"Yes. I love you and I'll try harder not to mess up in future." And he thought nothing scared me-my heart almost beat out of my chest. This ache, the fear of rejection, it felt like broken ribs all over again. It felt like throwing myself off a much higher rock with no idea if water waited below. "Anyway. I just, I thought you should know."
Silence.
"It's not a big deal."
"Yes it fucking is."
His mouth slammed down on mine, stealing my breath. Warm, firm lips, and the thrill of his tongue tracing my teeth before sliding against my own. Kissing had never felt so good. Sure as hell, no half-assed fumbling in the shadows with other boys could compare. John's technique deserved the highest of praise, but the best I could do was moan. My hands slipped beneath his shirt, exploring his skin, laying claim.
In no time at all, he had me backed up against the driver's-side door. His hands roamed, though they stayed on top of my shirt and jeans and remained off the obvious groping areas. Fingers stroked down my arms and slid across my neck. And his kisses kept changing, from sweet and gentle to deep and lingering. I enjoyed them all. Each and every kiss made my head spin and my body light up.
Eventually we paused for breath, pressed up against each other, hearts beating as one. With gentle fingers, John lifted the wide neckline of my T-shirt, setting it back in place over my bra strap.
"You don't have to do that," I said.
"What?"
"I'm not going to break and I'm not going to freak out."
"What do you mean?"
"If I'm allowed to touch you beneath your shirt, you're allowed to do the same to me."
"Edie." He swallowed hard. "We kind of jumped ahead with having sex. But we don't need to rush now."
"This isn't rushing, I'm setting the pace."
"You sure?"
It seemed easier to take action than keep talking. So I took hold of his hand and placed it on my chest. Over the top of my T-shirt and bra, sure. But with the way his hand gently gripped me, taking the weight of one breast, the point had obviously been made.
He licked his lips, gaze a little worried like I might try and take the boob back-change my mind and deny him access or something. Once, twice, he kissed my lips, before moving on to the side of my face, my neck. The hint of stubble on his chin teased my skin, his breath warming me further. Teeth nipped at my flesh. I felt combustible. A fire had been lit and I didn't want it put out.
"You have girls in the back of your car often?" I asked, breathing heavy, my hands gripping his ass. He had such a great ass.
"Shit," he muttered, sliding his spare hand around the nape of my neck. He chuckled. "Why do you ask me things like that?"
I shrugged. "Curious."
"A few times, yeah. But it's not that comfortable."
"Maybe not for actual sex, no. But what about just for fooling around?"
He quickly scanned the area, checking that no one was near. "Feeling exposed?"
"Cold more than anything. But mostly, I just want to make out with you in the backseat of your car."
"You do?" His thumb rubbed over my hard nipple through the layers of fabric.
A shiver stole through me and I nodded. "I haven't done that before. It'll be another first."
"Then that's what we're doing." He stepped back, reaching for the handle of the rear door. "After you."
I smiled, too nervous to speak. Stupid, really. It wasn't like I hadn't been in his bedroom and on his bed. The backseat of a car shouldn't matter. But it did.
He climbed in after me, shutting the door. I kicked off my flip-flops and pulled my T-shirt off over my head. Not stopping to do stupid self-conscious things like cover my stomach with my hands, because this was John. Also because, I was past that. Or I would be. I'd get there.
"Come here," I said, sliding down a little.
No more hesitation. He knelt on the seat, tearing off his T-shirt, more than ready to meet me for each item of clothing. John was right; it was a little uncomfortable. Even with the Charger's wide backseat, we were really both a bit too tall to fit. The weight of his body on top of mine, however, made everything right. Mouths glued together and his body resting between my spread legs. When I actually spread them, I had no idea. Holy shit did he feel good there.
We were grinding against each other, groaning and panting and muttering about heaven. I never wanted it to end. The tips of my fingers trailed down his back, my short nails digging in just a little. When his tongue traced the edge of my bra, teasing the sensitive skin in my cleavage, I just about lost it completely. And the feel of him. Sweet baby Jesus, the feel of him hard, rubbing against the crotch of my jeans.
"Fucking hell, baby," he whispered into my skin, nibbling at my jawline, making his way back to my mouth.
"Mm?"
"What time do you have to be home?"
"Huh? No. Don't stop."
He swore some more. Then, in a very calm and reasonable voice, said, "Edie, I need to put my hand in your pants."
"Yes."
He paused. "You sure?"
I nodded, stomach and thigh muscles tight, everything low in my belly beyond excited. "Please. John."
John sat back on his heels, hair hanging in his face. God, he looked beautiful, disheveled and half-naked by moonlight. I don't know how I got so lucky. He undid the button and zipper on my jeans, then tugged them down a little.
He lowered himself back over me, taking all of his weight on one arm strategically placed beside my head. Hot, damp lips kissed mine, teeth nipping at my bottom lip. Next he brought his free hand to his mouth and sucked on a couple of fingers, getting them wet.
"Going to get you off quickly, because you got to go home. You're still grounded, remember?"
"I don't care."
"I do." His hand slid into my panties, fingers brushing over my swollen sex, dipping slightly into the wetness. "Edie. Baby, that feels so fucking good."
The boy had no idea. Tips of his fingers teasing me, skimming over the lips down there. Beyond good and well into great territory. He lifted his hand back to his mouth, licking his thumb, before diving back into my underwear. My body jolted.
"John," I moaned, stretching my neck, turning my head to the side. Might have just been me, but we seemed to be running low on air. Or maybe my lungs weren't quite working. My breasts heaved, mouth open wide. Everything in me centered on what he was doing to me, how incredible he was making me feel.
"I know," he said, voice low and rumbling. "I'll get you there."
First he circled my clit with the pad of his thumb, knuckles brushing lightly across all that sensitive flesh. My breasts ached, belly just about turning inside out. All I could do was clutch at him-his shoulders, his arms, whatever I could grab. Hold him tight and keep him with me, now and always.
"There we go." His lips brushed my earlobe.
The tension inside me built higher and higher, winding me tight and taking me over. One heel dug into the seat, the other pushing against the floor. My whole body pushing into his fingers, needing to get as close as possible.
"Like that?" he asked, the pad of his thumb working me a little harder, faster.
"Yes. Don't stop," I said, voice almost gone, lost.
"No. I won't stop."
"God," I gritted out, bucking against his hand, back arching. "John."
The whole world fell away. There was just me and him and . . . fuck. Every inch of my body floated, stars filling my head. I lay crashed out on the backseat of John's car, flying. No wonder some people were so into sex. With the right person, it could be amazing. Even just a hand job.
I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, shoulders high, breathing hard. "Well, this is embarrassing."
"What?" I asked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just . . ."
"You just?" I asked, heart and lungs slowly returning to normal. The sheen of sweat on me and the fogged-up windows, I could do nothing about.
He frowned at me and I frowned at him. Though my frown no doubt came with a loved-up smile.
He nodded downward. "I'm kind of a mess."
"Oh. Oh."
"Hmm." Moving slowly, carefully, and still with a frown, he sat back on his haunches. "I was watching you and . . . anyway."
"I think it shows solidarity, commitment to the relationship." I tried not to grin. But I didn't try very hard. "Really."
"You think me coming in my jeans shows solidarity?"
I just shrugged. "I love you."
"You love . . ." The edge of his mouth curled upward. Suddenly, he shook it off. "We need to get you home before your mom freaks and decides I'm not allowed inside the door or something."
He started searching around for his T-shirt, finally finding it on the floor. Then he undid his pants and cleaned up. I couldn't see much, but still. Was it wrong that I found the whole process fascinating? If so, I didn't want to be right.
I fiddled with my underwear, yanked my jeans back up, and wriggled into a sitting position. Next, I searched for my T-shirt. "I like the backseat of your car."
"Yeah?" His smile, it slayed me.