one hand rests upon her shoulder while the other runs up the side of her neck, fingers tracing her jawline until your thumb swipes along her lips. they involuntarily part, a soft and pathetic sound leaving her.

quinn’s eyes flick between your own as her head leans back on the headrest, begging for some kind of permission—or at least a response. you tilt your head, leaning in until your breaths mingle—face to face and chest to chest.

"can you what?" you whisper, feigning ignorance despite the knowing glint in your eye.

she whines at that, the grip she has on your thighs only tightening. contrary to the bad girl image she puts up for everyone, you seem to strip it away—revealing a more needy version of the new and improved ‘skank’ fabray.

words fail her as she opens her mouth, glancing to your lips before returning to your eyes. she huffs softly before her hands begin to wander—palms sliding down the front of your thighs.

“touch you,” she murmurs, sucking in her bottom lip between her teeth. “please.”

the way she looks at you is hungry—desperate. her gaze is heavy, scanning all over your body. the way your breasts rest against hers. the way your thighs squeeze around her at her words. then back to your face—the subtle flush of your cheeks.

you can’t deny the way heat seems to pool low in your stomach, heart beginning to race in anticipation. your body seems to work faster than your mind—it’s like you couldn’t stand being a tease any longer, affecting you more than it did quinn.

you close the gap in an instant, hand sliding to softly squeeze at the base of her throat while your lips meet. she smiles into the kiss—cocky— you can tell with the way her hands continue to venture. she tugs you down by the loops in your jeans, making you grind against her.

a whimper tumbles out of your lips right into quinn’s from the friction. she smiles yet again, teeth meeting teeth. you bite your lip to stifle any more sounds as she tugs once more, rising her leg to meet your clothed cunt.

quinn tuts, shaking her head. “let me hear you baby,” she coos, hands moving to unbuckle your belt. “jus’ us.”

your eyes open to meet hers, pupils blown with arousal. she’s wearing a shit-eating grin, watching the way you watch her. you look between your bodies, enamored with how her hands move. they’re slender, soft, and the silver of her rings match the accents on your belt.

as soon as the buckle is undone it meets the floor, and she’s even quicker to unzip the denim. you lean in to kiss the corner of her lips, trailing down her jaw, her throat, and to the junction between her neck and shoulder.

she sighs contently, mind running a mile a minute. all she can think about is how badly she wants her hands on you—fingers in you—to taste you. unfortunate for quinn, your car is too small for her to lay you down how she wants.

“bet you’re so wet f’me,” she murmurs, hand sliding from your zipper to the waistband, “just from my touch.”

you sit up, face to face once more. your legs open wider, one knee bumping the car door, and the other bumping the center console. you don’t seem to mind—nor notice—with the way that she’s touching you. one hand rested at your hip, the other slipping into your pants.

a soft gasp leaves your lips as her fingers circle your clothed clit, then down to tease your hole. she can’t help the smirk that graces her lips, arousal already coating her fingertips. she hums in approval, fingers moving to your clit again.

blush crawls up your neck onto your cheeks, embarrassed about how drenched you are already—just from a little grinding. you can’t help it, really, when she gets needy with you. or truthfully, just quinn in general.

she leans in, lips brushing against yours while her fingers slide out of your pants. you kiss her tenderly, eyes fluttering closed as her fingers slide in your underwear. she sucks your bottom lip into her mouth, nipping gently as she parts your folds with her middle finger.

you whimper into her mouth again, hands twisting into her shirt to keep yourself grounded. your hips buck into her hand, desperate for more friction—any friction. who is she to deny you that?

her middle finger slides into your cunt, curling softly as the heel of her palm presses against your clit. a broken, wanton moan falls from your lips, causing the kiss to break. a string of saliva follows your mouth, snapping only when quinn bites her lip.

“yeah, you like that?” she hums, rocking her hand in time with the curl of her finger, “c’mon baby, grind on my hand.”

you nod helplessly, unable to think about anything else but the way her hand feels in your cunt. you do as she says, hips falling in time with her strokes. your walls flutter around her digit, encouraging her to add another.

her index finger joins, stretching you a bit further. the ring at the base of her finger is cold, easing the stretching sensation. your head falls back, unable to stop the whines leaving your lips.

“f-fuck— quinn,” you whimper, mouth falling slack, the curl of her fingers eliciting a chant of ‘uh-uh-uh’s out of you.

she’s talking to herself, watching the way you fall apart for her. “god, you’re so tight,” she groans softly, rocking her hand back and forth against your clit. “that feel good?”

you nod vehemently, eyes screwed shut as you rut against her palm. her fingers scissor in your walls, the hand that was once on your hip coming to paw at your breast.

“words, baby, use your words,” she’s quiet and direct, sending heat between your legs all over again.

you find your voice in an instant, breathless but there. “yes, yes, please keep going.”

she doesn’t say another word, just scissors and curls her fingers as your moans fill the car. one of your hands finds the fogged window, palm flat against the glass to steady yourself as you grind your hips.

you can feel your climax building rather quickly from her hand alone, legs fighting to keep you up and moving—desperate for release. your ruts are becoming sloppy, stuttering when her fingers hit your g spot just right, mixed with the feel of her rubbing your clit.

“close,” you whimper, a high whine falling from your lips as her other hand pinches your nipple through your shirt.

she grunts softly, as if she was the one getting off.

quinn picks up speed, loud sounds leaving your cunt as she works her fingers in and out, curling deep. your legs begin to shake, unsteady as you continue to rut into her palm.

your cunt clenches her fingers like a vice as your orgasm washes over you without warning. you cry out, her name leaving your lips like a mantra. she works you through it, slowing her fingers once she knows it’s over.

quinn’s hand slides from your breast to your face, tilting it until your eyes meet. her thumb swipes over your bottom lip, taking in your fucked out expression. she can only smirk, ego inflated from how fast she made you finish.

in a swift motion she pulls her fingers out from your jeans. you can’t help but watch as she puts her index and middle finger to her mouth, sucking them clean of your juices. she moans softly at the taste, pulling them from her lips with a soft pop.

“next time,” she begins, a mischievous shine in her eye, “we’re going to my house,” she whispers, her hand falling to your thigh.