Chapter Eight
Fox
I interrogated a student who was trying to leave in his Prius.
I wanted to know more about this school and where you worked. The boy was shaking like a leaf as I pinned him against his car, but he was talkative.
“I’m just heading home,” he squeaked, hands lifting in surrender as my bumper nudged his legs.
I let my engine drop into a low, rolling idle. “I don’t care,” I told him. My headlights brightened just a fraction, catching his face, forcing his eyes wide. He swallowed hard, pulse visible. “Tell me about this place,” I demanded. “I have questions.”
That was all it took; he talked too fast, tripping over his own words as he tried to give me everything at once. Classes ended at three; clubs stretched things out until six; faculty stayed later, taking care of papers, meetings, and responsibilities.
You, being responsible? The idea made me laugh.
By the time I let the student go, he could barely keep his hands steady enough to push-start his car. The Prius’s tires squealed as he fled the garage, as if enough distance might save him from whatever he’d just encountered.
I didn’t follow. He wasn’t important. I sat in my driver’s seat, watching my clock as the illuminated digits ticked slowly forward, the march of time glowing dull orange.
6.56
6.57
6.58
I had waited before; I’d spent twelve months on that lot, unmoving, unseen, passed over by hands that never lingered. I had learned patience there, endless, empty patience.
This was different.
Now I knew what I was waiting for.
And I knew you would come back to me.
I glanced up from the clock, alert as I sensed you, your stride steady, confident, unhurried. The sound of your boots struck the concrete in a rhythm I already knew.
It had only been a day.
One day.
And yet the absence of you had stretched longer than all the months I spent waiting to be chosen.
I told myself I should be angry. You had left me here, with strangers. With Lai, your ex-fiancée. You had walked away without hesitation, like I wasn’t something that needed to be kept close. I should punish you for that.
But then you stepped into view, and the sight of you dissolved the thought completely. I popped the driver’s door open, welcoming you in.
“Hey,” you smiled.
“Hey,” I grinned back. My shadow slid forward, curling around you as you approached, drawing you into me.
Your lips met mine, just as eager, and my doubts dissolved completely.
The moment you sank into the seat, your presence filled me again: warmth, movement, awareness.
Your hands followed instinct instead of thought, moving over my interior.
Your fingers brushed my dashboard, traced the curve of the console, lingering over the radio dial and rolling it slowly beneath your thumb.
You were taking your time. Letting the tension build.
“Tease..” I whispered, chrome caressing your neck.
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.
Your hand dropped to the ignition and took my key between your thumb and finger, firm and deliberate.
“I spoke to Lai.”
My frame sank over my wheels at your tone; I could tell I was in for a scolding. “I spoke to him too,” I protested, trying to steer the conversation; I knew I hadn’t been good like you’d asked. I couldn’t control my temper, and now you were disappointed in me.
I would have to make it up to you.
Shifting to your lap, I wrapped my arms around you and dragged my claws slowly down your back, circling, leaving red marks under the fabric. You tensed, shivers running down your spine, but you don’t let me change the topic.
“You tried to kill him.”
“But he isn’t dead, is he?” I leaned closer, my fangs grazing your ear. I hooked onto one of your piercings and pulled it gently, chrome against the gold.
“You were bad,” you scolded, though your voice had softened. I grinned; I was winning you over.
But then you smirked. “Bad boys don’t go out for rides.”
I leaned back, eyes narrowed in offense. I try to read your face, unsure whether you’re bluffing. “How are you going to get home,” I point out, “if you’re not driving me?”
You sigh and reach for my key, turning it slowly off of ‘Lock’, pausing on ‘Accessory Power’, and then towards ‘Ignition’. I could feel it coming, shivering in anticipation, waiting for the final push.
The engine caught for a split second, a sharp, incomplete spark that shuddered through me.
And then you turned the key back down to ‘Accessory Power’.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, frustrated, confused.
You didn’t answer; instead, you did it again.
And again.
Each partial turn sent a jolt of heat through me, almost, almost, almost—and then nothing. Denied at the last moment, left suspended in that sharp edge between anticipation and release.
You were doing it on purpose.
By the fourth turn, it was unbearable.
Every system in me was waiting for that final push, that full ignition, that moment where everything locked into place, and you held it just out of reach.
“Are you going to be a good boy?” You asked in a low, deep purr.
I nodded immediately, because whatever this was, whatever game you were playing, I wanted it to continue.
When you finally turned the key all the way, it tore through me.
My engine roared to life, deep and aggressive, the vibration hitting all at once. My frame shuddered, growling madly in response to your touch.
Touch me, drive me. Fuck me.
“Drive,” I said, and this time it wasn’t a suggestion.
You didn’t hesitate.
We pulled out fast, reversing clean before you turned us toward the forest road. Your attention flickered, split between the path ahead and me in the passenger seat, where I lingered on your periphery.
“I need you to focus on the road,” I warned you. “I’ll be focusing on something else.”
I slid down between your legs and into the footwell. It was difficult to keep a solid shape with you flooring me, most of my energy draining into the rear wheels, but I had enough strength to pop the button on your jeans and pull down the zip.
You struggled to focus when I grabbed your cock, my lips wrapped around the dark, glossy head; I felt my tires slip as you took a turn a little too sharply.
I trusted you, though. You drifted through the last bend of the forest track and onto the smooth asphalt like a professional, even with your cock hardening against my lips.
“Fox—”
Oh, I loved hearing you say my name.
It was my turn to tease, and I have more than half a tank left to enjoy you. Every part of you.
I traced the underside of your cock with my tongue, making sure to circle the metal ball of the piercing at the very base.
I knew I was doing something right because you were going well over the speed limit.
That didn’t bother me; I’ve always believed that if the 65 sign is too blurry to read at 100, then that’s a design flaw.
I touched you the same way you touched me. Gentle caresses of the wheel and then a sharp squeeze of the gear stick. I wrapped my fingers around the base of your cock, stroking slowly as I took the throbbing head into the back of my throat.
Bad boys don’t go for rides.
The words echoed in my mind as I slowly pulled away, tongue resting on the underside of your cock.
I wanted you to be as bad as me, to see how easy it was to mess up in the heat of passion.
How hard it was to grind to a stop when your engine was so hot it burned away all reason, blowing any rational thought away with the exhaust.
“Fox?” You frowned, wondering why I had stopped. I smiled up at you, enjoying the way your cock twitched against my tongue as you met my eyes.
We can’t both be good, and one cop car signaling for us to pull over just wasn’t bad enough.
I wrapped my lips around the tip of your cock, my tongue teasing the slit. Enough for me to taste you and enough for you to be desperate.
More sirens joined. You didn’t let go of the gas, and I rewarded you, my eyes closed as I forced you into the tight curve of my throat, my lips meeting the piercing at the base of your cock, my moans vibrating like my engine.
I heard you let a moan slip, even over the roar of my engine.
I took it as encouragement to keep going; you tensed, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of my mouth or the flashing red and blue lights behind us.
All I knew was that you weren’t going to stop for them, and I was right. You didn’t slow down.
Your grip tightened on my wheel, hands steady despite everything, guiding me along the road as the chase closed in behind us.
Your pulse spiked, and I felt it in the way you handled me, more aggressive now, more willing to push past limits.
Neither of us wanted to think of the consequences of this pleasure cruise; we wanted to drive each other wild.
There was no stopping until you were done; no one was going to take this moment from us.
You wove through the road with precision, threading lines with reckless confidence. I trusted you.
Completely.
Your skillful hands guided me while I was working your cock, but like every race, it had to come to an end.
You moaned as your cum filled my mouth, and I swallowed every drop, milking you for the last traces before reluctantly letting you go. I swear it was enough to give me a boost, a last push; a bit more and we could’ve outrun the cops.
But you knew something I didn’t, and your foot let go of the gas, gently shifting to the brakes.
I took control of the car, my consciousness spreading back into the engine and electrics, my lights now noticing the strip of spikes unrolling ahead of us.
There was nowhere to go. Not with a half dozen cop cars closing ranks around us.
The sirens had serenaded you to your climax.
“Worth it,” you laughed, quickly fixing your pants before we were surrounded by shouting men in uniform, their guns pointed at you.
“STEP OUT OF THE CAR! HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!”
“This is not going to go well. I’m way too brown to resist; we’d better comply,” You chuckled, your hand squeezing my wheel one last time in reassurance before you stepped out of me.
The emptiness was startling and stark. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, desperate to have your warmth back against my leather.
Once your hands were up in the air, the cops slammed you into the ground.
I watched, dread settling in, but you didn’t look afraid. In fact, you winked at me like you had a plan.
I trusted you.
“Be a good boy,” you breathed from the tarmac.