His eyes widen—he blinks, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then closes it again like a fish gasping for air. He’s stunned.
Good.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Lucas,” I say, voice low and tight, every muscle in my body strained. My self-control is hanging by a thread, and his hesitation is testing it.
“But… your parents are waiting,” he says, voice small and unsure, like he’s trying to convince himself more than me.
I let out a sharp sigh, my jaw clenching as I push my seat back. Slowly, deliberately, I unbuckle my belt, the metallic click echoing louder than it should. I unzip my pants, reach into my briefs, and pull my cock free. It’s hard, throbbing, flushed, and aching. I don’t say a word as I wrap my fist around it, giving it a slow pump, my eyes locked on him.
His breath stutters, eyes blown wide as they fall to my cock. His mouth parts, and I watch the heat rush into him like a wave, flushing his cheeks, darkening his gaze. His pupils dilate so quickly that it makes my cock twitch in my hand. I groan at the jolt of sensation.
His eyes finally lift to meet mine.
There it is, that look. The one that undoes me every time. Desire, raw and consuming. My control shatters.
“My cock’s waiting too,” I rasp, my voice hoarse and heavy with need. “Take off your pants. Right now, Lucas.”
I watch him swallow hard. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for his sneakers, pulling them off one by one. Then his pants, he slides them down with shaky fingers, his movements quick but unsteady, until he’s sitting there in nothing but his shirt, white briefs, and socks.
“Come here,” I order.
He bites his bottom lip, then moves slowly at first, crouching a little so he doesn’t bump his head on the ceiling. I silently thank myself for taking the Brabus G-Wagon; it’s bigger and has more space. Enough for what we are about to do.
He straddles my thighs, and I guide him down with my hands, gripping his waist as I lean the seat back further. His body presses against mine, all heat and tension and breathless anticipation.
He’s completely flush against me now, his cock pressing against mine through his briefs.
“Are you comfortable?” I murmur, brushing his curls from his face, needing to see him. All of him.
He nods once, but his cheeks are burning. And his eyes? His eyes are pure fire. The need in them nearly brings me to my knees.
I grab his face and kiss him like I’m drowning, like his mouth is the only thing keeping me alive. My hands thread into his hair, tugging him closer, desperate to feel all of him, taste all of him. He lets out a soft sound against my lips, melting into me like he’s been waiting for this just as long as I have.
The kiss isn’t soft. It’s not patient. And it’s all I strive for.
His fingers are frantic, tugging at the buttons of my shirt, ripping them open one by one with impatient hands. His palmsslide over my chest like he’s trying to memorize me by touch alone, grinding down against me with a whimper that shoots straight to my cock, making it stiffer.
I groan into his mouth, grabbing the back of his neck, deepening the kiss until it feels like I’m consuming him. Or maybe he’s consuming me. I can’t tell anymore.
I feel his legs tighten around my lap as his hips rock forward again, and we both gasp, the friction maddening. There’s no space between us anymore. No air, just breath, heat, and the sound of rain tapping against the windshield like it’s keeping our rhythm.
My lips trail down his jaw, then back up to kiss him harder, deeper, my tongue sliding against his, swallowing the small whimper that escapes him. I groan, the sound deep in my chest, because this—this is what I’ve been needing since the moment I pulled him into my arms after that shit with Oliver.
“Alex…” he moans against my lips, the sound of it shattering what little composure I had left.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to breathe, but not enough to leave the heat between us. His fingers trail down my chest, grazing over my abs before wrapping around my cock with slow, deliberate curiosity.
“Fucking hell…” I growl, my hips jerking into his touch. My breath stutters as I watch his slender fingers glide over me, manicured nails pale and perfect against the flushed skin of my length. He can’t even close his hand around it completely, and something about that drives me absolutely mad.
“Can anyone see us?” he whispers, uncertainty flickering in his voice, but his hand never leaves me. He’s still stroking, slow, teasing, testing me.
I shake my head, my voice low and gritty.
“It’s tinted. No one can see us. You’re mine here.”
And he is.
I cup the back of his neck and pull him close again, so close that our foreheads nearly touch. His breath is warm against my lips, his eyes wide and shining as he looks down at me like he’s already undone.
