It started with a playlist.

Windows down, warm air rushing through, her legs curled up on the seat, skirt hiked dangerously high. He tapped the steering wheel in time to the beat, mouthing lyrics to a song they both knew far too well.

“You’re off,” she teased, smirking.

He glanced at her. “I’m always on.”

“Really?” Her voice dipped, all syrup and challenge. “Because your singing’s criminal.”

“Funny,” he said, eyes flicking back to the road, “from someone who’s been rubbing her thighs together for the past thirty minutes like she’s trying to start a fire.”

She let her smile stretch slowly, wickedly.

“Maybe I am. And maybe you’re not doing anything about it.”

His jaw twitched.

Challenge accepted.

His hand slid off the gearstick and found her bare thigh. Fingers splayed wide. Firm grip. Her skin buzzed under his touch.

She didn’t pull away.

Didn’t flinch.

She just parted her legs slightly — just enough — and looked at him.

“Cruise control,” he said, voice gravel-thick.

He flicked it on, let his hand drift higher.

She sucked in a breath as his fingers reached the edge of her panties. Lace. Damp.

He made a noise in his throat — part growl, part laugh.

“You really were getting worked up.”

“You’ve been driving me insane.”

His hand slipped beneath the lace, fingers dragging through her slick folds, collecting wetness.

“Soaked,” he muttered.

“Yours,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

He slid two fingers inside her, slow and deep, eyes still on the road, other hand steady on the wheel. She clutched the door handle with one hand, the seat edge with the other, breath catching as he curled his fingers just right.

Her thighs trembled.

Her moan was soft, bitten back, but he heard it.

Felt it.

Thumb circling her clit with maddening precision.

“You’re going to cum for me,” he said calmly, “right here, where anyone could look in and see what a mess you are.”

“N-no,” she whimpered, squirming. “I— you said— not till— hotel—”

He chuckled. “That was then.”

He pushed deeper. Pressed harder.

She shattered with a cry that was half scream, half prayer.

“Good girl,” he murmured, withdrawing his fingers and licking them clean without fanfare. “Now sit tight.”

She blinked, still shaking.

“Where are we—”

He pointed as they turned off the highway.

A small rest stop. Quiet. Hidden between rows of trees. The sun just beginning to sink, painting the sky in lavender and gold.

He parked at the far end.

Turned the engine off.

Then looked at her.

“You think I’m done with you?”

She swallowed. “N-no, sir.”

“Good. Because I’m fucking starving.”

---

He reclined the seat back and beckoned her over.

She straddled him in a rush, kissing him like she’d die without it. Their mouths collided, tongues tangled. Her hands worked his belt, freeing his cock, hard and hot against her palm.

She kissed down his jaw, his neck, then lower.
Settled between his thighs.

Her tongue traced the length of him before her lips wrapped around the head. She sucked slow, building him up like a storm — one he had no hope of surviving.

His head hit the seat back, a groan tearing from his throat.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed.

She swallowed him down, gagging slightly, eyes watering, then pulled off with a wicked smile and a string of spit clinging between them.

“Want more?” she teased.

He didn’t answer.

He grabbed her, dragged her up his lap, and shoved her panties to the side.

She was still soaking.

He guided himself to her entrance, then stopped.

Waited.

Made her feel it — the pause, the need, the fact that he owned this moment.

She whined.

“Beg.”

“Please… please let me ride you. I need to feel you, I—”

He thrust up.

She gasped, the sound guttural and broken.

He filled her in one hard stroke, thick and deep, her hips bucking against him. She started to move, slow at first, then faster, chasing the edge.

He met her thrusts, his hands gripping her arse, slamming her down with brutal precision.

Their moans tangled. Windows fogged. The car rocked.

And then he reached for her blouse — still buttoned, barely — and ripped it open. Buttons flew. Her bra followed.

He latched onto her breast, sucking, biting, fingers digging into her hips as she fucked him.

“Mine, whenever I fucking want you,” he growled.

“All yours,” she panted, head thrown back.

She came again, clenching hard around him, nails dragging down his chest.

He spilled inside her seconds later with a low, broken groan, holding her there, buried deep.

They didn’t move for a while.

Just breathed.

Kissed slow and lazy.

Eventually, she slipped off him, giggling softly.

“I need the loo.”

“Don’t you dare clean all of me out,” he said, smirking.

“No promises.”

She stepped out barefoot, clutching her ruined blouse closed, and jogged to the rest stop bathroom.

---

When she came back, cheeks flushed, hair wild, blouse tied in a knot under her breasts, he was waiting.

He met her halfway.

Grabbed her by the wrist.

Spun her.

Bent her over the bonnet of the car.

“Thought you could just walk back like nothing happened?” he murmured against her ear, grinding against her arse.

Her breath caught. “S-sir— someone could—”

“Let them.”

He shoved her skirt up, panties still damp, clinging to her.

He pulled them down and spread her legs, stepping between them.

One thrust. Deep.

She cried out, her hands scrabbling for grip on the car’s metal hood.

He slammed into her, again and again, the slap of skin loud in the twilight air.

“Even out here. Even if they see.”

“Yes— yes— always—”

She was nearly incoherent, trembling beneath him as he pounded into her.

He reached around, rubbed her clit with two fingers.

“Cum again. Show them what you look like when I ruin you.”

She screamed as she came.

He followed, hips jerking, spilling inside her with a final groan.

They stayed there, both breathless, both trembling.

Then he pulled her panties back up, trapping his load inside her.

Guided her back to the passenger seat.

She sat, wincing slightly.

He buckled her in.

Got behind the wheel.

Started the engine.

Turned up the music.

“So,” he said casually, like they hadn’t just had the filthiest sex of their lives against the bonnet of a car, “burgers or tacos when we hit the next town?”

She glanced at him, legs still parted slightly, panties soaked, body wrecked.

“Whichever has the bigger portions,” she said.

He smirked.

“Figured you’d still be hungry.”