Page 71 of Sleepover

Her head falls back and she grinds herself against me again. Her clit’s so ripe I can feel it against me, distinct, and I’m suddenly right at the edge. It’s her, the sound and scent and feel of her, her moans and her enthusiasm and how much fun I’ve had tonight with her, and for a second I’m convinced I’m going to go over before she does, but then she grabs my arms and cries out, humping me almost violently, wracking her body against mine, calling my name, squeezing my thighs between hers, and biting my shoulder hard enough to hurt.

I think it’s the teeth that do me in, in the end. I have just enough presence of mind to drop my palm over the head of my dick so I don’t coat us both in semen, even though some primitive part of me wants to—

“I want to come all over you,” I say helplessly, as I manage not to stripe her.

“Another day,” she says breathlessly, still jerking against me, all out of rhythm now, her face wide open with surprised pleasure.

“Is there anything that shocks you?” I demand, coming down off the blissful wringing high.

She shakes her head.

I lean across her to the glove box, find the wipes I keep there, clean myself up.

She watches, eyes soft. “Sawyer,” she whispers.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I feel empty inside.”

“Oh, Jesus, Elle.”

“Put your fingers in.”

What’s a guy supposed to do? I oblige, of course. She’s still coming, still pulsing. Her hand tangles with mine, her fingers on her clit.

“God, Elle, you make me crazy.”

She makes herself come again while I work my fingers inside her, curling them against her g-spot, my other hand tucking into the edge of her dress and bra to tease her nipple.

When she’s done thrashing, she sighs and leans her head against my shoulder.

A wave of tenderness sweeps through me, and I gather her as tight as I can to me. She rests her cheek against my chest and her arms come tight around me. Neither of us says anything, but I think we’re both feeling it, the intensity of the connection and something else, a giddy hopefulness.

We stay there a few minutes, and then it takes a while to get us untangled and cleaned up. Her dress hasn’t escaped entirely unscathed. Which makes me perversely happy.

“Does that count?” I ask her, once we’re all tidy and tucked in and I’ve started the engine.

“As?”

“As sex in a truck?”

She laughs. “Yeah. Hey. You never told me what your favorite fantasy was now that you fucked someone against a wall.”

I love the word fucked in her mouth. I love the unfolding boldness of her.

I back out of our parking space, then turn to her, leaning close.

“Getting a girl off twice in a row,” I murmur against her cheek, and can feel her shake with laughter.

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