The parking lot overlooks the city, twinkling lights spread out below like scattered diamonds. It's late enough that most people have gone home, early enough that the occasional car still winds its way up the scenic route. Ollie pulls into a spot at the far edge, away from the streetlights, where shadows pool thick and inviting.

"Here?" you ask, though your pulse is already quickening.

He cuts the engine and turns to you, that familiar heat in his eyes. "Here."

Your breath catches as he leans across the center console, one hand sliding along your jaw to pull you into a kiss. It starts slow—a tease of lips, the barest brush of tongue—but within seconds it deepens into something hungry. His fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head back so he can kiss you harder, and you moan softly into his mouth.

"Fuck, I've been thinking about this all day," he murmurs against your lips, his other hand finding your thigh, squeezing through your jeans.

"About fucking me in your car?" You're breathless already, heat pooling low in your belly.

"About fucking you anywhere I can get you alone." His hand slides higher, thumb brushing dangerously close to where you're already aching for him. "Or semi-alone."

As if on cue, headlights sweep across the lot as another car pulls in several spaces away. You tense, but Ollie just grins wickedly and kisses you again, swallowing your nervous laugh. His hand doesn't stop its exploration, now palming you through the denim, and you arch into his touch despite yourself.

"Ollie," you gasp, but it comes out more like encouragement than protest.

"They can't see us," he promises, though his eyes gleam with the thrill of possibility. "Windows are tinted. We're just shadows."

He proves his point by kissing down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and your head falls back against the headrest. His hand works at the button of your jeans, and you lift your hips to help him, suddenly not caring about the other car or who might drive by. All you care about is the way his fingers finally, finally slip beneath the waistband of your panties.

"Jesus, you're already so wet," he groans, finding you slick and ready. Two fingers slide through your folds, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make you whimper. "Were you thinking about this too?"

"Yes," you admit, rocking against his hand. "Yes, fuck, Ollie—"

He captures your mouth again, kissing you deeply as he works you with skilled fingers. One slides inside you, then two, curling just right, and you moan into his mouth. The car feels too small, too hot, the windows already starting to fog at the edges. Your hand finds his thigh, sliding up to palm the hard length of him straining against his jeans, and he groans.

"Backseat," he says roughly, pulling his fingers from you. "Now."

You don't need to be told twice. You scramble over the console—graceless and desperate—and he follows, both of you tumbling into the backseat in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter. The space is cramped, forcing you close together, and Ollie takes immediate advantage. He pulls you onto his lap so you're straddling him, and his hands go to your shirt, yanking it up and over your head.

"This too," he says, fingers finding the clasp of your bra. It falls away and he wastes no time, mouth closing over one nipple while his hand palms the other breast. You arch into him, fingers threading through his hair, holding him to you as pleasure sparks through your body.

"Your turn," you gasp, tugging at his shirt. He releases you long enough to pull it off, and then your hands are on his chest, exploring the planes of muscle, the warmth of his skin. You kiss him again, grinding down against the hard ridge of his cock, and he groans into your mouth.

His hands go to your jeans, shoving them down your hips along with your panties. It's awkward in the confined space—you have to brace yourself against the door, lifting up so he can work them down your legs—but finally you're naked in his lap, and the look in his eyes makes you clench with need.

"Fuck, look at you," he breathes, hands sliding up your thighs, over your hips, cupping your breasts. "So fucking beautiful."

You reach for his jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper. He lifts his hips to help you shove them down, and then his cock springs free, thick and hard and already leaking at the tip. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he drops his head back against the seat with a groan.

"Condom," he manages, reaching for his jeans pocket. He produces one, tears it open with his teeth, and you take it from him, rolling it down his length with deliberate slowness that makes him curse.

"You're killing me," he grits out, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Good," you tease, but you're just as desperate. You rise up on your knees, positioning yourself over him, and his hands guide you as you sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch.

The stretch is exquisite, almost too much, and you have to pause halfway, breathing through it. Ollie's fingers dig into your hips, his jaw clenched with the effort of holding still, letting you adjust.

"Okay?" he asks, voice strained.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Yeah, just—give me a second."

He leans forward, kissing you softly, one hand sliding up your back. "Take your time, baby. You feel so fucking good."

The tenderness undoes you. You sink down the rest of the way, taking him fully, and you both moan at the sensation. For a moment you just sit there, joined completely, foreheads pressed together as you adjust to the fullness.

Then you start to move.

It's slow at first, rolling your hips, finding a rhythm. But the angle is perfect, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl, and soon you're riding him in earnest. His hands guide your movements, helping you rise and fall, and the car fills with the sounds of your pleasure—gasps and moans and the slick slide of bodies.

"Fuck, yes," Ollie groans, watching where you're joined, watching himself disappear inside you again and again. "Just like that, baby. Ride my cock just like that."

The dirty talk sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. You brace your hands on his shoulders, using the leverage to move faster, harder. The car rocks with your movements, and somewhere in the back of your mind you think about how obvious it must be to anyone who looks over, but you can't bring yourself to care. All that matters is the building pressure, the way he fills you so perfectly, the heat of his hands on your body.

"Touch yourself," he commands, one hand sliding from your hip to grip your ass. "Want to feel you come on my cock."

You obey, one hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit. The added stimulation makes you cry out, and your rhythm falters. Ollie takes over, gripping your hips with both hands and thrusting up into you, hard and deep and relentless.

"Oh god, oh fuck, Ollie—" You're babbling now, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"That's it," he encourages, voice rough. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it."

Your fingers work frantically at your clit, and combined with the perfect angle of his cock inside you, it's too much. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, and you cry out his name, body clenching around him as pleasure whites out your vision.

"Fuck, yes," Ollie groans, and his thrusts become erratic. He buries himself deep one last time and comes with a shuddering moan, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You're both breathing hard, skin slick with sweat despite the cooling night air. Slowly, you become aware of your surroundings again—the fogged windows, the cramped backseat, the distant sound of traffic.

Ollie's hands gentle on your hips, sliding up your back in soothing strokes. He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw.

"You okay?" he murmurs.

"More than okay," you assure him, smiling against his skin. "That was..."

"Yeah," he agrees, understanding without you having to finish. "It really was."

You lift up slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity, and he deals with the condom while you search for your scattered clothes. It's awkward getting dressed in the backseat, lots of elbows and knees and breathless laughter, but eventually you're both decent again.

You climb back into the front seat, and Ollie follows, pulling you against his side. You rest your head on his shoulder, his arm around you, both of you looking out at the city lights.

"We should probably go," you say eventually, though you make no move to leave.

"Probably," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. But he doesn't start the car yet, and you're content to stay here a little longer, wrapped in the afterglow and each other.

When he finally does start the engine, pulling out of the lot, you catch him grinning.

"What?" you ask.

"Just thinking we should go for drives more often."

You laugh and swat his arm, but you're already thinking the same thing.

ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.