Social Suicide (Texting Harry Styles)

17

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 26 2018

“Crap!” I yelled suddenly. Harry jumped, slamming the brake for a split second. I was jostled forwards then backwards against the seat.

“Jesus! What, what?!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I forgot my cart in my trunk.”

“Your what?”

“Since I don't live on the bottom floor, I have this foldable cart for my groceries so I can make just one trip.”

“My god, Noelle. Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

Without thinking, I reached over and placed my hand on his chest. I smiled when he froze.

“Your pulse is racing,” I confirmed. “My apologies.”

I didn’t move my hand. He kept glancing from the road to me and back again. He pulled up to a stop sign and stared at me. I licked my bottom lip, unsure of what I was waiting for.

I lunged forward and he met my touch with just as much enthusiasm.

“Hold that thought,” he mumbled against my mouth.

He glanced around and hit the gas again. Less than a minute later, he parked under a shaded tree behind an abandoned building. I tried not to think about how he knew where to find this place so quickly.

I unfastened my seatbelt as he fully reclined his chair, and wasted no time in climbing onto his lap. My body clung to his and kissed everywhere I could easily reach.

“Wait, wait... Are you sure you’re okay enough for this?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“I don’t want you to pass out on me or anything.” He started to pull away.

I grabbed a fistful of his curls and forced him to look me in the eye. “Harry. Listen to me. I’m fine. I’m more than fine.”

He didn’t keep his eyes off my lips, inching closer and closer to me again.

I sighed softly. “Harry... Please,” I moaned.

He kissed me again. His roughness was exactly what I needed.

I shoved his blue shirt halfway up his torso and undid the button on his jeans. Part of my mind was wondering how I would get my own jeans off without looking like the opposite of sexy.

Almost like he read my mind, he slowly switched places with me. He reached down with one hand while he held himself up with his other. With both of his knees resting on the seat, he moved both of my legs up to one side of him and pulled my pants down to my mid-thigh.

My heart was thudding heavily—almost painfully—and the pit of my stomach was churning. I slid my panties down while he fumbled with his zipper. Our mouths barely disconnected for more than a second.

The cool air met my wetness and I shivered. He laid his forehead on mine.

“I...” he began.

“Harry?”

He shook his head and kissed me one more time before moving upright and looking down to see what he was doing. I was too excited to ask him what he was going to say.

I felt him spread apart my folds and, at the most frustratingly slow pace, enter himself. We moaned loudly together. It felt just as amazing and mind-altering as the first time.

I’ve heard many things about car sex. Most of it bad. This was absolutely not what I expected.

Harry gripped my sides tightly and I welcomed that kind of pain. It added to the pleasure.