Chapter 8 #2
I fold my underwear and set them on top of the dress I pulled off before swimming, watching Sawyer tug his boxers down out of the corner of my eye.
I can feel my heart banging against my rib cage; it’s beating so fast. It’s very intimate, sitting in here with him.
The radio isn’t on. Checking my phone would be odd.
People always act as if sex just happens, and I’ve never given much thought to the logistical process of getting naked with someone.
After some crinkling, his voice is the next sound to break the silence. “C’mere.”
I crawl onto his lap, relieved that things are progressing. Eager when his erection grazes sensitive, swollen skin, and I’m reminded of how incredible I felt a few minutes ago.
Last time, I could focus on keeping a confident facade. On suppressing the pain. This time, there’s no act. No pretenses. It’s easier … and harder. Less terrifying and scarier at the same time.
His hands slide up my back, one rough palm tracing the bumps of my spine, until they reach the clasp of my bra. One deft flick, and the lace lets go. Sawyer flings it away, toward my other clothes, and then his hands are cupping my boobs.
“You have amazing tits,” he tells me, thumbs teasing the stiff peaks to painful points. His tone is matter-of-fact, more of a statement than true flattery.
“Gee—mmm—thanks.” The moan that slipped out steals some of the sarcasm.
He smirks. “I’m working on my compliments.”
“Work hard—oh.”
His tongue has replaced his thumb, and it feels almost as good as it did between my thighs.
The throbbing there is getting more insistent. My muscles clench around emptiness, and I realize I’m craving something there. I reach between us, fisting his dick and guiding it to where I need it, too impatient to wait any longer. And then I start to sink down.
At first, it’s as bad as before. Sudden pressure, followed by a pinching sting as my body stretches in a way it’s unaccustomed to. I keep going, pushing through the flare of discomfort.
“Fuck, Wren,” he hisses.
Sawyer’s expression is pained, almost, but I’m the only one of us experiencing actual discomfort. So unfair.
“Holy shit,” he adds, sounding a little stunned.
Some pride sparks in response, even though gravity is doing most of the work right now.
Sawyer is still cupping my amazing tits, but he’s not looking at my boobs anymore.
His attention is lower, on his lap. I look down, too, sucking in a startled breath as I watch his cock disappear inside of me.
It’s—well, it’s hormones and pheromones and biology, but it’s also dizzyingly intimate.
Way more so than waiting for him to roll a condom on.
The world outside this truck has ceased to exist for me. There’s just me and him and the sudden fullness that feels more natural with each passing second.
He tilts his head back, eyes closed, the tendons of his neck straining as his jaw clenches to a sharp, straight angle. His shoulders and arms are tense too. I can feel his thighs bunch beneath mine. I’m worried if I move, he might crack in half.
“Am I doing something wrong?” I whisper.
His eyes open. “No.” He huffs a rueful laugh. “I’m trying to make this last longer than thirty seconds.”
Something about the way he says it, half disgruntled and half awed, makes me feel special. I assumed he wasn’t a virgin when we hooked up before—and the glove box basically confirmed it—but I like that some part of this is unique for him. Again, I can’t pinpoint why I care, but I sort of do.
I lift my hips, then sink down again. It’s easier, smoother, this time, the slow drag stimulating a flicker of heat low in my pelvis.
It’s deeper, stronger, than when I came before.
More powerful, too, the building enormity of it startling me.
This was supposed to be for him. I wasn’t expecting to come twice.
One of Sawyer’s hands is in my hair, tugging gently on the loose strands. The other brushes just above the spot where he’s spreading me, circling my clit.
My hips move faster, chasing pleasure in earnest. I know it’ll be the best orgasm I’ve ever experienced long before it rips through me, stealing my breath from my lungs and erasing any thoughts from my head.
I want to live in this thoughtless, weightless moment forever.
I don’t want to move, but I have to. The clock on the dashboard reads three thirty, and my dad usually gets up at five. The correct alarm code won’t matter if he’s waiting in the kitchen when I sneak in.
I pull away, shifting back to the passenger side, tugging my clothes back on while Sawyer deals with the condom.
He leaves his shirt off, pulling his shorts on without bothering with boxers beneath. How little he’s wearing is more distracting than it should be, considering we just had sex.
I speak first once we’re rolling along the gravel road, headed back the same way we came. “Is it always like that?”
As soon as the question is out, I regret it. I blame the dopamine rush drugging my system and lowering my usual defenses.
Sawyer is silent. He’ll pretend to have not heard me, which is per—
“No.” That’s all he says, then turns on the radio.
I thought I could rely on myself to stay detached. To treat this like exactly what it was—a summer fling.
And I really thought I could rely on him to say yes.