Jesus. Fuck. She’s going to kill me. She’s going to kill both of us, or at least embarrass us a whole lot when I have to call a tow truck because I ran off the road and into a tree. I don’t want to find out what an airbag deploying can do to an erection.
“Andi,” I say, and it comes out ragged.
“No speeding,” she says, and I can see her move her hips again at the edge of my vision. “Eyes front. Hands at ten and two.Oh. Watch the road.”
I shouldn’t be driving with this little blood in my brain. My skin is hot and all of it feels too tight, like I might split it open at any moment. The heat’s on in here and I have no idea how to turn it off. I’m lightheaded, my heart is beating out of rhythm, my knuckles are white on the wheel and then Andi groans softly.
“Fucking Christ,” I say through my teeth. Andi laughs breathlessly, and I steal another glance.
“Goddamnit,” I whisper when I do.
“Focus,” she says, half-whispering. “On the road, not me. Pretend I’m not even—mmm—here.”
She is torturing me and I am going to die. There are headlights in the distance, and I hold my breath until they pass us, Andi breathing faster, harder. The double yellow line sears itself into my retinas because I can’t look away, not for anything. It’s silent except for road noise and the tiny, slick sounds Andi’s making as she rubs herself.
“Is it good?” I finally ask, my arms shaking from how hard I’m holding the steering wheel. Two more minutes, just a stop sign and a curve and a straightaway—
“Yes,” she says, sounding a little bit strangled. “You’re really hot like this, you know.”
I have to remind myself to breathe.
“Like what?”
“Holding back,” she says. “When you’re all uptight and stern and using self-control.”
“That’s all the time.”
“Not like this.”
“You’re not usually getting yourself off in my passenger seat where I can’t even look at you,” I say, executing a technically illegal rolling stop.
“Fuck, Gideon, it could be arranged,” she says, and shudders out a breath. I feel like my hair’s standing on end. “We could do this all the”—she gasps and makes a noise and ohGod—“time.”
“We’re almost there,” I tell—her? Myself? Who fucking knows. “Just down this hill and around that bend.”
Andi turns her head toward me and I catch it in my periphery.
“Don’t come yet,” I tell her.
“We’re racing,” she says, all shaky. “I’m about to win.”
“I forfeit.”
There’s a sharp, whimpering gasp from the passenger seat, and I swallow. I can feel sweat trickling down my neck.
“Please?” I ask, barely more than a rough whisper, and Andi exhales hard.
“Fine,” she whispers, and in the corner of my vision, she pulls her hand away. “Because you asked nicely.”
“You don’t have to stop,” I say. “You can go slow. You could make more noise, if you wanted.”
“What if I make myself come by accident?” she asks, teasing and raspy. “I’m pretty close. Anything could happen.”
“You won’t.”
“I could.”
“I did say please, Andi,” I tell her, and slow the car to turn into my driveway. There are oncoming headlights, and the wait for them to pass might be the longest five seconds of my entire life. “You like it when I say please.”
