Page 10 of Until You

She makes a soft, wrecked sound.

She reaches under the hem of her skirt, shifts around for a moment, then pulls her underwear free and sets it on the dash like a flag of surrender. She holds up her fingers and they’re gleaming in the dark.

Without a word, she brings them to my lips.

I close my mouth around them, lick them clean.

“Like honey,” I tell her. Then I pull her down into another kiss and stop thinking in complete sentences.

She positions herself over me and sinks down slowly.

I drop my head back against the headrest and stare at the roof of my truck and think—briefly, barely—that I am not a man who gets overwhelmed. I am steady. I am measured. I am a man who has been through enough to learn not to feel things too fast.

But I was not prepared for this woman.

I was not prepared for the weight of everything she’s making me feel. I desperately want to ask her for more information. A name. A number. Another night. But that’s not what we agreed to.

I get my hands on her hips and tighten my fingers into her plush skin.

“You feel so good,” I manage. “Goddamn.”

She rises up on her knees and then shifts down again and finds her rhythm, and I am not in my head anymore. I am just here. Just this cab, just this dark road, just her.

“Cowboy,” she breathes.

I lean forward and close my mouth around one pierced nipple. She gasps and grips my shoulders.

“I need to—” She breaks off. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

I pull back to look at her. My hat is still somehow on her head, tilted wildly to one side, her hair loose around her shoulders, her lips swollen, her chest flushed under all that beautiful ink. She looks like something I saw once in a dream and spent years trying to remember.

“You are gorgeous,” I tell her.

The feeling building at the base of my spine is coming faster than I’d like—I normally have more patience, more discipline. But I’m not performing anything tonight. I’m just here.

“Cowboy.” She looks straight at me, dark eyes wide, pupils blown. “Cowboy, I’m⁠—”

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, Mischief. You going to come on my dick?”

She comes apart. Completely and utterly above me, around me, her whole body shaking, one hand knocking my hat off her head as she grabs at the roof of the cab for something to hold. She’s everywhere. She’s surrounding me.

And I just let go. What else is there to do?

I grip her hips and move her, and she moans, and I feel her begin to wind tight all over again, and I am not ready for that.

“Think you’ve got one more in you?” I ask.

She shakes her head, but her body says something else entirely.

“I think you do.” I shift my hand between us and find what I’m looking for. “Right there, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, yes—Cowboy⁠—”

My orgasm hits like the ground coming up to meet you. And she follows me over, clenching and shaking, and I have never in my life felt anything so exactly right. I wish, in that moment, I knew her name.

We stay like that for a long while. The windows are fogged. The rain has slowed, but still patters on the windshield.

She’s collapsed against my chest, my hat on the floorboard, her cheek against my neck. I can feel her breathing even out.