Undecided(55)

“You good to go?” he asks.

“I’m good.”

“Anything else you need in Gatsby?”

“I’m all set.”

We drive in silence until we reach the freeway, more of an uncomfortable I-don’t-know-what-to-say quiet than an angry one, and Crosbie finally reaches over to turn up the volume on the radio. An old pop song fills the air and I think about one time last winter when a freak snow storm blew through and Marcela, Nate and I were trapped in the coffee shop over night. Marcela played this song on her phone and showed us the dance she’d done to it in her third grade talent show, where she’d come in second. I remember watching Nate hand her a star-shaped cookie and telling her she would have gotten first place if he’d been the judge. He’d done so many sweet things for her and she’d been entirely oblivious.

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” I blurt out when Crosbie turns onto my street.

He’s quiet as he parks beneath a tree a couple of doors down. The streetlights are blocked out and we’re cocooned in darkness. He flexes his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s fine. You didn’t.”

“I think I did.”

He glances at me. “You didn’t.”

“Thanks for the movie. And the nachos.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And the illusion.”

He laughs roughly. “Any time.”

I unbuckle my belt. I should get out of the car and let this strange thing between us melt away, but I don’t. Instead I shift onto my knees and lean over the gear shift to kiss him. I hold his face in my hands and press our lips together, waiting for him to stop me like he’d waited for me that first time, but he doesn’t. I stroke his ears and his hair and the stiff muscles in his neck, all the things I’ve been wondering about. His hair is a cropped mess of unruly curls but it’s surprisingly soft, and when I trace my nails along the back of his ear I feel him inhale. I sink my teeth lightly into his lower lip and he groans deep in his throat and parts his lips. I slip my tongue into his mouth and he finally lifts one hand to cup the back of my head, the solid pressure of his fingers the only indication he needs this as much as I do.

But I want so much more than this, and if the increasingly frenzied intensity of our kisses is any indication, so does he. My heart is pounding as I unzip my jacket and shove it over my shoulders. Crosbie opens his eyes, the whites just visible in the darkness. “You want—” He doesn’t finish the sentence before I’m kissing him again, undoing his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. I scrape my nails across his chest and he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns as best he can in the close quarters. I want to straddle him, f*ck him, ride him, but there’s no room for both of us in the driver’s seat.

“Nora,” he gasps.

“I want,” I breathe against his lips.

“You…” He looks around quickly, assessing the situation. “All right. Hang on.” He lifts my hips so he can raise himself over the gear stick and slide into my seat instead. He reclines the back and I come down over him, hands and lips and heat everywhere.

“You’ve gotta get these off,” he mutters, fingers tangling in the waistband of my jeans. I mumble incoherently as I try to kick off my sneakers without kneeing Crosbie in the crotch, then we both work my jeans and panties down my legs until I get one foot free to properly straddle him.

He keeps his eyes open, locked on mine, as he unbuttons his own jeans and frees his erection. It’s too dark for me to fully appreciate it, but I see his arm move and know he’s stroking himself. He’d done this last time, too, and I never even got to touch.

“Let me,” I whisper against his lips. My hand replaces his and we both groan. He’s thick and hot and hard, everything I want and need. Even before he slips his hand between my legs I’m moaning, and the stretch of his fingers inside me, teasing, preparing, makes me want to seize up and explode. It’s freezing outside but I feel sweat on my back, see it beading on Crosbie’s temple, reflecting in the tiny bit of moonlight that filters in.

“Let me get a condom,” he grunts, straightening up to reach into the glove box. He gets one open and rolled on in record time and moments later I’m slowly easing him in. My breath catches at the feel, perfect and satisfying. An enormous relief after the tension at dinner. My muscles go weak and my thighs shake as I try not to impale myself too quickly, shuddering when he’s finally buried and I can catch my breath.

“Nora,” he murmurs, cupping my face and kissing me. Our chests press together and even through my shirt I can feel the heat of his skin, the rapid thud of his heart. He kisses me deeply, wetly, like it means something, and though I wanted to f*ck him, my body has other ideas. Instead I shift and slide slowly, the movement slick with friction and heady arousal, reaching places I didn’t even know existed.

Crosbie strokes the side of my face, my ribs, my back, my ass. He guides me gently, the pace increasing, the sound of skin on skin soon filling the car, drowning out our gasping breaths.

I come first, thighs locking as I grind against him, dragging out every ounce of pleasure. His fingers dig into my ass and I see him gritting his teeth, trying not to move. I sag against his chest and he correctly interprets it to mean I’m done, then lifts me slightly and slams his hips up, driving into me a dozen more times before he cries out, the sound smothered in my throat.