Page 45 of Give Me What I Want

She sucked in a sharp breath, then turned her head, her lips brushing my cheek as I turned too, pulling away from her then straightening up with a small, smug smirk.

I heard her say something as I closed the door, but when I was seated and asked her to repeat herself, she refused, shaking her head and grinning. She changed the subject entirely, and I couldn’t even be mad, especially when she hooked her phone up to the speakers and put on my road trip playlist. “Let’s go on an adventure, hot stuff.”

“Ready to get lost in Madrid?” I got comfy, the seat feeling familiar, fingers wrapping around the steering wheel as though it was their home, and feet hovering over pedals, ready to take us wherever the roads led.

“Damn right, baby.” She squealed and grabbed her seat as I sped forward, then came to an abrupt halt a second later, pulling up beside the guys and winding down the window.

“Be back by five you two,” Cole called out, “have fun!”

“We will.” Bea raised her glasses to wink, then grimaced as Garth appeared, glaring at her like he was about to explode, and then we were flying away from them, leaving them as nothing but specks in my rear-view mirror.

My playlist blasted loud, and Bea kicked back once she was finally used to my driving. Out on the road, safe inside the car she had hired for me, she held my hand, placing it on top of mine on the gear stick as I shifted. Her feet were up on the dash, barefoot, red nails. She was everything I had ever pictured when I had thought about taking a girl for a drive. Singing along to classic rock, hair flying all around her head as the wind from her open window rushed in and cooled our sweaty skin.

She didn’t have a care in the world. She was experiencing the very feeling I always got when I did this back home, and I allowed myself to join her, feeling so many of my cares drift away. Not all of them, but enough of them to forget that sadness had been consuming me daily since I got the news. I wasn’t living in some delusional land where I was suddenly perfectly fine. Over it. But I was feeling things I hadn’t felt I was allowed to.

“You look happy, Mav.” Bea was gazing at me, taking a break from singing every single song as the intro of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” came through the speakers.

“I guess I am. Thank you.” I slowed a little, taking a moment to turn my hand over and link my fingers with hers, squeezing and rubbing my thumb over her soft skin.

“You can thank me properly later,” she teased, and that urge to make a move hit me once again.

“Or, I could thank you right now.” Just up ahead I spotted the perfect place to pull over. The moment the car came to a stop I was leaning over, grabbing the back of her head, and pulling her lips to mine.

She moaned softly, as though she was finally getting something that she had been desperately craving for too long, and I realised that I felt the same. I had been holding back, not allowing her to comfort me in this way, when really I should have. It felt good, her and me, we felt good.

I wanted more. Except, I couldn’t just fuck her in the middle of some random, quiet Spanish road, and I didn’t want to take her back to the bus just yet, we had barely been out for an hour. I needed this escape.

So I continued to make out with my bandmate, enjoying the simplicity of the act and the way her body reacted to my kiss. She had unbuckled her seatbelt and was practically on top of me as she took control.

I stole it back though, pressing her by her throat to her chair and moving my lips along the line of her jaw, nipping and kissing, squeezing my fingers and releasing until she was panting, her pulse thrumming rapidly against my hand, and I was certain that her pretty little pussy was aching for me.

“Mav,” she gasped, “Fuck.”

“I know, baby.” I smirked, kissing her gently then releasing her throat and falling back into my chair. I smoothed my hand through my hair, then glanced in the mirror, laughing—loud and free for the first time in days—at the mess of lipstick on my swollen lips.

Bea did the same, then laughed even harder when she realised that we had nothing to remove the smudges with. I licked my thumb and tried to scrub, but mostly failed. Shrugging, I started the engine again and laughed deep from my chest as Bea started to complain.

“Hang the fuck on. Maverick John Swift, you cannot get me all worked up like that and just carry on like it didn’t happen.” She was outraged, and with each word, I laughed more, until she was giggling too. “You’re a dick.”

“You can’t call me that. I’m sad.”

“Not right now you’re not,” she said with so much sass I almost stopped the car again, wanting to bend her over and make her ass glow. She was right though. Later on, I would be sad again, but for now, I was okay.

“Stop your complaining and sing for me, angel.”

“Pfft, I’m no angel,” she argued but leaned forward to grab her phone and skip songs, finally landing on “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake.

She sang gently, mimicking David Coverdale in a creepily on-point way, until the guitars kicked in fully and her head flew back and forth wildly. She played her air guitar like… well, like she was me, and as I drove along, screaming the chorus at the top of our lungs, I had this feeling that eventually, I was going to be alright. Like, genuinely, properly alright.

Bea leaned over, singing loudly at the side of my face, then quickly kissed my cheek, sat back in her seat, and threw her arms up—perks of being a tiny woman—as the song ended. She cheered, then screamed excitedly as “Pour Some Sugar On Me” came on next.

“Mav. It’s my stripper song!” she declared with another scream, then started to sing even louder than before.

“I’m sorry, it’s your what?” I asked, turning up a steep, quiet road.

“Stripper song. You know, if I worked in a club, this is the one I’d dance to. I’d make so much money dancing to this, don’t you think?” She was bouncing in her seat, and that urge to pull over hit me again.

I sped up the road, then once we were far away from any prying eyes, I caved and pulled over, got out of the car, rounded it, and opened her door. “Out,” I commanded.

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