And I kiss him.
I don’t do polite, not anymore. I don’t do careful, either. My mouth finds his like it’s supposed to, open and bruising, and he’s there, soft at first, then hard and hungry. His hand finds my waist, pulls me closer, and the angle is all wrong, but it doesn’t matter because it’s him. It’s all him.
He pops the door and pulls me in, and suddenly I’m half in his lap, my knees against the dash, my coat bunched up behind my shoulders because he’s got both hands on me now, not letting me go. His mouth is warm and alive and desperate. I don’t want to stop.
He bites my lower lip, just a little, then opens his eyes. “Jesus, Molly,” he says against my mouth.
“Don’t talk,” I say, and kiss him again, harder.
His fingers slide up my thigh, slow, asking without asking. I answer by shifting closer, by letting him feel exactly how much I want this — want him.
He breaks away for a second, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.
“You sure?” he says, so quietly I almost miss it.
I nod. Words are impossible.
He drags me in for another kiss, slower this time, as if he wants to memorize every part, every angle, every taste. His fingers slide up my thigh, slow, asking. I answer by shifting closer, by letting my head fall back and my chest open up, by not hiding how much I’m shaking.
He says my name as if he’s never said it before. “Molly…”
I don’t want to hear the rest, so I kiss him again. My hands work their way under his shirt, and he laughs, low and wild, into my ear.
“Not what I expected,” he says when he gets his breath. “But not complaining.”
I want to say something back, something wicked and clever, but I can’t. I’m lost in the heat of it. My body is running the show now, my brain somewhere far behind, gasping to catch up.
I kiss him deeper. My lips can’t get close enough to his, tohim. I take hold of his shirt and pull at it, lifting it, and he shifts, letting me take it off him. My body is on fire with desire and a feeling that I’m scared to name.
“Your pants,” I whisper, running my tongue along his ear. “Let’s get them off.”
He doesn't argue. His hands find his belt, and I shift back just enough to give him room, my knees pressing into the center console, the gearshift digging into my calf. The sedan wasn't built for this — wasn't built for two people trying to crawl inside each other in the cramped front seat — but I don't care. I don't care about anything except the sound of his breathing and the way his hands shake when he touches me.
The belt comes loose. I help with the zipper, impatient, clumsy, and he laughs again, that low, broken sound that makes my chest ache.
"Slow down," he murmurs against my throat.
"No."
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. "Molly, what is it?"
"I said no." I grab the back of his neck and drag him back to me. "I don't want slow."
Something shifts in his expression — surrender, maybe, or recognition. He stops fighting me. His hands find the hem of my shirt and slide underneath, palms flat against my ribs, and the touch is so warm I actually gasp.
The windows are fogging up. The world outside disappears, reduced to smears of light and shadow, and all that exists is this — his mouth on my collarbone, my fingers in his hair, the impossible geometry of two bodies trying to fit in a space designed for groceries and commutes.
I manage to get my jeans down past my hips. He helps, laughing when my boot catches on the steering wheel, cursing when his elbow hits the horn and it blares once, sharp and startling in the silence. We freeze for a second, then I'm laughing too, breathless and wild, and he's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world worth seeing.
"This is insane," he says.
"Yeah." I kiss the corner of his mouth. "It is."
“And I hate this fucking car.”
“Me too.”
He pulls me closer, adjusts the angle, and then we're moving together, finding a rhythm that shouldn't work but does. The car rocks gently on its suspension. My breath fogs the window beside his head. I press my palm flat against the glass and watch the condensation bloom around my fingers.
