Page 14 of Car Wash
I just hope she knows what the fuck she is doing.
Because if she gives me an inch, I’m not just taking a mile. I’m taking everything.
Chapter Seven
John
She putsher bucket down and reaches in, her hands piercing the bubbly surface of the water as she grabs a sponge. Water slides down her arms as she squeezes it.
She starts with the windshield, reaching across the glass and smiling at me as she runs the sponge back and forth on her toes. Then she drops it into the bucket and grabs the sputtering hose from the ground, backing up to spray the soap away.
The water arcs high, catching the light and scattering tiny rainbows across her face—those wide, innocent eyes, that flushed skin, and that pretty little mouth. The same mouth I want to make mine.
Her shorts are frayed at the ends.
Were these once jeans?
Did she cut the legs off to turn them into these little ass-huggers?
Did she do it to impress some other guy?
The idea makes my head spin. I can barely breathe as I imagine her sliding those shorts up her curvy ass, pulling the zipper, her mind focused on riling up someone who wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like this.
My cock jerks as she keeps moving. I glance into the rearview mirror, trying not to look obvious as my best friend’s daughter does the simplest thing in the world—splashes water on the trunk, reaching across, her tits pressing against the glass for just a second. A tease.
I tell myself she isn’t putting on a show. That she’s not doing this to get me riled up.
But I’m already wrecked.
There are huge pearls of cum dribbling down my cock. It could soak through my boxers and jeans. It’s that bad.
I lean back in the driver’s seat, jaw tight, gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me sane.
She steps into a blind spot. I can’t see her. I look around frantically, checking every angle, trying to find her again.
Blind spots are where accidents happen. Where you lose control.
The numb, cold feeling in my chest doesn’t subside until she’s back in view.
Her shorts seem shorter than before, riding up to reveal more of that perfect ass. The frayed edges strain across her smooth thighs. I bite my lower lip as a groan rumbles through me. A rush of denial hits hard.
I picture my hands sliding up those thighs. My palm smacking her ass just enough to leave a sting.
I want to yank one of those frayed strings, watch the whole thing unravel, and see her soft pussy bare and waiting. I want to throw her down on the hood and watch her stretch around my cock. Palming her tits, pinching her through soaked fabric, grazing my teeth over those tight, perfect peaks.
She bends and the rearview gives me the filthiest gift—just the curve of her ass and that tiny strip of fabric sawing between her cheeks. I want to haul her over my lap, thumb that fabric aside, and keep her there until she’s gasping my name. Mine.
Her tits press against the back window—round and perfect, flattened slightly, her shirt soaked and clinging. The fabric hides nothing. Every curve is on display.
Her nipples are hard as diamonds. I want them in my mouth, to feel them catch against my tongue, to hear the sound she makes when I suck slow and deep.
She’s stretched over the trunk, arms extended, chest flush to the surface. Her tits drag slightly as she shifts—leaving twin wet streaks like she’s branding it. The underside of her breasts presses against the metal, soft flesh flattened just enough to drive me insane.
If I touched her now, there’d be nothing to push aside. Just one swipe and she’d be in my hands. I want to lift them, feel how they move when she gasps my name.
A growl builds in my chest. I’m barely hanging on. One more second of this, and I’m done.
She steps around the front and hoses the hood again, the water misting her shirt. Her nipples peak and that’s it. I shift in my seat, fully hard, out of excuses.
