The back of Bucky’s vintage Mustang was smelled of leather, his stupid expensive cologne, and the beer you’d both been drinking earlier. Your back was pressed against the cool window with his body crowding you, pinning you in. His fingers were already knuckles deep into you.
“C’mon, princess,” he growled, whiskey-rough against your ear as his hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt to your waist. “All those smart-ass comments in class… where’s that mouth now?”
You gasped as his fingers hooked into the lace of your panties, tearing them with a snap. “Bucky—“
“No,” he cut you off with his metal hand coming up to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t get to talk unless I tell you to. Understood? You’ve been driving me fucking insane all semester. Time to pay up.”
He fumbled with his belt. You felt the his length press against your inner thigh, and a moan escaped you.
“Look at you. So fucking eager for it. You think I didn’t see you staring? Think I didn’t know you wanted this? To be the little rich girl slumming it with the townie bully?” He drove into you, filling you completely. You cried out as your nails dug into his shoulders.
“Fuck,” his head had dropped to your shoulder. “Tighter than I thought. Been thinking about this, haven’t you? Dreaming about this cock?”
“Yes,” you whimpered as he tore admission from you in a rhythm that rocked the car.
“Say it,” he demanded with his hips slamming into yours. “Tell me whose you are.”
“Yours!” you cried out. “Bucky, please!”
“Mine,” he grunted. “My good little girl. Taking me so fucking well.” His metal hand moved from your jaw to your throat, holding a possessive threat that made you clench around him. He hissed. “Shit, you like that? You like when I manhandle you?”
You could only nod to the feeling of him splitting you open.
“Gonna come,” he warned. “Gonna fill this pretty little cunt up. And you’re gonna take it. Every. Last. Drop.”
With a deep thrust against your skin, he followed you, spilling inside.bHe slowly pulled out, collapsing beside you. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair.
“See?” he panted, tapping your nose with his finger. “I knew you were just a filthy little thing under all those prim and proper clothes.” He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a mockery of a kiss. “My filthy little thing. Now clean me up.”
