Crashing into Her

by Mia Sosa

  “Something wrong?” I ask.

  “Everything’s right,” she says, grabbing a fistful of my shirt and tugging me close. Her mouth is parted, and her chest is rising and falling like she’s just finished a race. “But I don’t want to get in this truck with you.”

  My heart bangs against my chest, thumping wildly to mimic my erratic thoughts. Where did this come from? What does she mean? What should I say? I don’t want to misconstrue her signals, but the possibility that she’s as weak for me as I am for her makes me lightheaded. A wave of heat spreads through me, and my cock hardens against the fabric of my jeans. “What do you want, then?”

  Her brown eyes are glossy and soft as she whispers an answer, her voice shaking with need. “I want you to fuck me. Right here. Right now.”

  I lean over, burying my face in the crook of her neck and groaning at the thought alone. The goddamn sugar cookie scent is back and I’m done for. She takes a deep breath and rubs the back of my head, running her fingers through my hair.

  “Someone could see us,” I note, trying to be the voice of reason. In reality, the passenger side is facing a multicolored brick wall, so we’re unlikely to be disturbed.

  She takes my head in her hands and brings our faces close. Chest heaving, she says, “Do I look like I care?”

  The urge to devour her in every way possible is tangible, so strong I could reach out and touch it, mold it to my will. This beautiful, sweet, funny woman wants me inside her, and I’ll be damned if I deny her, deny myself, the pleasure we both crave. “Panties. Off. Dress. Up.”

  The words come out like marching orders, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She scrambles inside the cab and makes quick work of her underwear. Then she tugs her dress up to the waist, oblivious to how deeply I’m affected by the sight of her. My knees buckle. The neat strip of hair covering her mound does nothing to hide how wet she is. I’m so enthralled by the view that I slow my own efforts to unbuckle my belt.

  She snaps her fingers. “Look less. Act more. You can savor later.”

  “Some help would be nice,” I growl, unable to contain my frustration with my current lack of coordination.

  With greedy fingers, she dives for my buckle, and I refocus my efforts, pulling the straps of her dress over and down her shoulders.

  “This stretchy material is my new best friend,” I tell her.

  “Jersey knit,” she says, pausing her work on my button fly when it’s time to slip her hands through the arm holes.

  Whatever that means. I pull her dress down to reveal a strapless bra that’s barely holding her tits inside. “Oh, fuck me.”

  She laughs. “That’s what I’m trying to do. But you’re not understanding that time is of the essence. Condom?”

  Reaching behind me, I say a silent thank-you to myself for always keeping two in my wallet and place one on her lap. She pops open the last jeans button, widens her legs, and slides her hands inside my pants, cupping my ass as she pulls me forward. “Damn, you feel good.”

  “Weren’t you just complaining about wasting time? Please feed your ass fetish later.”

  “Will do,” she says, laughing. Then she pulls my jeans down to my thighs, bringing my underwear with them and lowering her gaze to my dick. “Oh, shit, I’ve missed you, and I’m so fucking happy right now.”

  My dick jumps at the compliment.

  “You’ve got a live one there.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Will you put the condom on, please?”

  She straightens. “Oh, right.” Then she twists around, looking for it. “Where’d it go? Oh, here it is.” She rolls it on, clamps her legs around my waist, and guides me inside, so efficiently that I’m struggling to keep up. Inch by inch, she takes me in, her voice rising as I fill her. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh God, yes, that’s . . . yes.”

  I grit my teeth as she stretches to accommodate my thickness, and then, at long fucking last, I’m balls-deep inside Eva again. Squeezing my eyes shut, I grasp the cab’s frame for support and pump into her like my body’s made to do nothing else. I don’t know that I’m capable of speech anymore. She’s soft in some places, hard in others, and hot and lush everywhere in between. I just want to stay in this position and pass out. “Jesus, Eva, this is going to be quick, but I’ll make up for it later.”

  “There’s nothing to make up for,” she says between pants, her luscious tits bouncing in time to my thrusts. “This is perfect. Just don’t stop, okay?”

  I pause to regain my balance, and she hisses.

  “Do that again,” she whispers.

  I jerk my hips, pull out to the tip, and slam my way home. “What? Like that?”

  “Yes, please, please, please, do that again.”

  I repeat the move and her head falls back.

  “I’m going to come soon,” she says. “Are you close?”

  “I’ve been close since we started.”

  Wanting to prolong the tingling at the base of my dick but knowing that wouldn’t be wise, I slam the middle console up and tip Eva over so her body’s splayed across the seat. She raises her left arm over her head and grabs the steering wheel for leverage while I settle over her, bracing my arms on either side of her head.

  “How do you feel?” I ask. “Is this okay?”

  She moans her approval, adding, “So much more than okay.”

  I plunge into her again and again, knowing the instant she flexes her muscles around my cock and tightens around me like a vise. “Are you . . . trying . . . to break me?”

  Her voice is just as ragged as mine when she responds. “I’m trying . . . to make you . . . feel good.”

  “Fuck. You’re succeeding.”

  She’s writhing beneath me, her cries rising with each passing minute. I try to swallow them, but she twists her head from side to side, until she freezes and then splinters, her spasms strong enough to shake my body, too. “Anthony, yes. It’s . . . I . . . don’t stop.”

  “Dámelo. Yes, Eva. That. Is. It.” One more thrust sends me to the same state, a wave of mind-numbing pleasure coursing through me and snatching my breath. I’m stunned, blinking stupidly, as though I’ve never had sex before.

  In a way, it is new for us. Sex with someone you care about is entirely different from a hookup. And while I’ve experienced the latter with Eva, it’s only now that I’m experiencing the former with her. I want to bottle it up and carry it around with me like pique. “Incredible.”

  She stretches under me, her features soft and relaxed. “That it was.” I’m trying to regulate my breathing when she stills, abruptly sitting up and looking around her. “We should go before someone sees us.”

  I back off her, removing and tying off the condom in record time. As she struggles into her panties and readjusts the straps of her dress, I pull up my underwear and jeans, not bothering to button my fly. She never meets my gaze, though, and my gut tells me we’re back on shaky ground.

  I round the front of the truck and climb in, prepared to ask her what’s wrong.

  But Eva’s got other plans. She fastens her seat belt, turns to me, and says, “That was great. Thank you.” Then she closes her eyes, a satisfied smile dominating her pretty face. “You don’t mind if I take a short nap, do you? I’m wiped out.”

  “Go right ahead,” I say, acknowledging that she could in fact be exhausted given that I’m sleepy as hell, too. Then my dumb ass remembers that she lives ten blocks away, hardly enough time for a nap. No, she’s shutting me out—whereas I’m prepared to let her in. Or try to. I’m still considering how to let her know I want more than the occasional hookup when I park the car in front of her apartment complex.

  “Eva,” I say, tapping her on the shoulder.

  She opens her eyes and looks around. “Oh, we’re here.” She quickly unfastens the seat belt, reaches over, and squeezes my hand. “That was great. Thank you.” She’s repeating the words she said ten minutes ago like some fucking robot on autopilot. What the hell? Then she climbs out of the car and sprints to the entran
ce of the complex. As I watch her slip through the doors, an astonishing fact comes to me: We never kissed. Not once.

  And now I’m wondering how an amazing evening turned to shit in the span of a few seconds.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Look, guys, a post-sex debriefing isn’t necessary. Just grab your shoes and go.

  Eva

  I’m scrambling to get ready for work when my intercom buzzes. “Yes?”

  “Eva, it’s Anthony.”

  Crap. I can’t do this now. He’s probably going to tell me he regrets what happened last night. I couldn’t have made it clearer that I was willing to work within the constraints he places on building relationships—I even had sex in public for the first time, for God’s sake—but maybe he thinks I need a refresher. I’ll pass, thank you.

  “Uh, I’m kind of busy. One of the instructors called out sick, so Tori asked me to come in this morning.”

  “How were you going to get there?”

  “Metro.”

  “What if I drive you to the studio? That’ll save you plenty of time. We can talk before you go.”

  Not a bad compromise. Since he obviously needs to get this off his chest, I should at least get something out of it. “Okay, come on up.”

  A minute later, he’s at my apartment, wearing training pants and a V-neck hoodie. V-necks are a staple of his wardrobe, apparently. Oh, and his hair is mussed, as though he rolled out of bed, threw on his clothes, and came to my door. Seeing him this way prompts me to think of what it would be like to wake up in his arms and witness his bedhead first thing in the morning. It’s never going to happen, but my imagination doesn’t care.

  “Good morning,” he says carefully, as though he’s testing whether I’m receptive to the greeting.

  “Morning,” I mumble, feeling wary of what comes after it. I wave him in. “So, what’s so important that you had to speak to me before 9:00 a.m.?”

  He ignores my question and strides inside. “What class are you teaching?”

  “Cardio kickboxing.”

  The corners of his lips quirk up. “You should be excellent at that.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Why is that?”

  “Cardio kickboxing is all about harnessing your strength and doling it out in quick bursts. It’s the perfect mix of power and energy. That’s you in a nutshell.”

  Oh, that’s good. He’s trying to disarm me. That must be what’s going on here. “Anthony, why are you here?”

  “I need to speak with you about last night.”

  Yep, called it. I sigh, knowing from experience how this conversation will progress. “Fine. We might as well get comfortable for this.”

  We sit on opposite ends of the couch. I tuck my legs under me and hug my favorite throw pillow, a tacky canary-yellow gem with pom-poms all around the edges.

  He leans on his thighs, making a steeple with his fingers and resting it on his chin. Then he slowly turns his head and meets my gaze. “First, I want to tell you that I thought last night was incredible.”

  “But?”

  He smoothes his hands on his thighs. Stalling. “But—”

  I’m unable to keep the frustration out of my voice when I ask, “But what, Anthony? But it shouldn’t have happened? But it can’t happen again?” I park my expression in Neutral, willing myself not to show any distress. It’s a challenge, but I’m up for it.

  Silently, he considers me as he pokes the inside of his mouth with his tongue. A few seconds later, he sits up and peers at me, his mouth curved into a sexy smile. “Let me start again. Last night was incredible, but I hate that we didn’t have enough time to do more. Much more.”

  He moves an inch closer. “Last night was incredible, but I think you wanted to keep it impersonal, and only after experiencing impersonal did I realize it doesn’t fit the way I feel about you.”

  My heart is hammering against my chest. This isn’t going the way I expected it to. And now I’m feeling all kinds of foolish for assuming he was here to cut me off. If Anthony’s taught me anything in the time we’ve known each other, it’s that I should never expect the worst of him.

  He moves another inch closer. “And last night was incredible, but I want the chance to show you it can be even better between us. If you can be patient with me.”

  Now I’m the one scooting toward him, my arm brushing against his.

  “Last night was incredible, but I wish we’d kissed,” he says. “Can I kiss you now?”

  Kissing would be nice, but it doesn’t give me answers. “What exactly do you want from me?”

  “The better question is, what exactly do you want from me?”

  Oh. Wow. No one’s ever flipped a question like that to make it about me. Although what I’d really like to do is make it about us. “If I told you I want to build a relationship with you, what would you say?”

  He ponders this for more seconds than I like, but eventually he answers. “I’d say I’ve never been boyfriend material, but I’d like to try with you.”

  “And what brought on this miraculous change in your no-dating tune?”

  “You, Eva. You brought this on.” He draws my hand away from the pillow and laces his fingers with mine. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re on my mind more hours than I’ll ever admit. I want to laugh and hang out with you. Be the person you wake up with. Give you—and only you—mind-blowing orgasms on the regular. Hold your hand when we’re walking down the street. Let you have your way with me. All of that sounds like dating to me.”

  “Why have you been fighting this so hard?”

  He shifts away from me, taking what appears to be much-needed space, and drops his head.

  I place a hand on his thigh and he lifts his chin, giving me a reluctant smile.

  Several beats later, he says, “Don’t ask me to explain why because I won’t be able to, but that simple touch, you placing your hand on my lap, it does something to me. It’s . . . I don’t know . . . comforting and arousing at the same time.”

  I squeeze his thigh. “I love everything you just said, but I know when you’re trying to divert my attention. Tell me about her. Please.”

  He returns to his original spot next to me, erasing the small space he created between us. “It’s not a long story. I dated a woman about a year into my move here. I’d just moved from Costa Mesa to LA for my job, and she was the receptionist there, at the messenger service I told you about. We were inseparable for a year, but she never really believed that I wanted to be with her exclusively. She’d built me up in her mind as this incorrigible flirt who’d eventually be a player even though I tried to prove otherwise. Looking back, I suspect some of it might have been her own stereotypical beliefs about Latino men. I couldn’t be faithful because that’s not what we’re known for, is probably how she saw it. She suggested as much once. And I remember her being fascinated by the idea that my father cooked, as though that’s not a thing.”

  I laugh at the ridiculousness of that idea. “Oh, I know damn well it’s a thing. Luis can cook for me anytime.”

  He smiles and takes my hand, kissing the back of it before he continues. “Anyway, I was young and in love and I wanted it to work. And I tried. I really did. But she was miserable. And in my mind, I’d done that to her.”

  I get on my knees and pull him to me, wrapping my arms around him. “Anthony, she did that to herself. Those were her insecurities playing out.”

  He leans against me, letting me take his weight. “I can see that now. But it just turned me against relationships. I didn’t want to hurt anyone like that again. I’d seen what that kind of hurt could do to a person, watching my father turn himself inside out for my mother. So I figured if I always kept it light, made it clear that there was no chance of a relationship, there’d also be no chance that I’d hurt someone like I hurt Melissa, or how my mother hurt my dad. I just didn’t want to affect anyone. Not in that way, at least.”

  Goodness. I think back to all the things I said t
o him. About being manipulative. About playing with woman’s hearts. Anthony was doing the opposite of that, but I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t get past my own biases to see the real man underneath. “Anthony, I hate to break it to you, but you do affect people. Your father. Tori. Kurt. Me. Oh God, how you affect me. In the best way. Always in the best way.”

  He lifts his chin and brushes his lips against my jaw. “We have one problem, though.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. “What is it?”

  “Kurt’s going to kill me,” he says. “As an instructor, I shouldn’t be pursuing you, although the reality is, we’d already been together before boot camp started.”

  I take his shoulders and shake him. “Anthony, it’s boot camp. And we have three more weeks to go. Kurt will be fine.”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” he says, though his voice isn’t as enthusiastic as it was about everything else.

  “Do you think you could promise not to treat me differently?” I ask him.

  He hesitates.

  “Let me make it easier on you. Do you think you could promise not to undermine me?”

  This time he doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

  “And can you promise not to give me any advantage over anyone else?”

  He nods.

  “Then Kurt can mind his own business.”

  The corner of his eyes crinkle. “I think that’s what he’s trying to do, Eva.”

  I throw my head back. “What I mean is, Kurt can stay out of our personal business. It’s not like the class will last forever.”

  He ponders this, which, honestly, makes admire him even more. He’s thoughtful. Wants to do the right thing. “Yeah, you’re right that it’s not forever. So what now? Want to watch Netflix?”

  I’m interested in revisiting what he said earlier. That bit about him wanting to show me how good it could be between us? That, please. I flip my leg over and straddle him. And he’s ready, adjusting me to fit comfortably on his lap and pulling me close.

  I place my hands on his shoulders. “I want that kiss now.”