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buckle up...

Aven Brooks

I can't take it any longer.

I shouldn't give in to these urges but fuck, I want this.

"Pull over." I turn my head to look at him, not able to contain this any longer despite my better instinct.

He silently keeps his eyes on mine for a second, flicking back and forth from the road with one hand on the wheel.

"You sure?"

"I need you to pull over," I repeat with a nod, his fingers frozen in place on me.

He looks ahead at the road, going silent while scanning the area. I twist my hips in pure lust, his fingers teasingly running up and down my slit again. He doesn't give me the satisfaction of focusing on my clit. The anticipation of it all is making me pulse so bad that he can probably feel it.

He does a sharp turn into a double-ended alleyway, one wide enough for the car. He drives deep enough between the brick buildings so we were secluded as much as possible. It's New York though, who knows how much time we have before someone walks by.

Slamming the car into park, he undoes his seatbelt while continuing the stroke up and down my slit with his two fingers. It's embarrassing how wet I am at this point. His eyes meet the contact, lips parting at what he's seeing.

"When was the last time someone has done this to you?" He rasps, reaching my clit with every stroke.

I lay my head back on the headrest and shut my eyes, finding it hard to stay still. Every muscle in my body is tight while every nerve seems to sway like waves.

"Be honest." He prods.

He knows the answer. He just wants me to admit that it was him.

"God, shut up." I breathe unstably.

He stops touching me. Instead, he grabs the hook of my right leg and yanks it towards him. I open my eyes at the sudden transition of him flipping me over the middle console of the car. I barely have a chance to protest before I'm straddling his lap in the driver's seat.

"You know I don't do well with attitude." He glares through dark eyes, the single safety light above our head being the only light. It casts a very dim warm glow on us in this dark night.

I stare down at him from my slight height advantage on his lap, calling his bluff. "And what are you gonna do, Harry? Go drop me off instead?"

He chuckles sadistically, slowly shaking his head.

"No, sucker." He grabs both of my legs and contorts them so I transition to straddling one of his thighs rather than both. "You're going to do the work if you want to feel good."

He reaches down to the seat leaver, pulling it to ever so slightly tilt his chair back a fraction so I have more room. With mischief in his eyes, he slides his hands under my skirt to grab my hips.

"So, go on," he awaits. "Get yourself off."

Looking down at his thigh, I realize what he means. With my skirt bunched up, my underwear still on, he's giving me an opportunity. My eyes flick back to his as his hands start swaying my hips back and forth for me.

"Just like this..." He whispers while rocking my hips precariously up and down his thigh.

At first, I don't understand. But as I start to experience the friction of grinding on him through our clothes, I realize the pleasure this holds. It wasn't grinding on his dick, it was his thigh. It's singularly for my pleasure because like he said before, he doesn't want to experience an orgasm unless it's when we have sex.

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