Page 28 of Most Likely to Match
“Okay?” she asks.
I unclip her belt buckle and gently guide it back toward her side of the door. I follow the line, rubbed into the skin of her neck andshoulder by the polyester webbing, with my fingertips, then my mouth, sucking and licking those tender spots. She tips her head back, leans farther onto her hand on my thigh to grant me greater access. Her other hand tunnels through my hair at the back of my head, and she releases the softest sigh.
“I like being with you again, too,” I say to her skin.
Chloe pushes me back against the seat, unclipping my seat belt and pulling the lever to recline my seat as she straddles me. I let my hands rest on her thighs, pushing her skirt up until it’s a bundle of fabric around her hips. She peels back the knit cardigan I put back on before we got in the car and slides her hand under my white t-shirt. Her fingers are cold, and she smiles, devilish, when I gasp at the feeling of her hands on the warm skin of my stomach. She grips the waist of my khakis in her fist.
“How did you getmorebeautiful, Dean?” she asks, her voice too sweet and filled with awe to be found anywhere near a place as mundane as a municipal lot.
Even though we can’t see much in the dim light, I turn my face away. Still, always, self-conscious to be called words like beautiful or pretty.
I haven’t reached a point where I can acknowledge the compliment, but I swallow back the embarrassment, look back into her eyes, and wear her words like the compliment I knew she meant them to be. “So did you,” I say simply.
She covers one of my hands with hers and draws it closer to the warmth between her thighs. “Touch me?” she asks. And then, tentatively, “You can have my panties again. If you want?”
“I…no…” Fuck. “I’m sorry. You can have those back.”
She shakes her head and leans in closer until her lips hover above my ear. She slides our hands closer still to the satin-soft fabric of her panties. “I liked it.”
I give her what she wants. Our hands disappear under her dress, and I drag my thumb up the wet fabric of the middle of her panties. She gasps, measured by the corresponding goose bumps against mythroat. In our tangle of limbs, all anchored between us, she finds my cock, straining against the heavy cotton.
We stop petting each other long enough for her to tug at my belt, wrench at the button and fly. I press my hips up into her hand before she’s even pulled my cock all the way out of my boxer briefs. As I fuck into her fist, the car fills with the sound of my heavy breaths and her spitting.
I’m greedy for her suddenly. Or maybe it’s not sudden. Maybe this greed has always been here, but dormant. I slip my thumb beneath her panties and groan. My dick gets harder, somehow, at her slickness against my skin, her heat. “Take them off.” I gasp as she squeezes me tightly.
“What?” she asks, her own hips stuttering where she’s been grinding against my hand.
“Can you take them off?” I ask. “Your panties.”
She answers by levering up onto her knees. I take myself in hand, rub myself slowly while I watch her hike her skirt up around her hips and push her panties down one leg at a time. She giggles as she tips her weight onto one knee, then the other. Chloe doesn’t drive with music, and the silence of the car makes everythingbetter, makes her laughter and breaths and the quiet shuffle of clothing louder.
“Here,” she says quietly, holding her panties out to me. I don’t take them right away, and she frowns. “What do you want?” she asks me after a moment.
My cheeks flush with heat and she takes my hand, moved to her thigh to steady her while she’d pulled her panties off for me, and puts it back between her legs. “What do you want?” she asks again, rubbing my thumb, my knuckles over her wet pussy. My cock leaks for her.
“Make them wet?” I can’t quite make it a command. “Make your panties wet.”
Again, she doesn’t hesitate. She replaces my hand with her panties and lets me watch her cover them in her wetness. She holds her skirt up around her hip as she rubs herself, the wet sounds obscene.
“Like this?”
“Put them on me,” I whisper, guiding her hand and her panties around my cock. The fabric is soft and slick and— “Oh fuck.”
“You like this?”
“God, yes,” I say as I return my hands to her body.
We’re awkward, arms wrapped in and around each other, moving too slow to come anytime soon; but it feels good and it’s fun, chasing her mouth when she leans in for a kiss, tonguing her nipple through the fabric of her dress, grabbing the headrest when her thumb brushes the underside of my cock in just the right place, her hand leaving a smear on the fogged window when I slip my fingers inside her.
“Do you have,” she asks between labored breaths, “a condom?”
I shake my head against the seat. “No.” I haven’t carried condoms in my wallet since my age started with a one. And I fucking regret it.
“I wish we could,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“What would you do to me? If you could fuck me right now?”
