Her wide blue eyes stare at me.
“Claudio,” she says in a hush, eyes darting from me to the road. “We can’t … people can see.”
“Fuck them,” I growl. “And fuck me before I lose my damn mind.” My smile is lazy but quick, fueled by this intense need to screw here right here, right now. I reach over and grab her hips, picking her up, and she easily slides across the low, smooth console, onto my lap, my cock stiff and ready for her.
“B-but we…” she says, her voice so small, unsure, and yet catching with her own lust.
“You don’t think they haven’t seen someone fuck in a Ferrari before? Bella, this is Italy,” I tell her, wrapping my fingers around her waist and lifting her up so that the tip of my cock is pressed against her, already so wet and willing.
But I wait, letting her control how she wants to ride me. If It were up to me, I would fucking impale her with my cock right now, pull down her dress so that her tits bounce freely for all the passing cars to see. She’s all mine, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to show her off.
It takes all my strength to hold it together, my fingertips pressing tighter into her soft skin until I’m sure I’m leaving a mark.
She bites her lip, and I see the lust spread across her face and chest in flashes of delicate pink, like she’s been dusted with rose petals. Her eyes keep looking to the road. While I find the idea of people watching us to be exciting, her natural bashfulness is coming through, and I can tell when her mind is about to run away on her.
“Hold on,” I tell her. I reach over and flip open the console, taking out a silk scarf I use to wipe down the dash with. I give the black fabric a shake and then reach up, placing it against her eyes. “Remember what we did before?” I ask her. “Block it all out. Focus on me. On your pleasure.”
She gives me a slight nod, her lower lip getting a real workout as she worries it between her teeth. I tie the scarf behind her head.
“There,” I whisper. “There’s nothing else but me.”
She exhales and then grabs my cock, making my eyes roll back in my head.
I relax against the seat, and she slowly, carefully lowers herself onto me.
Fuck. Me.
She’s so wet and needy, it’s easy to slide into her. I have to temper my impatience and try to go slow, not only so I don’t hurt her, but because I know if I just let myself do what I wanted, I’d be coming in less than a minute.
Not that we have all the time in the world. It might be risqué to have sex in a parked car beside a busy road, but it’s also probably illegal.
“Oh god,” she whispers, placing her hands on my shoulders to brace herself.
“Does that feel good?” I murmur, my voice rough and desperate. “Tell me it feels good.”
“Yes.” She breaks off into a gasp as she pushes herself down onto my shaft, harder this time. “Oh god, yes.”
I want to slide into her one sweet beautiful inch at a time, but I don’t think that’s in the cards today. Instead I start thrusting upward, stiff, thick jabs that make her gasp for air, my hands going around her ass, nails digging in. We reach a sort of unity together, our rhythm matching each other as she bucks her hips into me, leaning back.
“I’m close,” she manages to say, breaking off into a muffled cry.
I stick my thumb in my mouth, wetting it, then slide it down between us, over her clit, rubbing hard and fast.
“Fuck!” she cries out, her neck and back arched, her grip on my shoulders becoming vise-like. I watch the tremor pass through her, and even beneath the blindfold I can tell her eyes are pinched shut with exertion. Her pussy wraps tight around me, setting me off.
I let myself go, coming with a thundering groan. Her rhythm slows, and I feel like … I don’t even know. I’m tired, panting, coming down from the highest of highs.
A big truck roars past the car, making us shake, bringing me back to reality, that we’re parked on the side of the road, on the way to meet my parents.
I push that all away.
I don’t want to lose this feeling.
I cup her face in my hands, and I kiss her. I kiss her hard and sweet, and there are too many emotions rolling through me to make sense of them, but kissing her makes the most sense of all.
“I guess this isn’t the first time you’ve had sex in here,” she says against my lips. “This car is a chick magnet.”
There’s so much vulnerability in her voice that it breaks my heart. I reach out and take off the blindfold until she’s blinking shyly at me.
“I’ve never had sex in this car before,” I admit, adjusting myself, totally aware that I’m still inside her. I don’t want to pull out, not yet. “You’re the first one.”
“Right.”
“Musa,” I whisper to her, kissing her again. I pull back, searching her eyes, feeling everything inside threatening to spill over. “I want you. I want this. Always. Not just for now. I want so much from you that I’m afraid to ask … I don’t even think I’m worthy of asking.”
She swallows, staring right back at me, her eyes bright and glassy. They don’t look fearful at all. “What do you want?” she asks after a beat.
I place my hands at her heart. I can’t make myself say it but I hope that it’s enough.
She gives me a small smile and then adjusts herself. I’m pretty much slipping out. “Oh boy,” she says, looking down. “So I guess there was a good reason you haven’t had sex in this car. We’ve made quite a mess.”
I’m not proud to admit that a tiny part of me is cringing at the idea of having cum-stained leather in a million-dollar car, but I’m sure it will come out, and anyway, this was worth it.
She tries to wipe it off with her dress and then moves over to her seat.
“Okay,” I say, zipping up my pants and pulling my seat forward. We both buckle up. “Now that we had a little, uh, rest break, how about we continue on to my parents?”
At that she looks worried, quickly reaching back and placing her sunglasses on, as if it will hide all her sins.
Seventeen
Grace
Who are you? I say to myself as I stare into my compact, wiping away any smudges of mascara from underneath my eyes. I totally look like I just had a wild shag. My face is flushed, my pupils huge, my lip liner smeared. My eye makeup is a mess from having the scarf over it.
And I have no idea who I am anymore.
Not that it’s a bad thing, per se. I just know the Grace Harper of the past would never have sex in public. Twice. Doing it against those Roman ruins was one thing, but then fucking in his Ferrari on the side of the road? Who does that?
Robyn would have done that, I remind myself. And she would have told you all about it, and you would have lived vicariously through her. Now you’re doing the things she would have done. You’re out here living.
I dot powder on my shiny nose, blotting the perspiration on my forehead before I put the compact away. How is that the more sex I have with Claudio, the more alive I feel? Why didn’t anyone tell me that sex was the secret to a more interesting life?
But, of course, it’s more than that. If I can just focus on the sex for now, it will be easier.