Chapter 12 #2
I reach between us, opening his trousers before he can take the task from me. His cock is already hard inside the dark fabric. When I close my fingers around him, heat fills my hand.
Konstantin's head touches the seat behind him. His eyes stay on my face while I draw his cock free. The broad head shines whenever light from the screen passes over it.
"I want you inside me," I whisper.
His fingers leave my clit.
He hooks the wet panties aside and guides the head of his cock to my entrance. "Take what you want."
I lower myself.
Because of the angle, he enters slowly. My knees slide across the vinyl while my body opens around the first thick stretch, and Konstantin holds my hips steady until I take him to the base.
My breath leaves against his cheek.
The back seat presses him upright, bringing our chests together. I can't rise more than a few inches before the roof stops me, so I rock over him instead. Each movement drags my clit against his body while his cock stays buried deep.
Konstantin lets me choose three strokes.
Then his hands take control.
He braces one foot against the front seat, lifting his hips as he pulls me down. The thrust drives deeper with little room for either of us to escape it. My mouth opens, yet his palm covers it before the sound reaches the fogged windows.
"Quiet," he says again.
I close my teeth lightly against the base of his thumb.
His pupils widen before he gives me another hard thrust.
Beneath us, the car shifts. Outside, the heater clicks through another cycle before a burst of wind sends powder over the roof, its sound lost inside the movie's alarms.
Konstantin moves with short, forceful strokes in the cramped seat.
His hand remains over my mouth while the other holds my hip through the dress.
The restriction sharpens everything. I smell wool warmed by his skin, taste salt from the pretzel on his thumb, and hear each rough breath he takes beside my ear.
I move faster against him.
Pleasure tightens low in my stomach. The pressure of his cock remains deep while my clit rubs over the dark hair at its base. I reach between our bodies, but he catches my wrist.
"Mine." He releases my hip to put his thumb where my fingers were going. Two firm circles bring the first shiver through my thighs. The third makes my forehead drop against his.
His palm seals my cry against his skin.
With nowhere to move beyond him, I take the orgasm in hard waves, my pussy closing around his cock while he thrusts through every contraction. Against the seat, my knees press hard beneath the red dress gathered at my waist.
Konstantin removes his hand from my mouth when the last pulse weakens. "Look at me."
I lift my face.
He drives into me twice more, then lifts me from his cock. Cool air reaches the wetness between my legs. I wrap my hand around him as he pushes the dress higher over my stomach.
"Finish for me," I say.
His hand closes over mine.
Together, we stroke his cock between our bodies. The space forces our knuckles against my skin. He watches the movement until his breath roughens and then looks at my face.
The first hot release spreads across my lower stomach. Another spills over my hand, thick against the red wool gathered above it. Konstantin comes with his forehead against mine, holding our joined hands around his cock until the final pulse leaves him.
For several seconds, neither of us moves.
The movie continues across the windshield without us. Someone on-screen announces that the station is secure, a claim Konstantin would dispute if he could breathe normally.
I start laughing.
His eyes open. "Why?"
"We missed the security solution."
"It was likely inadequate."
"You're naked below the waist in my hatchback, and you still have an opinion."
"My trousers are open. The distinction matters." He reaches into the front seat for the paper napkins, discovering that I used most of them for popcorn butter. A white handkerchief comes from his coat instead.
"That fabric is too expensive for this," I say.
"It's currently dirty." Konstantin cleans my stomach, my hand, then the wetness between my thighs with the same attention he gave me in the wedding suite. The cramped position forces his wrist against the door. He doesn't hurry.
When he finishes, he folds the handkerchief inward before placing it inside the empty popcorn container.
"The guard will see that," I say.
"He will survive."
I settle my underwear into place. Konstantin closes his trousers and buttons the cardigan while I pull the dress across my body. Our coats remain behind us on the cargo shelf. Reaching them would require climbing over the cramped bench and ending the small shelter we have made in the back seat.
We stay in the back seat.
The final twenty minutes of the film make no more sense than the portion we missed. I sit sideways across Konstantin's lap with my head tucked under his chin. His arm rests around my waist. The windows remain fogged above us, turning the giant screen into a pale blur near the roof.
He finds the last chocolate pretzel under the seat, breaks it in half, then puts the larger piece against my lips. Salt catches at the corner of my mouth. His thumb removes it before returning to my waist.
The quiet afterward feels easier than the one in the wedding suite. I'm no longer trying to make the word temporary survive what we did. I can watch a terrible ending against his chest, warmed by his body and the ridiculous cardigan, knowing the contract remains where we left it.
When the credits begin, vehicles wake across the rows. Headlights spread over the snow while attendants guide each lane toward the exit.
"Have you ever been bowling?" I ask.
"No."
"You would hate the shoes."
"Are they used?"
"Repeatedly."
He looks down at me. "Then I'll buy the building."
I reach for my phone to search for a lane next Saturday.
The contract gives me an exit after the war. It promises nothing about how many ordinary weekends we will have before I take it.
My thumb opens the search page anyway.