“Yeah, I have very serious doubts that’s an accurate assessment of your learning abilities.”
I pout. “Please?”
He exhales or groans. I can’t really tellwhich. Either way, it’s not good. Defeated, I grab the door handle, but I’m stopped by his hand on mine. He guides my hand back to the shifter.
“Grip it like your life depends on it,” he says. “It’s easier if you feel every vibration. Be one with the stick.”
He caresses my hand and applies enough pressure to force my fingers to curl around the base of the knob. His fingers intertwine with mine, and it’s likely to be the closest I’ll ever get to holding someone’s hand. Another first for me, and he doesn’t have a fucking clue.
“There are three pedals instead of two. Starting from the left, there’s the clutch, the brake, and the accelerator. In order to shift, you need to have your foot on the clutch.”
Well, that explains why I couldn’t get the damn car to reverse out of the parking spot the other day.
“To get the car moving, you need to shift into first gear. To do this, you apply pressure to the clutch while slowly releasing the brake.” He guides my hand forward. “It’s a game of give and take. Your timing has to be perfect, otherwise the engine will stall.”
I do as told, feeling the tension in each pedal. One lessens as the other increases, and it feels like a balancing act fit for a gymnast. My heart begins to race, praying I don’t rip the transmission apart. There’s this inner desire to appease Noah. One I can’t pushaway, and I haven’t been able to please him outside of the bedroom.
This is my chance.
I ready a sweaty grip on the steering wheel as Noah guides my hand forward, shifting into first just as I release the brakes. The car moves about seven inches before stalling with a sudden jerk and the sound of grinding gears.
In the split second it takes to shift my gaze to him out of the corner of the eye, he’s already staring at me.
He doesn’t scold me, though. Just cracks up in a silent laughter as he shields his eyes with one hand. “I forgot to tell you to release the fucking parking brake.”
“You’re either a maniac or you are in desperate need of a nap. Either way, I think we should find a motel sooner than later.” I throw my hands up in defeat. “You can teach me to drive your car another night.”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up. It’s not likely you’ll find me in such a sleep-deprived state again. At least not to the point where I’ve lost my damn mind.”
But I’m not ready to admit total defeat. “There’s another stick I’m confident I could drive.”
“How would you know?” He laughs. “You’ve never done that before either.”
“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”
“Seven, I’m really damn tired.”
“And I’m really damn tired of being tired being your excuse.” I release his seatbelt from the buckle andlet it slide back into the resting position. “Besides, you don’t have to do anything other than pull your pants down. I’ll handle the rest.”
His lips part as if he’s about to protest, but we both know better.
He might be the alpha here, but it’s become apparent to me that if I want something, I have to go and get it myself.
I make the first move by leaning back in the seat and kicking my shoes off.
And then, in unison, we push our pants down our thighs, both of our hard cocks smacking against our stomachs.
I rummage through my jeans, find my wallet, and grab a condom. He attempts to grab it out of my hand, but I swat him away. “I’m in control here.”
He cradles his hands behind his head as his cock draws to attention, rigid and aimed straight at the ceiling. I tear open the foil wrapper, pinch the tip of the condom, and roll it down his thick shaft, reveling in the way veins throb under my tight grip.
I struggle to remove my jeans completely before swinging over the center console and landing with a knee on either side of him.
Addiction courses through me, but not to drugs, alcohol, or nicotine. To something far more dangerous—the affection of men. As it turns out, sucking cock was merely a gateway drug to the real thing. I took a dick once, and it’s become my new obsession. Thistime, I want to know what it feels like to be in control. How it feels to drain him, not with my mouth, but my tight ass. I want to watch him. To study him. To watch the way the muscles in his face contort every time I sink to the hilt.
I buck my hips over him, clenching my cheeks around his hardness as I sway back and forth.
His head remains fixated in place as we’ve switched roles. Now it is he who watches me with unwavering wonder. “You came somewhat prepared, but the lube is in the trunk.”
