Chapter 87: Car Sex R18+

"Xavier," she said quietly.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said. Staring straight into her eyes.

She looked at him for a moment longer. Her face flustered with lust.

Then she reached for him.

Her fingers found the back of his neck first, nails dragging lightly through the close-cropped hair at his nape, and the sensation shot down his spine like someone had poured hot wax along each vertebra. Xavier’s mouth parted but no sound came out. Amira leaned across the center console and her scent hit him. Something floral but grounded, jasmine with a bite of musk underneath, and beneath that the faint salt of her skin from the humid evening air.

"I’ve been thinking about this since you picked me up," she murmured, her lips so close to his that he felt the words more than heard them, a puff of warmth against his mouth.

"What exactly have you been thinking about?" Xavier’s voice came out rougher than he intended, gravel scraping against glass.

"Your tongue in my mouth. Your hands on my thighs. Your cock stretching me open."

Each phrase landed like a slap and a caress simultaneously. His dick twitched against his trousers, already half-hard, already fucking aching.

"Then stop thinking," he said, "and start doing."

She closed the distance.

Her mouth was wet, heat and soft insistence, tongue sliding against his lower lip before pushing past it, and Xavier groaned into her. A deep, involuntary sound that vibrated from his chest. Amira sucked his tongue and the sensation was filthy and intimate and exactly what he’d been imagining every time she’d glanced at him across conference tables and dinner dates for the past four months. Her mouth tasted like the mint she’d popped ten minutes ago and something underneath that was just her, warm and alive.

Xavier picked her up and carried her into the car and they both landed on the driver’s seat. He removed his hands previously placed on the gear shift and found her knee. The skin was smooth, freshly shaved or waxed, impossibly soft against his calloused palm. He squeezed once, feeling the give of flesh beneath his grip, then dragged his fingers upward.

Higher.

The hem of her dress bunched against his wrist.

Higher.

Amira moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating against his tongue, and her hips shifted in the seat, thighs parting just enough for him to understand exactly what she wanted.

His knuckles brushed the crotch of her pants. A black lace, he’d find out later, delicate fabric that cost more than some people’s rent and the heat radiating through it made his cock throb painfully against his zipper. He pressed two fingers against the center of that heat and felt the fabric cling wetly to her cunt.

"Fuck," he breathed, breaking the kiss. "You’re soaked through already."

"I told you." Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide enough to nearly eclipse the brown of her irises. "I’ve been thinking about this."

He rubbed her through the lace, slow circles that made her bite her bottom lip and roll her hips against his hand, and the wet spot grew, spread, soaked through until he could feel the outline of her pussy lips beneath the fabric, plump and separated and begging for his fingers to push inside.

"Back seat," Xavier muttered.

He wasn’t a tall man, but what his height lacked, his strength compensated for. He lifted her. One arm beneath her ass, the other supporting her back and Amira wrapped her legs around his waist with a surprised laugh that turned into a gasp when his erection pressed against her through both their clothes. The console dug into his hip as he maneuvered them both between the front seats, and then they were tumbling onto the back bench, the leather squeaking beneath them, her dress rucked up around her waist and her legs still locked around him.

"Get these off," Amira said, fingers already working his belt buckle, yanking the leather free with practiced efficiency. The button. The zipper. Her hand slid inside his boxers and wrapped around his cock, and Xavier’s forehead dropped to her shoulder.

"Fucking hell."

She stroked him once, twice, her grip firm and warm and exactly the right pressure, her thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum that had gathered at his tip down across the head of his dick. He was thick. Not freakishly long but fat enough that her fingers couldn’t quite meet her thumb around the shaft and the skin was flushed a deep rose-brown, veins prominent along the underside, the head flared and slick with his own arousal.

Amira looked down at what she was holding and made a sound low in her throat, something between appreciation and hunger.

"I need to taste this," she said, and pushed at his chest.

Xavier let himself be guided backward until he was sitting against the opposite door, legs spread, his trousers and boxers shoved down to mid-thigh. His cock stood up against his stomach, hard enough to ache, and Amira lowered herself between his knees with the grace of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and had been imagining doing it for a long fucking time.

She started at the base.

Her tongue. Pink, wet, pointed. Traced the vein that ran from root to tip, and Xavier’s hand found the grab handle above the window and squeezed. She licked him like she was tasting something expensive, savoring every inch, and by the time her lips wrapped around the head of his cock, he was already breathing like he’d run a mile uphill.

Then she sucked.

Her cheeks hollowed and her tongue pressed flat against his frenulum and Xavier’s hips bucked involuntarily, driving himself deeper into her mouth. Amira didn’t gag. She took it, throat relaxing, one hand cupping his balls while the other gripped the base of his shaft, and she fucking hummed around him like she was enjoying a good meal.

"Amira..." His voice cracked. "If you keep doing that, I’m going to come...."

She pulled off with a wet pop, lips glossy and swollen, a strand of saliva connecting her bottom lip to his tip. "That’s the point."