Page 67 of Champagne Fizz

“Back seat,” I repeat, opening the door behind the driver’s seat and climbing in. “There’s more room back here.”

“We’re going to—?” She peeks over her shoulder at me, her curly brown hair trembling softly around her flushed face.

“It’ll be just like high school,” I say, motioning for her to come and join me.

Kendall gets out of the car and tentatively opens the backseat door, bending down to peer in. “I think your high school experience was a little different than mine,” she says with a nervous frown.

“You didn’t mess around in your car in high school?” I ask, trying not to notice how good her tits look in that tank top, especially with her leaning over and the flowy fabric hanging slack. It shows off the lace of her bra and the fullness with which she fills it out.

My hands itch.

Second base? Maybe we could get to second base today. Damn, I want the weight of her in my hands. I want to stroke those lace cups until she’s orgasming from my fingertips.

“I didn’t mess around at all. Period. Regardless of hip and trendy cars.” Kendall bites her lip with a flush of embarrassment, nodding to my sports coupe. Of course, that makes sense. I doubt any sixteen-year-old boy would be able to handle Kendall’s sensitivity without becoming an insensitive piece-of-shit horn-ball.

“That’s not a problem,” I say kindly. “This is really easy. This is going to be nothing more than a sweet little make-out session in the back seat.”

Sweet? Ha. What kind of lying asshole am I? I want her topless and her tits in my mouth. I mean, that’s not going to happen. But damn, if my brain and my cock aren’t wishing it was.

“I’ll walk you through it,” I continue, trying to help her feel at ease. “Why don’t we start with you getting in here and sitting on my lap. Okay?”

I tap the tops of my legs and the flush that runs across her cleavage is gorgeous. I work at a restaurant with the best food you can imagine, but all I want is to taste her skin while it does that. I want to feel her breath against my neck as she turns raspberry pink. And how far down does that flush of color go? Does it slide down over…everything? Will her nipples peak if I suggested she come straddle me instead?

The truth is everything I say affects her. Her desire is completely on display.

If I tell her I want her, or I’m thinking about touching her, or I invite her to touch me—her body reacts. Shewantsto crawl over here onto my lap. Her body has already shown me how aroused that idea makes her. And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t making my cock hard too.

“Kendall, I’m not going to touch you,” I say, raising my hands up and trying to make this as comfortable for her as possible. “You’re in control, okay? You climb in and you touch me. I’ll keep my hands right here in the air.”

“S-should I face you,” she asks softly, the pink on her tits burning against the edge of her bra’s white lace.

“It’ll make kissing easier,” I say, unable to hide the cheekiness of my smile. “But this is your ballgame. We’ll do this at your pace, okay? Whatever’s comfortable for you.”

“Okay,” she nods, moving delicately into the back seat and closing the door behind her. She crawls over to me, then adjusts, swinging a knee over my lap and turning to face me.

Straddling me.

She doesn’t lower herself into my lap. Instead, she hovers over me with her knees on each side of my thighs as she looks down. She’s already breathing heavily, and she looks so damn sexy in those shorts and flimsy tank that I want to touch every part of her. In this position, her chest is only inches from my mouth, and I start to wonder if this was a really bad idea.

Pace yourself, Simon.

Slow and steady wins the race.

“Hi,” I say softly, looking up at her beautiful face. “Sit down. Relax. We’re just going to sit here for a minute. Okay?”

She nods, her breath ragged. This alone has been a challenge for her. Taking her time, she lowers herself down against my legs, a muffled whimper escaping her.

“I know,” I acknowledge, “straddling someone is … intimate.”

“Uh huh,” she says with a muffled breath, putting her hands on my shoulders as she adjusts herself.

“Have you ever—” I motion to how she’s sitting and she shakes her head. “Well, you’re doing beautifully,” I encourage as she scoots her butt forward and her knees push open against the seat cushions. “You’re doing amazing.”

Her breath hitches and she looks at me with concerned eyes.

“Hey,” I whisper. “You’re in control. Okay? Your pace. If all we do is sit here and talk all afternoon, then so be it.”

“Talk, huh?” she laughs, expelling some of that nervousness.

---