Thomas laughs, the sound vibrating through my lips where they press against his throat. “Myfault,” he says—and he’s not joking like I am. “So much wasted time.”
“We're going to make up for it,” I promise, reaching for him again, wrapping my fingers around his cock.
We stroke each other in tandem, finding a rhythm that has us both panting. It’s awkward and perfect—our wrists bumping, bodies too close in the cramped backseat.
His free hand cups my face, tilting it up for a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle in the middle of all this desperate need.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips. “I’ve always loved you.”
The words push me dangerously close to the edge. I stroke him faster, using the slick of his pre-come to ease the glide, knowing it’ll ruin him.
“I love you too,” I manage, though it comes out strangled and breathless.
His rhythm falters, his hand tightening around me. “Carter,” he gasps. “I’m close.”
The warning cuts through the fog in my brain. As much as I want this—want to see him come—I suddenly realize we could have so much more.
I pull back slightly, breath ragged, and meet his questioning gaze.
“Wait,” I pant, trying to collect myself even as every part of me screams not to stop. “I—uh—I have condoms. And lube. In the car.”
Thomas’s hand stills. “You do?”
I nod, face heating despite everything we’ve already done. “Glove compartment.”
“Get them,” he says, voice rough. “Please.”
Untangling myself is a mess—my pants half-down, limbs uncooperative in the tight space—but I manage to twist between the front seats, nearly taking out the gearshift with my knee. The car’s still freezing, but I’m burning, every inch of skin flushed with leftover heat from his hands.
I pop open the glove compartment and dig past receipts and old insurance cards until my fingers close around a small bottle and a strip of foil packets—Logan gave them to me before a Grinder date a few months back, “just in case.” I didn’t end up needing them. The guy was a total douchebag.
When I turn back, the sight of Thomas waiting in the backseat knocks the breath from my lungs.
His pants are gone, sweater shoved up to reveal a strip of stomach. His cock rests hard against it, his hair a mess from my hands, lips swollen from our kisses, eyes dark with want. He looks completely wrecked—and knowing I did that makes me dizzy.
“Come here,” he says, reaching for me.
I clamber into the seat with all the grace of a baby giraffe, but Thomas doesn’t seem to care. He pulls me into his lap, his hands finding my ass and squeezing, needing the contact. I groan.
“I want to be inside you,” he murmurs against my neck—then pulls back, a flicker of uncertainty in his voice. “If...that’s what you want.”
“Yes,” I breathe, pressing the lube into his hand. “God, yes.”
He takes it, staring down at the bottle as if it might bite. “I’ve never…” He swallows. “I mean—I know how it works, obviously—but I’ve never done this. With a guy. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The honesty of it twists something in my chest. For all his confidence, for everything we’ve already done, this is still new to him. And that’s kind of adorable.
“You won’t,” I say gently, brushing a kiss across his mouth. “I’ll show you.”
I shift back slightly to give him better access and uncap the lube. I squeeze some onto his fingers, guiding his hand between my legs.
“Start with one finger,” I tell him. “Go slow.”
Thomas nods, his expression focused. He circles my entrance with a slick finger, the touch so intimate it makes me shiver. When he finally pushes in—just the tip—we both gasp.
“You’re so tight,” he breathes, eyes locked on mine, watching every flicker of reaction.
“Keep going,” I say. “It’s good. I’m good.”
