Be Good

When we finish our lunch, I am nearly overwhelmed by the urge to kiss you. I do my best to repress it, as we’re trying to be good, trying not to get out of hand in the middle of a work day. Should our lips touch, I don't think I could do that anymore…be good.

I walk you to your Jeep, and we hold for a moment in silence. I don’t know about you, but I’m repeating my “be good” ideal over and over. You glance over your shoulder toward the nearly empty parking lot behind us, then step forward and plant a kiss on my lips. A light one, but it lingers, and when you pull away but don't move away, I go in for a second. This one is stronger, lips parted, tongues dancing, your hand slides around me, holding to you, and I know you’re not done even as you lean away again.

I search for intent in your eyes and find none. All I see is a questioning, a yearning, and while I may have suspicions as to what that question, that yearn is, I dare not voice them.

Not while we’re being good.

You press your hand to my face, holding it for a moment, grazing my earlobe with the nail of your ring finger. The yearning in your eyes grows. I see you wanting to ask. Wanting to suggest that we ditch this plan to be good and instead…give in. I cover your hand on my cheek with my own, then bring it down. Our four hands intertwined together between us.

I throw the glance this time, our spot is secluded, a good distance away and around the corner from anyone else. One final look in your eyes, to confirm the yearning. They waver, looking away, then back, and you nod.

I take your wrists and move toward you, pressing you back against the side of your Jeep. I raise your hands above your head and hear you gasp as your shirt lifts, and the bare skin above your jeans touches the cool vehicle. You arch your back and press your breasts against me.

With my free hand, I tuck a curl of hair behind your ear, brush my fingers along your cheek and neck, slide them down your arm, trace circles around the erect nipples pushing against your button-down shirt. I continue down over your belt buckle to your jeans and bring my palm to rest on your mound, pressing the denim against you. Your lips part and your eyelids flutter, and I know I've found the exact right spot.

I lean forward and exhale long and soft heat against your ear before taking your earlobe between my teeth just long enough to hear you squeak. “You’re so fucking sexy,” I whisper to you, “How would it be possible to ‘be good?’”

“I don’t think it is,” you whisper back in sighing exhales.

Instead of being good, I nibble down your neck, kiss your cheeks, the corners of your mouth. I linger with my lips mere moments from yours, but not touching. Your warmth radiates from your jeans. You move forward, just a bit, to try and snatch away a kiss, but I lean back, and our eyes meet again.

Your mouth opens, but you say nothing, then share a trace of a smile. I risk losing the moment and open my hands, releasing your wrists. Your arms drop to your sides, and you step forward toward me. I move back further.

The right corner of your mouth draws into a smirk, and without looking, you reach back and open the back door of the Jeep. You step into the shadow of the door and hold both arms out to me, wrists together, asking with your eyes and not your voice What’re you gonna do now?

A smile crosses my lips, and I again take your wrists in hand, spinning you around and bringing your body against mine. With my arm wrapped around you, I hold your wrists between your breasts and feel the curve of your ass against me. I return my other hand down below and find you even warmer and perhaps wet.

“Did someone not wear panties today?” I ask before nibbling on that little V of hair on the back of your neck. You gasp instead of answering as I rub you through your jeans. Your ejaculations of sound start quiet and high and grow as I rub.

Then all at once, I stop. I let go and step back, throwing another furtive glance toward the parking lot behind us, still bereft of others. “What’re we doing here?” I ask, confident at the moment that I’m going to need real confirmation.

If we’re going to be bad, you’re going to ask for it.

You don’t turn toward me, still clutching your wrists to your chest. I see your heavy breathing in your back, and you choke out words so quiet and shuddery that it’s as though you’ve forgotten language itself.

“I want you to fuck me…”

“What?” I ask despite knowing exactly what you said.

“You need to fuck me.”

How can I not? I move back toward you in a flash, unbuckling your belt. I pop the top button on your jeans as well and slide my hand between the denim and your soft skin, confirming my suspicions about going sans panties. I reach the hair atop your vulva and then soft wetness between your lips.

You reach one hand up and back, pulling my head next to yours, where you can just look up and back to see me, and where I can look down at my fingers sliding inside you through the chasm between your jeans and your body. “Yes, please,” you tell me, your eyes fluttering closed.

I grab your belt and jeans in a fist and pull them down to your thighs. The inside reveals a growing stain of deep dark denim blue. Your gorgeous ass is fully on display now, should anyone wander back, into this far corner of the lot. Should anyone see us being bad.

You shudder again as you hear me unzip. I pull the condom out of my pocket, the one I didn’t think I’d need but also thought better to have, and am thankful for my one hand bite-rip-open training. “You came prepared, I guess,” you say with a laugh. “So did I.” You reach forward to the center console in the jeep and show me a Magnum.

I smile, take my cock in hand, and poke it gently below the curve of your ass. You reach forward and bend, sliding toward me, sliding against me. The warmth and wetness grow as I reach your swollen lips. I take it the rest of the way and push deep inside you without a bit of resistance. You exhale sharply and turn your head to the side. Your eyes are closed, and your teeth dig into your lower lip.

You’ve told me how you like it, that you want it hard and fast, you want to hear the slurpy slap, feel our bodies colliding, but there'll be time for that. For now, I move slow, rhythmic, our hips rocking together as your back arches and your nails dig into the bench back seat of your Jeep.

Small beads of sweat appear as the muscles in your lower back tense and loosen, tense and loosen. Inside, I feel your toned Kegel muscles grabbing and releasing, milking my cock.

My fingers slide into the hair at the back of your head, and I grab a fistful. You straighten up against me, pressing your back against my chest. You loll your head back and turn your face up toward mine. Finally, our lips meet, and our tongues dance. The kiss grows stronger, harder, as you slide your own hand down to your pussy, moving two fingers from your clit to down further against my frenulum and back. Tiny concentric circles.

You say something, but it's too quiet for me to hear and accompanied by a nervous tone. I slow and wait for you to repeat yourself, which you do promptly, louder, more confident. “I want it in my ass.”

This gives me pause, and I choke out a laugh before renewing the stoic intensity I know you love so much. “Are you sure?” I ask with an extra layer of gravitas in my voice.

You bring your own voice to my level and tell me to give it to you with all the sultriness of a Late Nite Skinimax flick.

I draw my cock out slowly, dragging it across your G-spot as I go. My exit is accompanied by a flush of fluid, dripping down your legs and darkening the denim further.

I kneel behind you, spreading your ass cheeks, and wet my hand in the lube that you made yourself that's literally dripping from your yawning pussy. I run a finger around your asshole, pressing lightly but not inserting. Then I replace my finger with my tongue, tracing those small circles, a little pressure, a little insertion.

“Stop teasing and put it in me already!”

I find it difficult to argue with that, so I stand and slide my cock back into your pussy, soaking it with the soft and glorious essence of your sex. I watch one drop, then two, fall off the tip of my cock, then I press it against your asshole. You take a sharp breath as my head makes it through and I slide smoothly to the hilt.

We stand for a moment, and I feel the fall breeze ruffle the tuft of hair above my cock, your juices drip down onto my balls. Then, together, we begin to move, slowly at first, like pistons. Your fingers dig into your pussy, and I can feel them through the wall. I bend over you, my hands reaching around to your tits, and I’m surprised to find them out. You probably liberated them from their shirt and bra shackles as I gave you my tongue lashing in back. Your nipples are hard, your tits are firm, I hold them, pulling them and you closer to my chest as my cock slides in and out of your ass.

“I'm going to cum soon,” I tell you.

You turn your head back and whisper, “Come for me.”

That’s all it takes; the moment of permission causes me to shudder and unload. Strong, powerful, tremors of joy rock through us at the consummation of this act that's been far too long in the offing. The throb of my cock matches the throb within you as something primal is triggered and you gush again, splashing down the front of my jeans and further taking your own out of commission.

My waning erection slips out, dangling its cum filled sleeve. Without giving it thought, I turn you around and kiss you deeply.

“Well,” you say as we separate.

“Well,” I agree.

You reach back into your Jeep and reveal an extra pair of jeans on the floor.

“How lucky,” I say. You only blink at me, your face a mask of innocence.

I watch as you slide out of the wet and into the dry, remaining pantiless. Before you zip up, you slide two fingers deep inside yourself, then pull them back out to press against my lips. I open my mouth and take them inside, cataloging the nuances of your flavor to remember for the rest of the day.

When we finally do part to go back to work, each of us over an hour late, it's not with a goodbye or another kiss, but a simple glance across the parking lot. You hold your hands together and wiggle your thumbs, mouthing Text me.

As I slip behind the wheel of my car, I look at my phone, already finding a bubble that reads Thanks for lunch. I smile, and scroll up through the message list, through naughty pictures and sexy flirts, through conversations about safety and relationships, through simple initial pings to test the waters, through small talk, back to message one.

You probably don’t remember me from high school…

A lot can happen online in a week.


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