Page 77 of That Moment
The slap of our skin only makes me harder. The staccato “ohh” that Adrienne keeps moaning like clockwork every single time I slide deeper inside of her, pushing me over the edge.
“Oh fuck yes, take me, take me baby and don’t you ever fucking forget how good I make you fucking feel.”
My words run together, just nonsense. A word jumble of all of the filthy things I’ve wanted to confess to her over the years.
“I know I’m going to get hard just looking at this car every day now,” I continue, “thinking about you taking my cock like you haven’t pretended you didn’t want it all these years.”
I finally still, releasing myself inside her, my cock pulsing and twitching. My vision blurs, my legs suddenly feel stiff and heavy. I fall forward, my sweaty forehead against her. I’m about to ask her if she’s okay when I feel her pulse against me.
“Fuck, don’t do that, please,” I beg, squeezing my eyes shut as she does it again.
“I can’t help it.”
“Yeah, you can.” My voice shakes. I’m wrecked. “Or you’ll make me—fuck?—”
She squeezes again, slow and deliberate, like she’s doing it just to hear me fall apart. My hand lands low on her belly, holding her there, my other palm splayed over the hood beside hers while I breathe through the aftershocks sawing through me.
“You’re mean,” I grit, a rough laugh tearing out of my chest.
She turns her head just enough that I catch the edge of her grin. “You like me, mean.”
She’s right. God, she’s right.
I slide my hand down to her clit again. She jerks, gasps, tries to wriggle away from the sensitivity. I pin her with my hips and murmur against her ear, “Uh-uh. You want to tease me, you can take it right back.”
Two circles, then three, and she’s panting. She’s already on the edge, strung tight from how I used her, from the jealousy I took out on her. She trembles, nails scrabbling uselessly on the hood. I catch one of her hands, tangle our fingers, and press them flat to the metal like before.
“Eyes open,” I tell her, because I need to see it. “Let me hear it.”
“Scotty—”
“That’s it. Take it.” My mouth finds the place I bit earlier; I kiss it gently. “Come on my cock, sweetheart.”
Her body answers before her mouth does, hips stuttering, breath breaking, a helpless sound ripped from her throat. She shatters hard, squeezing me again, clenching around the thickness I still have inside her, milking me again while I work her through it. The way she moves, desperate and greedy and so goddamn needy like she doesn’t care how badly she needs me.
I slow her down, ease her through the last tremors, then go gentle, sliding in and out of her with long lazy strokes, a palm smoothing over her belly, down her thigh, back up to hold her there while she remembers how to breathe.
We stay folded over the hood, both of us panting like we sprinted in here. I don’t pull out yet. Can’t. Don’t want to. Her pulse drums against my forearm. The shop is quiet except for the tick of cooling metal and the soft, shocked laugh she finally lets slip.
“Okay,” she whispers, voice frayed. “That was… good.”
“Yeah,” I say against her shoulder, kissing the damp skin there. “Not bad.”
She huffs, teasing rising like it always does to save us both. “Not bad? Your Yelp review is about to be savage.”
I groan a smile into her neck and finally ease back, slipping free of her slowly. She makes a tiny sound that makes my hands tighten on her hips all over again. I step between her legs to steady her when her knees wobble, then drag a clean shop towel off the cart and take care of her first. She watches me over her shoulder, lips parted.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter.
“Like what?”
“Like you know what that does to me.”
She smirks. “I do know.”
I finish, putting her panties back in place, then haul her jeans up, one palm steady at the small of her back like I can hold the whole moment together with my hand. I do her button. She catches me at the zipper, fingers covering mine, and for a second neither of us moves.
I give myself the same brisk wipe-down, shove myself back in my jeans, belt buckled, shirt yanked straight. She turns, and I sweep my thumbs beneath her eyes on instinct, catching a leftover crumb of mascara from last night. Her hair’s a wrecked knot. I attempt to fix her hair, but it’s a lost cause.
