She kisses me again. Harder this time, almost frantic, giving me no choice but to catch up. And this time I manage to kiss her back, my hands finding her waist because I have to touch her, have to hold onto something.
She tastes like cinnamon and apples and when she parts her lips on a soft gasp—nearly a whimper—I follow her lead, deepening the kiss. The air around us goes thick and sweet and?—
Oh god. That's slick. I can smell her slick.
The realization makes me dizzy. Makes my jeans get painfully tight in about three seconds flat.
"Seth," she breathes against my mouth, and her voice is wrecked. "Can I—I want to get closer. Please. I need?—"
"Yes." I'm nodding before I even process the question. "Whatever you want."
She's moving, climbing over the console—and I try to help by grabbing her waist but misjudge completely and end up with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her hip at the wrong angle. She half-trips, half-falls into my lap with an "oof" that's decidedly unsexy.
"Sorry—I've got you—wait—" I'm trying to steady her but my elbow hits the horn and it blares through the quiet overlook.
We both freeze.
Then she starts laughing—really laughing—her forehead pressed to my shoulder as her whole body shakes with it.
"Smooth, Monroe," I mutter, face burning.
"Stop." She's still giggling, lifting her head to look at me. "That was perfect."
"I just honked the horn and nearly dropped you."
"You tried to help. That's what matters." She settles properly into my lap now, her thighs on either side of mine. "See? Now we're good."
I make a sound that's definitely not dignified.
"Hi," she whispers, and despite everything there's something vulnerable in her eyes.
"Hi." My hands are shaking where they're gripping her waist. "This is—you're—I don't?—"
"Just kiss me," she says, but it sounds like begging. "Please. I need—just kiss me."
So I do.
And it's overwhelming—her mouth soft and desperate, her body pressed against mine, her hands sliding into my hair andgripping almost too hard. My scent shifts without permission, going dark and woodsmoke-y.
She makes a pleased sound—almost a growl—and starts moving. Small rolls of her hips, finding a rhythm, and I try to focus on kissing her, on not thinking about how good it feels, on lasting more than ten seconds?—
I can feel the dampness of her slick soaking through both our jeans, the sweet honey scent of it overwhelming every other thought. And oh god, my knot is starting to swell. I can feel it pressing against the denim, uncomfortable and insistent and completely out of my control.
But she shifts the angle and suddenly the friction is perfect and I'm gripping her waist trying to slow her down but she's not slowing, she's speeding up, grinding harder, more desperate?—
"Seth—" Her voice breaks, goes high and breathy. Her eyes go wide. "Oh god, I can feel—is that your?—"
She comes first.
Her whole body goes taut in my lap, a gasp catching in her throat as she trembles through it. The feel of my knot swelling against her through the denim, the scent of her satisfaction exploding around us—sweet and thick andsatisfied—and the sight of her, the feel of her pulsing against me, the sound of my name on her lips?—
I'm gone.
"Bea—" I gasp against her mouth. "I'm going to—I can't?—"
And I come hard and fast, completely out of control. In my jeans. After maybe two minutes of grinding while she's still shaking through her own orgasm.
Pleasure slams through me, wave after wave, my hands tightening on her waist as I fall apart.
