Your tongue is too big for your mouth and his hands are so hot they burn. This is not the place or even the time and you’re really not sure…fuck it, ah, if he touches you right there, just one more time.

Flick of the tongue, switch the grip to his wrist, everything burns, zipper down, turned around, face to the brick, panting so hard your lungs burst, eyes squeezed so tight they water, stomach so tight it trembles.

Push, buck, slide, stop, inhale, exhale, brace yourself, grip, melt and feel…anything for more…yes.

And it’s over before it started. But you know that is happened because you ache in the good way and though you hate it, there’s a grin on your face the size of…well his.

“How was your trip?” He sighs into your neck as he pulls out. There’s an audible pop and you both wince and tuck in and clean up and you toss your luggage in the back. You know he’s wondering why you’re letting him drive. He knows what it took for you to hand over the keys, even if it was only for 48 hours, in the first place.

“Alright,” you sigh, lean your head back and let your eyes close. Feel the hum of the engine buzz through your body, feel the heat of his hand as it lands on your thigh.

He wants to know more but doesn’t ask, and that’s only reason you even want to offer it to him.

“You’ll like New York, Sunshine,” you have to open one eye just to catch the reaction. His internal struggle to not pull over on the side of the highway, get out of your car, jump up and down like a lunatic and squeal with delight is obvious. He just smiles and nods and says, “I’m sure I will.” And that is exactly why you wouldn’t go without him.

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