Wanderlust part 8

Today starts the mad dash through the rest of the week. Wish me luck. I sort of feel tired and I haven't even really started yet! But I do know this...my brain keeps coming back, back, back to this story. I already have tomorrow's piece done. Go figure.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 8
by Sommer Marsden


"What the hell is this?" A sharp bark of laughter burst out of me and I clamped my hand over my mouth. I felt pleasantly stupid and free to say whatever. It was a rare sensation for me.

"This is my car," he said. I could tell Johnny was trying not to laugh. He was trying really hard to keep a straight and stern face. That fact made me laugh even harder.

"Is it a car?"

"It is. A 1979 Chevy Malibu."

"It's hideous!" I opened the door and the metal squealed at me.

"Indeed." Johnny leaned on the hood, his bulk seeming to eclipse even the vehicle. "Hideous is good, though. Hideous often means you can speed and no one pays a lick of attention. They're all looking at the muscle cars, vintage wheels and the new sports cars. No one's paying attention to me," he said.

I didn't climb in, I simply studied the monstrosity under the street light. "It's…what color is it?"

"Primer gray," he said and this time the chuckle burst out of him.

I wasn't surprised to feel my body respond to that rich intimate sound the way it would an actual touch. My stomach rippled with nerves and my skin erupted in goose bumps. I shifted on my feet, feeling the moisture between my legs. No panties to act as a barrier, my jeans would get the brunt of this sudden rush of arousal.

"Ugh." I teased.

"Get in, Really. She drives like a dream."

I climbed in, the maroon bench seat cradling my ass with a softness I couldn't remember feeling in a car. "Jeesh. This is…like a sofa."

"Sure thing." He cranked the engine and the radio sprang to life—the classic rock station blurting out lyrics from my youth. He turned the music down but not off. "You sure?"

I blinked at him. "Sure about what?" Since earlier tonight I hadn't been truly sure about anything including my sanity.

He put his hand on the back of my neck, my body hummed to life so violently it almost felt like his skin was burning mine. I tried to breathe and found it almost impossible. He appeared even bigger in the close quarters of the car. Splashes of pale streetlight and green neon played across his face, highlighting the scar through over his eye.

I reached up and painted the neon spots on his face with my fingertips. It was cold in the car and my breath plumed out festively. For just an instant, Johnny shut his eyes. He looked vulnerable and that was a breathtaking sight.

"Are you sure you want to come home with me?" He clarified.

I smiled and scooted across the street, climbing onto his lap to face him, I straddled his big thighs. The heat that baked off him was welcome and almost sinful. "I'm sure."

His warm breath drifted across my lips, it smoked out of him in the barely lit car, and brushed hot invisible patterns over my skin. I waited for him to open those surreal baby blues. When he did, he smiled. I felt that tug of want in my pussy again.

"Careful, Snowflake." Big hands came down on my hips, clamping my body in a possessive way that made me shiver. His fingers splayed over my lower back and he watched me.

"Careful?"

"You're sitting on me."

"So I am."

"In a car."

"Yep, looks like it." I watched his lips—pink and plump and coveted—as he talked. I couldn't tear my gaze away.

"You should just wait."

"I don't want to wait." I pushed my finger past his lips and touched his tongue. He let me.

His mouth drew my finger in, the wet suede feel of his tongue on my skin stole my breath. He sucked once, hard, and I felt an echo of sympathetic pleasure in my cunt.

His hands moved to my ass and he squeezed, just enough to sharpen my focus with a soft kind of discomfort. I pulled my finger free and he grabbed the back of my head, drawing me in roughly and kissing me.

That was that. I pushed my body to his, feeling the hard line of his cock in his jeans. I wiggled so that the split of my body pressed to the ridge of his cock. I moved from side to side in slow, lazy motions grinding my swollen clit with enough force that my nipples pebbled and my stomach dipped like I was riding fast in his car. But the car wasn't moving. His hands were.

Johnny tugged me in, kissing my chin, my throat, biting along my collar bone—keeping me constantly off balance. His hand bunched my sweater higher, and pushing his fingers underneath he traced my skin with his chilly hand. "You can still leave," he said against my neck.

"No, I can't." It was an entirely true statement.

His hand cupped my breast and my nipple spiked so tight against his palm it hurt. He pinched me and my body flexed deep inside, wetness spilling out of me. If he just slipped inside of me right now…I was so fucking wet.

"You should." He squeezed my breast and nibbled my lower lip.

I rocked, side to side, growing desperate for the pressure of him against me. He let me go only to clamp his hands onto my hips and guide my motions. He moved me, not letting me control my own actions in any way. I gripped his shoulders, frustrated. When he whispered "Give in", I finally did.

I let him do what he wanted to do—something unheard of for the likes of me.

His tongue painted hot lines over my lips, my throat. He trapped the wildly beating pulse point with his tongue as his hands maneuvered me in slow and steady sweeps from side to side. He thrust up between my thighs ever so slightly. I barely would have noticed had I not been clinging to him like I was.

"Give it to me, Snowflake," he said and in that surreal half light he grinned at me. The big bad wolf in man form. He moved up just a hair, driving the hardness of his erection to the malleable willing split of my sex and I came. It didn't matter that we were both still fully clothed or that we were in a parked car. I came. Just like that. Like a horny teenager getting off in her boyfriend's ride.

When I came, I bit my lip to keep him from hearing how fucking good it was.

But he laughed anyway and kissed my lips. "Now get in your seat and buckle up, Really. It's time to go home."

"My home?" Fear flared in my chest at the word.

"Is that where you want to go?"

"No," I whispered. Mainly because I didn't have one. Home was not where my father lived—hadn't been since my mother died ten years before. Home was not where Jackson was. That was just home base. Like a war camp.

"Then my home it is," he said and put the car in gear.

STAY TUNED...