it.
“Not here. Not like this, Terra." I slam my head back against the headrest. "FUCK! Fuck. You're not some cheap quick lay, okay? You're more than that to me."
Moving almost angrily, she climbs off me and into the back row. "Get back here, Saxon."
"We gotta go."
"If they show up, you’ll handle them. I don't care. Get back here, now." Yeah, she's angry.
Warily, I climb between the two front seats into the second row. "What?"
“Don't hide behind fake nobility, Saxon. Don't bullshit me."
"The fuck? I'm not."
"You are. I can read you. I can't explain this weird, intense, fucked up chemistry between you and me, but it's real, and I feel it, and I know you do too. It means I can read you, and I know for a motherfuckin' fact you won't let me touch you for a reason other than this ‘you’re worth more’ bullshit. You got no issue giving me orgasms. Amazing ones. Best orgasms of my whole fuckin' life. But you know what? Sex works both ways, for me. Yeah, I like gettin' off. And yeah, I'm usually a player: I get what I want from dudes and I move on because they're all the same. They're interchangeable. Faceless fucks, and that's it. But to steal your words, Saxon, you're more than that to me. So guess what? You don't get to touch me again until you trust me." Her eyes are serious, hard, and furious.
She tugs her bustier top into place and crossed her arms over her chest. "You either trust me, or you don't. If you don't, then I'll get out of this car and walk away. I can take care of myself—I have been my whole life. I don't need you."
"Terra, it's not—"
"BULLSHIT!" She shouts. "You're so fucked in the head, you know that? You're backward. You'll give, but you won't take. And you wanna know a real hard fucking truth? I get it. Probably better than anyone. Why do you think I’m such a slut? It was my way of taking sex back after all the shit I went through. It took me years to understand that about myself, why I was doing the shit I was doing."
"You're not a slut."
"The fuck do you know? You just met me. You don't know the first goddamn thing about me. I am, and I own that shit. I am one promiscuous bitch, Saxon. I know what I am, and I'm okay with it. I own it. I claim it. And I've always known that if the right guy ever appeared in my life, I'd turn my back on that life. So far, I've never met anyone who even remotely tempted me. Until now." She softens, quiets. Shifts closer to me. "Until you. I see it in you. Who you could be to me. It scares the fuck outta me because men have never been anything but trouble. Sure, I'll use them when I need to scratch the itch, and my itch needs to be scratched every day, if not more. No, I don't fuck a different dude every day. Most of the time, I take care of myself."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Terra."
"No shit, Sherlock. But I am. You know why? It's called trust! I'm trusting you with this shit. Because I fucking like you, you big idiot."
"Why?" I can't help asking.
