#welll

“we shouldn’t be doing this.” he rasps, tearing himself away from the kiss, and you stare at him, flatly, giving him a look that screamed ‘really?’.

somehow, through no fault of your own, you ended up straddling his lap. this is not ideal, you know that, of course you do, but it doesn’t stop you from grinding on his lap, not when he is so visibly affected by the action.

restraint is a concept long forgotten like ancient gods, and the only thing he’s concerned about right now, is you. you, on his lap, in his car, under the flickering lights of the parking lot. he doesn’t remember unbuttoning your blouse, but he’s grateful for it. the view of your bare chest is enough for his trousers to feel tighter than they are.

you don’t think you can form coherent sentences. not after he’d kissed you back, chased your lips with an urgency that felt surreal.

you knew he felt the spark between the two of you just as much as you did, but you never expected him to act on it, especially not the way the he was right now. you didn’t even have time to chide yourself for kissing him in the first place because he’d pulled you in for another one.

and another, until your lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. he didn’t waste anymore time in hooking his arms around your thighs and lifting you onto his lap. your hands landed on his chest looking for something to latch onto as you steady yourself, and you try to catch your breath.

your lips are swollen, and so are his. your cheeks are flushed, and you’re pretty sure you can feel his bulge poking your thighs.

with an air of hesitance, you roll your hips once, testing the waters. in a flash, his hands shoot out to grip your thighs, and he moans. he moans, the sound comes from somewhere deep within him, and you feel a burst of excitement, you lick your lips. his stare is nothing short of a warning, stern and intimidating. but you don’t shrink down, you never have, you smile. he’s not scary, not when he’s under you.

you roll your hips again, and he throws his head back against the seat with a hiss. you never expected him to be so vocal, not when he every word of his is a deliberate thought-out choice.

he opens his mouth to say something and you want to roll your eyes. of course, of course his idea of dirty talk would include laws and articles and what not. you lean forward and catch his lips in a kiss, and he obliges, helpless and addicted to your taste, he groans and the vibrations send waves through you, and you grind against him again, feeling the fabric of your underwear getting wetter.

he falls into a steady rhythm, his hands on your hips are now guiding and impatient, pulling you into him. whatever sounds you let out are swallowed into the kiss like he loves the taste of your sounds, your hands coming up around his neck, fingers carding through his hair.

you’re sweaty by the time you pull back for air and he’s breathing heavily. you lean back against the steering, it digs into your spine.

you shudder when his fingers unclasp the buckle of your trousers. he raises a brow and smirks, satisfied with the reaction he’s managed to draw out of you, and just like that you’d lost this battle too.

“gave up so soon?”

the glare you send him does only spurs him on further.

“shut—” you’re cut off when his fingers slip under your panties and slide over your slick folds, your hands anchor on his biceps, nails digging into the expensive fabric and you bite the inside of your cheek. its patronising.

it’s all too much, a shiver runs down your spine when he eases a finger in and you’re unable to control the sound that spills from your lips.

his movements are seasoned, slowly exploring the depths of your dripping core. two fingers in now he’s scissoring, spreading your plush walls and your knees grow weaker by the second. his fingers move purposefully with short, methodical strokes, you feel the juices dripping down your thighs, coating his hand and his trousers.

his eyes are trained on where his fingers disappear inside you, lips parted in awe, like he’s infatuated.

he pulls out and you’re about to protest, you are. but then his grabs your cheeks, squeezing them enough that your lips from a pout, you open our mouth for him and he feeds you his fingers, drenched in your slick. you have no choice but to oblige, lapping your tongue around them. his eyes darken, overtaken by an overwhelming amount of lust and something else you don’t recognise, and you know he’s more aroused than he’s letting on the way his free hand clutches your waist in an iron clad grip.

you ignore the way your walls clench when you notice the metallic strap of his watch glistening because of you, the same watch that you’d gifted him was now covered in your juices. you’re dazed.

your hands find the button of his jeans easily, and he’s just as eager, you conclude the way his hips twitch.

you somehow, awkwardly, shimmy out of your clothes, its funny really, you bite back a laugh. you hadn’t really taken into account the lack of space and moving to the backseat wasn’t something you had the patience for. so you make do.

but the moment passes, and the lightheartedness is replaced with heavy tension lingering in the air, and you know you can never come back from this, you’d never be able to look him in the eye again without remembering the stretch of his fingers, the way his lips felt on yours, hungry and claiming.

a beat of silence passes and his eyes find yours, a concerned look plastered on his face, you know what he’s searching for, and you offer him a certain nod. that’s all the permission he needs.

he lines himself up your wet folds, dragging it up and down, teasing and your shoots out to catch his wrist, having had enough. you hold him still, guiding him inside your wet heat, and he thrusts himself up in a single movement, burying himself to the hilt, and the moan that rips from your throat is scandalous. the stretch is abrupt and your muscles burn, it’s catastrophic. your brace yourself, hands on his chest, and he’s just as much ruined as you are, the feeling of your walls shifting around to accommodate him has him weak.

he moves before you can, lifting his hips, and you fail to breathe. his hands grip your hips again, rendering you unable to move as he continues his torture, driving himself in you at an accelerated pace, you can barely hold yourself together, nails sinking into his shoulders.

he’s reduced you down to nothing but breathy moans and whines, he’s quite literally made a mess out of you.

he slows down, and delivers a few hard thrusts and its agonising. you lurch forward into his arms, begrudgingly, resting your neck on this shoulder, and he picks up the pace again, you keen against his neck.

it’s confusing, too much for your brain to process now when he’s frying all possible neural pathways with hot, white pleasure, and all you can hear are his strained grunts and the blood pumping in your ears.

you don’t realise you’re close, not even when your breaths turn ragged, but he does, and his hands find the curve of your neck, lifting you so you’re eye to eye, breaths mingling, and he reaches forward for a kiss.

you gush around him, and once again, he swallows the wanton moans that threaten to spill out of your lips. he continues his movements, without faltering, short, effective thrust and you’re overstimulated, your thighs quiver. he follows soon behind you, painting the insides of your wall white, and you’re unable to hold yourself up, collapsing against the stable wall of his chest, scrambling for a sense of stability.

it’s euphoric, and your vision is blurry and you’re still feeling the aftershocks, dissociated from reality. you barely register it when he presses a kiss to the side of your temple, and the way his arms gather you by the waist.

and if your father asks him about the wet stain on his trousers, you lie, like a good daughter and employee, and tell him that you spilled coffee on your boss.

for my bbg @y0uneversawmehere 🫵

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author’s note. would you guys like a third part w angst 🙂‍↕️ where they’re just avoiding eachother bc they think its a mistake </3

also is it just me or like foreplay is much more fun to write than the sex stuff like ?? theres so much to work with there and with penetration its like. there you’re done like damn so boring 🙂‍↔️