I ignore the painful pangs. No need to dwell on the reasons Sawyer and I don’t make sense. I already have a job offer, and another interview scheduled. At the end of the school year, I’m doing what I couldn’t as a kid: leaving. Escaping Blue Ridge for the last time. I’m allowed to enjoy this while it lasts.
A light breeze blows, tenting my dress and sending goosebumps down my legs as the opening credits play on the screen.
“Cold?” he asks, moving the popcorn and covering us with the blanket.
“Thanks,” I say, resting my hand on his thigh. It’s hard and unyielding.
We watch the movie for a few minutes like this. Or, in my case, pretend to. I’m so aware of him. The way his chest rises and falls. His thigh muscle tensing as he shifts to make us both more comfortable. His scent overwhelms me, even outside, even with the nutty smell of popped popcorn permeating the air.
Hand flexing on my thigh, he says, “I like this dress.” His breath is warm on my neck.
Goosebumps rise from my exposed skin just below my clavicle.
He raises his free hand and skims them with one delicate finger. “Still cold?”
I shake my head, heart galloping beneath his touch.
Beneath the blanket, his other hand begins tracing circles over my dress. With each one, the hem draws up. Heat scorches a trail up to the apex between my thighs.
With me living at Gia’s, and him in an active construction zone that has him shacking up with his brother at the moment, we haven’t had more than a couple steamy make-out sessions since the Nowruz festival a couple weeks ago, and I’m famished.
I suppress the urge to nudge him closer with a slight tilt of my hips. We are, after all, in public. I glance around. It’s a Tuesday. Despite the mid-week promotions, there are only a few other cars scattered around the lot, and almost all of them are sedans, too low to see over the side of the truck anyway.
Sawyer cups my chin, tilting my mouth to his as he leans over me. His lips taste like salt from the popcorn, but his tongue is sweet from the soda. I break the kiss before I’m tempted to climb onto his lap.That, I’m sure, people would be noticed.
I rest my head on his shoulder again, trying to catch my breath. My nipples bead when his tongue slides along the shell of my ear. I dig my nails into his leg.
“What’s your favorite part of the movie so far?” he whispers in a hoarse voice that grates the most sensitive parts of me.
His hand creeps up my bare thigh, no fabric between us.
“I liked the dancing hotdog,” I sigh.
The rough sound of his chuckle ripples through me. “You mean the dancing hotdog that warned us to keep our radios on the right station?”
“Yeah. Great performance.”
The pad of his finger brushes against the damp cotton of my panties, and I jerk against him, a small sound ripping through me.
“Shh,” he soothes, holding me firmly against him. “If you do that again, I’ll have to stop. I don’t want to stop.” He slides his finger along the edge of my panties. “And judging by how wet you are,” he slips a finger just inside, “you don’t want me to either.”
“I don’t,” I breathe.
He removes his finger and sweeps his hand up and down my thigh, driving me crazy with want. “You know what my favorite part of this dress is?”
I shake my head.
With a smile in his voice, he gravels, “I like this part.”
He raises his free hand to my chest and hooks one finger into the front. I look down. You canalmostsee my nipples, but not quite. Just a shadow of an outline. My hand moves up to where he’s hard beneath his jeans, and he immediately releases my dress and threads our fingers together.
“If you touch me” —his fingers slowly move toward the bundle of nerves already eager to explode— “this whole place will know when I come.”
At that last word,come, Sawyer presses on my clit. I shudder.
“But I have to touch you,” he grits out, gently moving my panties to the side, “I’m desperate for it.”
He slides in, barely to the knuckle, but it feels like coming home. I release a shaky, shallow breath.
