Her shirt rides up until the lower curve of one breast peeks out below the hem. I pause to stare before pulling it down. There’s still a driver in this vehicle, even if he couldn’t be paying us less attention.
“Javier,” she says into my mouth a few minutes later, because we’re suddenly kissing again, both my hands under her shirt while I swallow her tiny sighs and moans. “You, um, don’t have to be this gentle.”
It feels like something opens in my hindbrain, a secret trapdoor to the night sky. I pinch her nipples harder, and she squirms against the seat belt, sliding one hand around my upper thigh. My dick twitches at the proximity.
“Like this?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Or…more, if you wanted.”
“More?” I say and pinch harder. Madeline drags a breath in, her fingers tightening. I can feel her nails through the denim, and the feeling goes straight to my dick. “Tell me.”
“Fuck, that’s good,” she whispers. “Can you—a little harder?—”
I squeeze my fingers together harder, and my dickthrobs. Madeline bites her lips and muffles a moan, and I haven’t come by accident since I was a teenager but I’m starting to worry.
We’re past the lights of Atlantic Avenue, and it’s not dark—we’re still in the city—but now it’s streetlights instead of neon. Dark storefronts, then houses, then empty sidewalks.
Jesus, we have to be close.
In a moment of inspiration, I scrape both my thumbnails across the flat surface of her nipples. Madeline’s mouth falls open, and her head tilts, her throat bared. She squeezes mythigh, and then we’re kissing again andfuck, she’s massaging my dick through my jeans and there’s no way this doesn’t end?—
The dome light of the SUV comes on, and we both jerk away. Madeline tugs her shirt down, face flaming red.
“We’re here,” the driver says.
Three minutesand one massive tip later—probably too massive, but my bank balance is a problem for tomorrow; I’ll pick up some extra shifts, I don’t fucking care—we’re inside Madeline’s apartment, her shoes kicked off, her skirt around her waist, her shirt pushed up over her tits, her panties around one ankle.
I’ve got her up against the wall, my mouth on her neck, my hand between her legs, my fingertips stroking slick, wet heat, my palm cupped over her clit. I think. I’m, like, ninety percent sure about that last one, but she’s panting and swearing and trying not to moan and both of her hands are bunched in my shirt, so I feel pretty good about my guess.
When I bite down on that soft spot between her neck and shoulder—not hard enough for teeth marks tomorrow, probably—a moan breaks through before she swallows it. I lick the spot and tighten my grip on her, the tip of my middle finger nudging between her lips and against her entrance.
“Shit,” she hisses, head back, neck still bared for me.
“What are your neighbors like?” I ask, lips against warm skin. I can feel her swallow.
“What?”
“C’mon,” I say, bite her again, then kiss it. “Are they loud? Quiet? Early risers? Complain a lot?”
“They’re, um. Fuck. Twenties, maybe? They had a big Halloween party last year.”
“Are you gonna get a noise complaint if I make you come against this wall?”
Madeline exhales hard and smiles. She’s rolling her hips against my hand—or trying to, at least. “I don’t care.”
“You should be a better neighbor.”
“You should…” she starts, but I flatten the palm of my hand against her clit mid-sentence and she inhales sharply.
“Hm?”
“Do you even know where my clit is, or are you just guess?—”
Iamguessing, but it turns out I’m a good guesser because I slide my hand back until I’ve got one finger on either side of her clit, then squeeze them together.
Madeline cuts herself off again and shudders. I think her fingernails might rip through my shirt.
“Fuck,” she whispers. “Fuck.Okay. Oh—fuck.”
