to piggyback off of that,,,
driving in the passenger seat of your truck, windows open; the cool nighttime air chilling our skin.
you look so handsome in the dim light, hands gripping the steering wheel, focusing on the expanse of dirt road and desolate woods.
you can’t hear my breath quickening beneath the hum of the engine. i’m so wet, watching you drive us home, my life in your hands. you don’t even spare me a glance when i put my shaking hand on your thigh.
only when my fingers sneak toward your zipper do you meet my eyes, wide open, wet, and pleading. i hope you just keep driving, and leave me be. i only want my hands on you. i want your smell to fill the cab. i want you to get all worked up so you can take me on the kitchen counter as soon as we get home.
but you don’t ignore me. instead, you silently pull your truck over, and i pull my hands back into my lap.
soon, you’re stepping into the ditch beside the road, where the grass is long and weeds grow abundant. the dew turns your denim jeans into a darker blue.
you rip the passenger side door open and tell me to hop out. i comply, but barely. you force me to my knees, where gravel presses uncomfortably into my bare skin. i watch with excited eyes as you undo your belt just inches in front of my face. my tongue uncontrollably sticks out in preparation. i just want to taste you as soon as possible.
but you don’t let me taste you :(
you pull your jeans down just far enough to let me see all of you. you grab my jaw harshly with your other hand. you make me meet your eyes, and through my periphery i can just barely see you tug at yourself for a few seconds before you give up and do your pants back up.
you put your mud covered boot on my shoulder and press my face into the ground. i cough as i inhale the dust that’s there.
“what did i say about touching me while i drive, hm? dumb, needy dog.”
i've missed your asks, dear (: i love your writing. incredible.
i imagine i'd get a whine or some other form of an incoherent sound in response, your face still pressed down into the dirt. i'd only look down at you for a moment before moving my boot away, leaning down to hook my fingers into your collar and wrench you back up. you're unsteady on your feet, my jaw's tense but i keep a firm hold at your neck to keep you standing. there's dirt smudged on the parts of your face that made rough contact with the ground. i'd spit into my hand, use it to try and callously wipe some of it off, still unspeaking.
your brows would still be drawn, eyes on mine, pleading and sad. so eager and desperate, yet dejected. we're standing beside the truck, headlights dim and yellow on the gravel road ahead, a red illumination from the taillights on the other end. i'd be quiet for a while, tensely mulling over something unseen. my hand that had wiped the dirt off your face is now streaked with the grit of it, clinging to my own saliva on my fingers. my eyes would move down to your mouth with an intense focus, the hand at your collar moving instead to press firmly at both sides of your jaw, forcing it open. i'd press those fingers into your mouth, down against your tongue. keep your head tilted back slightly so you had to look at me the whole time. grunt quietly seeing the mud--the mixture of the dirt and my own spit--on your lower lip.
