Iris
He loved her enough to leave the road behind. She loved him enough to follow.
“Pull over.”
I glance at him. “What?”
“Pull over.”
“Why?”
His smile is slow, dangerous, the one that makes my pulse spike and my pussy clench.
“I need one last ride.”
I pull onto the shoulder, engine idling. My heart is racing with arousal, already pooling hot and slick between my thighs.
“Ronan—” I call as he steps out and walks around to the driver’s side door.
“Get out of the car, little racer.” He demands.
I slide out of the car, and he quickly sits in the driver’s seat.
“What the f—”
He’s already moving. Hands on my waist, pulling me down onto his lap. I’m wearing a skirt—easy access, though I didn’t plan it that way.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though I already know.
“Trust me.” He whispers in my ear as he shuts the door.
He positions me so my back is to his chest, my legs spread wide over his thighs. His hands slide up under my skirt, fingers hooking into my soaked panties and pulling them aside. The fabric clings to my wet pussy before he peels it away.
“Fuck, you’re already dripping,” he growls against my ear. “You want this.”
“Hold the wheel,” he orders.
I do, my hands trembling.
I hear the rasp of his zipper. Feel him hard and thick against me, his cock hot and rigid. Then he’s lifting me slightly, the swollen head of his cock pressing against my pussy, and sinking me down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion that stretches me open.
I gasp as he fills me completely, every thick inch pushing deep. My hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles white.
“Ronan—fuck—”
“Drive,” he says, voice rough in my ear, his cock buried to the hilt inside me.
“What?”
His right hand moves to the shifter. His feet find the pedals. His left hand slides up my inner thigh, fingers finding my swollen clit and circling slowly, deliberately, making me gasp.
“Drive us out of the city,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. “I don’t care where. Just...away from here. With my cock inside you the whole fucking way.”
I realize what he wants.
What he needs.
One last act of rebellion. One last fuck-you to the city that tried to kill us.
I grip the wheel tighter, my pussy clenching around him. “Okay.”
He shifts into first. The car rolls forward. Then second. We accelerate smoothly, his thick cock moving inside me with every gear change, every vibration of the engine traveling through his body into mine.
Third gear. 80 mph.
His fingers work me steadily, circling and pressing my clit in a rhythm that makes my thighs shake and my pussy get wetter, slicker, coating his cock.
“Keep it straight,” he says, his voice strained. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and wet around me.”
Fourth gear. 100 mph.
The causeway is empty.
Perfect.
The ocean blurs on both sides.
“There’s a merge coming up,” I manage to say, trying like hell to focus on the road, my voice breaking as he grinds up into me.
“Take it.”
Fifth gear. 120 mph.
His fingers move faster, slick with my arousal, circling my clit with perfect pressure. I’m shaking now, barely holding the wheel steady, my pussy pulsing rhythmically around his cock.
The merge approaches, and I take it smoothly, muscle memory overriding the fact that I’m being fucked at high speed, that I’m dripping wet and impaled on him, unable to move.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise sends heat flooding through me, makes my pussy spasm around him. “Such a good fucking girl, taking my cock while you drive.”
140 mph.
The speedometer climbs. His hand doesn’t stop. I can feel him throbbing inside me, I can feel my own body tightening, climbing toward the inevitable mind-blowing orgasm that’s threatening to kill me.
My arousal is making vulgar wet sounds every time he shifts, and his cock moves inside me.
“Ronan, I can’t—I’m going to come—”
“You can. Come on my cock, Iris. Let me feel that tight pussy squeeze me.”
150 mph.
The world narrows to sensation—the wheel under my hands, the engine’s roar, his fingers on my clit, his thick cock buried deep inside me, filling me, with the causeway stretching endlessly ahead.
My vision whites out. I cry out, my pussy clamping down on him in waves, nearly losing control of the wheel, but Ronan’s left hand shoots up to steady it while his right keeps working my clit, prolonging the orgasm, making me gush around his cock.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Fuck, Iris—I can feel you strangling me, your pussy milking my cock—”
He shifts down slightly, stabilizes us, then thrusts up into me hard, chasing his own release.
His cock swells even thicker inside me, and then I feel him pulse, feel the hot spurts of his cum filling me deep.
I feel the hot groan escape his throat as he buries his face against my neck.
I see the way his grip on the shifter tightens until his knuckles go white.
For a moment, we just exist like that.
Connected. Moving. Alive.
His cock is still buried inside me, his cum leaking out around where we’re connected, dripping down onto the seat.
Then he gradually slows the car, easing us down to 100, then 80, then 60.
He doesn’t pull out immediately. Just holds me there, one hand on my hip, the other now back on the shifter, his softening cock still inside me, breathing hard against my shoulder.
“That,” he says finally, voice rough and satisfied, “is how we leave Miami.”
I laugh—breathless.
He helps me climb back into the passenger seat. My legs are weak. My skirt is a disaster. My panties are soaked and ruined.
“You’re insane,” I say.
“You live for it.”
We drive into the sunset—slower now, normal speed, just two people starting over.
The city disappears behind us.
The road ahead is open.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not chasing power or running away from something.
I’m just...going.
With him.
And that’s enough.