by Alex Rosa
“Us. I think the last time I had sex in a car was when I was nineteen.”
“Shame. Ever miss it?” I hear his smile rather than see it.
What a peculiar question. Tonight, we really are acting like two lustful teens, impatient and needy, starving for skin and release, not taking a moment to understand these rampant needs, and instead acting on carnal instinct. It’s almost silly, but also hot.
“Hm,” I hum, sliding my hands down his torso to the waistband of his pants. “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to orgasm in one. Up for a challenge?”
He lifts his head up to lock a boyish grin with mine. It’s another stunning look on him. “It’s kinda my favorite challenge.”
We laugh together a few times before it’s game on. He crashes his lips into mine, and everything becomes one blissful blur.
Nate’s backseat is spacious, but it still makes it clear how large Nate is compared to me. His body overtakes mine in a deliciously suffocating way. His knees are bent to fit inside, his erection pressing into my center.
I unbutton the top of his pants, sliding my hands inside, wrapping my fingers around the soft steel of his cock. I slide my hand up and down, my thumb rubbing over the head, igniting his groan.
“Fuck, you drive me crazy, you know that?”
I think I have some idea. I clamp my teeth over my bottom lip, nodding.
His hands make a swift journey between my thighs, rubbing my swollen flesh before circling and teasing the entrance of my sex.
I’m not the only one struggling for more. We’re both panting. We don’t care we’re in a car sitting in a parking lot to be easily caught by someone. Actually, if any parking lot was safe for sexual activity, it might be this one.
“I need a condom before I blow my load too soon.”
I release a loud laugh, both of use squirming against one another in the confines of the car. “I have one,” I reply.
“Thank God.”
I claw for my purse that was knocked to the floor. Nate uses this as his opportunity to pepper the exposed skin of my neck with more sinful kisses; his hum of appreciation vibrates against the sensitive area, sending sparks of anticipation between my legs. It makes it hard to focus, but this goal is too important.
I grab for the condom I might’ve hidden away as an emergency measure before leaving home tonight. How ridiculous that seemed then, and how convenient it is now. I have no shame.
I grab for it, and toss the bag onto the front passenger seat, laughing as it flops onto the floor there.
He’s grinning, and we’re simply two dumb kids now … err, adults, but just barely.
There’s no lesson hidden in this tryst. It’s just sex. Pure, unadulterated sex. That’s what we have going on between us.
He sits up as much as he can, tearing through the wrapper, and rolls the latex over his impressive length. I watch, salivating and trembling.
Nate unbuttons his shirt, leaving it open, as if to release the heat encased inside. I drag my fingertips over the smooth skin of his chest, caressing the lean muscle of his stomach before pushing his pants down farther.
I notice the windows are fogging up with our humid breaths, and it’s only going to get worse. I grin.
He leans over me, the head of his cock at my entrance. His smirk is the only warning I have when he presses inside me. It’s not frantic or rushed, but achingly even, as if savoring each inch as he fills me, pushing onward, stretching me.
I groan his name when I take him to the hilt, my legs wrapping around his legs for more.
His mouth is on mine again, and it’s back to light speed. His hips are impatient as he begins a relentless rhythm against me, his body slapping against mine.
One of his hands still caresses my throat, tipping my chin up to align with his, our lips still reckless and frantic, like the swinging of his hips. His other hand under my dress curves around my thigh, pulling me to him, so each pulse of his body drives deeper with each thrust.
Beads of sweat form over our skin, but we’re smiling against each other’s mouths with each stroking kiss, enjoying this irrational release, soaking in each other.
His hips pick up pace, his body reaching its breaking point. His thrusts beg mine to find my release with him.
Each purposeful slam into my body hits me in that spot that starts a slow, tingling boil between my legs. It rides the synapses of my nerves, each tingle bundling and sparking at every pulse point until the orgasm reaches my lips, exhaling in a pant of his name.
His hips buck when he hears it, and the same rumble rolls through his body as he releases himself.
“Fuck,” he exhales, practically curling his body around mine, trying to contain his tremble. The intensity overwhelming him. “Fuck, Lauren,” he whispers.
We still against one another, trying to absorb the quivering calm between us. I close my eyes, focusing on the matching rise and fall of our chests to find a glimmer of rational thought, but it does the opposite.
A smile tugs at my lips, and Nate must be watching me.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“That my boss is definitely not getting this dress back.”
He buries his face into my neck, our laughter loud and playful as it tangles around our shallow breaths in the most beautiful symphony of sound I’ve ever heard.
When I get home, I’m a smitten mess. My smile is dopey, and all I can do is keep smoothing my hair of car-sex tangles as I frolic up the steps to my apartment. I had spent the walk here daydreaming.
I think of Nate and his sure hands, demanding lips, charismatic smile, and his heart-fluttering laughter. It’s a cocktail that makes me drunker than a night of a straight tequila binge.
It’s hard to think straight around him, and now that the night has ended, I’m trying to find a logical thought to cling to, but I’m still too much in a state from being thoroughly fucked, and giggling with Nate after, like two teenagers on prom night.
I pull in a heavy breath when I reach my landing. My instincts flare inside me, telling me it’s safer to eradicate these thoughts all together before entering, but I couldn’t let go of something during my stroll home.
Sure, I got the rest of what I needed for my article tonight, and I surely have enough to work with now, along with having a solid direction I’d like to go for my article. I should feel accomplished in this regard. Hell, I should feel fucking jubilant over it. The material is too juicy and intriguing for Rebecca not to offer me the promotion, but something else lingers in my mind.
Nate. Of course.
It’s almost over. We’re almost over. Whatever we have going on ends in the next few days. The moment I turn in my rough draft to Rebecca, it’s done. What else would I need Nate for? He’s not in it for my mind and me but instead for my body and a bit of fun.
I knew that going into this.
It’s a sobering realization, but I swallow it with a sense of understanding.
I shake it off. Thinking a hot shower before bed, washing the smell of Nate from my skin, and brushing my teeth to get rid of his sinful taste will all be for the better.
I nod my agreement, digging into my purse, trying to push all my wayward thoughts of Nate to the depths of my gut where I hide all my frivolous emotions.
I dig and dig into my purse, clawing through pens and miscellaneous makeup, realizing a few things: I cannot find my house keys, or my wallet, or my notepad, or even my cell phone.
“Aw shit,” I blurt out into the silence.
I don’t know why, but when I look at my front door, I blink back tears. They’re sudden, unexpected, and confusing.
I’m going to have to knock on this door and wake up Garrett. He’s going to see me post-sex, a blubbering mess, and distraught. I’m not going to be able to explain myself.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” escapes me again in rapid succession.
This moment unravels me. It has me realizing that maybe I’m not so stitched together.
I shrug, fe
eling helpless in so many ways.
How the hell am I supposed to get ahold of Nate when he has all my personal belongings, including the research for my assignment? How am I supposed to stagger forward if that means leaving Nate behind when I need him yet again?
To top it off, now I have to deal with Garrett before bed.
This is not one of those moments I want to lose control.
The workday was useless and unproductive.
My mind was too drowned out trying to find a way of getting ahold of Nate. I had no idea how I was going to get my personal belongings back.
It left me with this strange emptiness and a little panic as I searched for a solution.
That was until an epiphany hit around three in the afternoon.
Rebecca drifted into my office, probing for romantic details. After she reached for my card holder on my desk as a distraction to my sour attitude, she chirped, “We need to order you more business cards.”
“What did you say?” I gasped.
“Business cards. You need more. Touch base with Vicky in the admin office—”
“You’re a genius! I could hug you right now!” I shouted from behind my desk.
She left shortly after to avoid any physical contact. Rebecca may be all about finding her center and drinking wheat grass, but she isn’t the biggest fan of affection. Hell, if I hugged her, I’d have wrinkled her blouse, which could start an apocalypse in her world.
Regardless, her comment had me remembering that Nate gave me his business card during our first meeting. That seems ages ago, even if it was only a few weeks.
Oh my, how time flies.
I hope it’s still in the back pocket of my jeans crumpled in the corner of my room.
For once, thank goodness for my lack of domestic sensibilities.
I figured after finding my solution I’d focus better at work, but it only made it worse.
I only got antsier.
Red flags went up in my brain. I’ve never been dependent on a phone call or a guy. I told myself I’m not going to start now, because if that’s the case, I have a bigger problem than contacting Nate, and it lies a little deeper than a professional relationship, which absolutely cannot happen.
I shook the thought off, determined to keep my eye on the overall goal, which is finishing this assignment and getting back the notes Nate holds, along with my most important possessions.
Though I managed a full workday, I denied margaritas with my coworkers, who seem to be in the same state of need as me. To relax. To deflate from the overhanging weight of work, and all other life variables. Our deadlines are coming up quickly, including my own. Sure, on most nights, tequila might be the answer, but right now, my only solution lies in a navy business card.
I bust through my front door at my usual six o’clock after an hour of anxiety-inducing Los Angeles traffic.
I walk straight to my bedroom, and when a long exhale escapes me in the silence, I know this is a sign I need to chill out.
I shake it off and tell myself that calling Nate is not the most important thing in the world. There’s got to be balance in this, right? I need to find it. Being so high strung about a phone call should set off alarm bells for any self-respected, independent woman.
Knowing this, I attempt unwinding before searching for the business card.
I change my clothes into something comfortable. I toss my constricting push-up bra across the room in exchange for a sports bra. I throw on an oversized, moth-eaten, knit sweater, and a pair of spandex workout shorts. It’s been chilly these evenings, and since I’m not a fan of pants, I grab a pair of knee-high black socks from a drawer and slip them on.
“Much better,” I whisper, more at ease under the lax attire.
I pull in a leveling breath, finally allowing my eyes to scan the room, landing on the pile of dirty clothes.
I nearly dive into it, quickly pulling out my favorite pair of skinny jeans.
“Please still be in my pocket,” I whisper again, and I know I’m losing it.
My hand finds my back pocket, and I squeal with excitement when my hand touches a rectangular piece of card stock. I yank it out, shouting, “VOILA!”
I collapse on the edge of my bed, taking a seat to examine it. I snicker as I look at the simple gold text and his phone number embossed into the fancy navy card. It’s such a funny example of the iceman Nate tries to exude. The card is formal, sure, but Nate isn’t once you crack through the layer of ice. He’s kind of a warm rip current—exciting, inviting, and unpredictable.
I smile, blindly reaching behind me for an object that I think is going to be there based on habit.
“I’m an idiot.” I slap my forehead with my palm. “Stop talking to yourself.”
The cell phone I reached for isn’t going to be there because, well duh, Nate has it.
I release an exasperated huff, knowing that patience is a virtue I don’t have.
The rounding sound of the front door interrupts my tantrum.
“Garrett!” I shout, knowing that my solution lies in the one man I shouldn’t ask anything of right now.
However, I don’t care. He owes me. I practically frolic out of my bedroom.
He’s in the living room, his eyes scanning the length of me before gifting me a warm smile. “Lo, just the girl I want to see. Ready to talk?”
I nearly trip over my own feet. “O-oh yeah, talk,” I stutter.
“Yeah, actually I need to get this off my chest. I spent all day trying to figure out the right words, and I need to say it out loud.”
“Garrett, please. First, I really need to use your—”
“No, wait. I think I’ve done a lot of cowering and not facing my feelings—”
I shake my head, freaking out. My eyes go wide. “You should—”
“Let me finish.” He raises his hand as he pulls in a deep breath before continuing. “I know this is long overdue, but I’ve spent some serious time figuring this out. I hate how things have been with us lately. I want to make them right. I know it’s scary, but you have to trust me here. You’re nervous, I get it, but there’s always been something there. I’ve felt it as much as you, but I’ve never been man enough to face it.”
He’s going to ruin everything, and all I can do is watch it unfold while still twirling Nate’s business card in my hand.
“These past weeks have taught me a lot, and I hate how this is making me feel. I know you’re going to push me away, but I won’t let you. I want to show you that I mean it when I say that I’m in love with you. No more games. I love—”
“STOP!” I shout, hyperventilating. “Garrett, you don’t know what you’re saying. I know you want to talk, but can this wait? I really need to use your phone first—”
His lips are on mine in a moment that surely breaks the time-space continuum based on the fact this can’t be happening.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The knocking at the front door convinces Garrett to pull away from my mouth. Did he notice I didn’t kiss him back? Or that his lips tried to coax my petrified ones open with no success? And does he realize it’s not because there’s a person at our front door?
“Lo,” he whines. “You—”
“I need a minute!” I raise my hand to stop him, gasping for air. “Garrett, just no.” I wipe my lips of his kiss, as if I drew on myself with pen, swiping back at forth to get rid of the mark. “Yeah. No.” I sigh remorsefully.
“No, what?”
“Take back what you just did and what you said!” I stomp my right foot.
He didn’t need to do this. It’s not fair, and it’s not right. My reaction may be childish, but he’s made me this way.
His brows pull together. “What? Take it back? Hells-to-the-no. Do you have any idea how long it took me to figure out that I’m in love with you?”
I shake my head in unison with the sound of more knocking.
“No. You don’t love me, and if you do, it’s too late.”
“Too l
ate?” he asks, more angry than sad.
“I’ve been in love with you for so long, and now you want me to return the feelings? It’s too late,” I repeat.
I can’t believe I’ve said that. I used to think I would do anything to hear Garrett say those words. I attempt to pull myself out of the moment, and try a different approach. The one where I don’t shut Garrett down completely, trying to be rational. Everything is happening too fast.
“I-I just don’t know. I need time to think about this. When you said you wanted to talk, I—”
Louder knocking on the front door interrupts me, putting a hurdle between my focus and me.
Garrett shakes his head, confused and upset. I can’t blame the guy, but it doesn’t change the truth. I don’t want Garrett that way anymore. How long have I felt this way?
“I’ll get the door,” he says as a way to save his only lifeline, his pride.
I’m pacing my living room, knowing that once Garrett is done with the solicitor selling something, or a neighbor who needs sugar, I—
“And you are?”
“Um, Nathan. Is Lauren around?”
My chin snaps up so fast toward the door that I almost break my neck.
Nate.
I stare at his navy blue and gold embossed business card still in my hand and slide it into my back pocket as I slink toward the door, then realize I don’t have a back pocket in my shorts. I slip it into my sports bra under my sweater.
He can’t know I’ve been desperate to hear from him. The card would incriminate me.
I step next to Garrett, who’s glaring at Nate standing in the hallway.
I wish Nate didn’t look so fricken good right now, because it isn’t helping the fact I can’t stop thinking about him.
He reminds me of how he looked when we first met. He’s not encased in a sharp linen shirt or suit. Nope. His eyes twinkle when he catches sight of me. He’s wearing a carefree smile when we lock eyes. His dark gray Henley hugs him in the right place, and he’s wearing dark jeans, paired with a black leather jacket. He’s beautiful and youthful looking, reminding me that Nate is not the frigid man he wields during evenings under tubes of glowing neon.