He looks hungry and desperate, his face red, his mouth open, trying to pull in every ounce of oxygen he can from the small sweaty car.
My fingers from both hands slide inside my vagina, taking the wetness from my pussy. I lift my left hand, the two fingers on it press to his lips.
He opens his mouth to suck them, closing his eyes, groaning at the pleasure.
I continue pleasing myself, flicking my clitoris. His thumb helps, swirling circles around.
He licks his lips, hungry for me.
My fingers continue moving faster, then his thumb takes over.
I interlock my fingers behind my neck, my breasts jutting out further, allowing him to suck them one at a time, his tongue swirling around each nipple before pulling them between his teeth.
Lincoln's noises of pleasure are music to my ears.
His dick is incredibly hard. Reaching forward between us, I free his penis from his boxers, a wet spot having formed there anyway.
The velvety skin of his erection beneath my palm feels like home as I stroke him with my right hand.
Up.
Down.
Up again.
Down slow goes my eager hand as his right thumb continues drawing circles around the wetness completely coating my clitoris.
Lost is my mind for the moment, so much so that my own moansbarelyregister as I come hard against his thumb, my clit pulsing to the beat of my quickening heart.
Link breathes hard against my lips.
As I come down from my orgasm, I slow my hand until my strokes come to a stop.
That was heavenly.
He takes over where I left off and begins to stroke himself.
However, he doesn’t get far.
His face barely moves as I crack a slap across it, breaking him from his effort.
Groaning, he glares at me in outrage, fire in those brown eyes.
“No,” I tell him. “You don't get to.”
Then I crawl off of him, leaving him like that.
He’s frustrated and angry, but I don't give a fuck.
That's what he gets.
And he usually would fight me in a time like this, but I think he understands that he deserves his punishment, especially after what happened this morning.
The silence is a fog between us in the car. The storm still rages outside, the rain pelting a little lighter now than it was before, although still heavy.
Curling up in the passenger seat, pulling my knees up to my chest, my head rests against my window, just being soothed by the sound of the rain touching every surface around us.
Link flips on the radio. John Lennon’s‘Jealous Guy’flows through the speakers.
