Road Trip

I've known Amber for as long as I can remember. She was the daughter of one of my dad's old friends--the kind of family friendship born from cookouts, borrowed tools, and holiday cards signed with love from people you barely knew.  

We grew up side by side. Summers at the pool, birthday parties, awkward braces and all. I saw her when she was a gangly tomboy with grass-stained knees and I watched her become the kind of beautiful that made conversation hard. The kind that ruined every other girl for me without even trying.

That didn't stop just because our parents still called each other "Uncle" and "Aunt."

It sure as hell didn't stop when I started wanting her in ways I had no business admitting out loud. I'd been trying to get inside Amber's pants since high school. Quietly and unsuccessfully.

Now here we were, last year of college, and what started as a big group road trip to Savannah had slowly unraveled as everyone else bailed. Exams, internships, breakups... life got in the way.

But not for us.

It was just me and Amber now. Five days. Five thousand miles. From the Pacific to the Atlantic. Coast to coast, just the two of us in a beat-up Civic.

I'm surprised she didnt back out too. I didn't mind though. In fact, I might've wanted it this way all along.

She showed up that morning in cutoffs and a faded band tee, oversized sunglasses and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Hair in a messy bun. No makeup.

"You sure you're ready to spend five days trapped in a car with me?" she asked, smirking like she already knew the answer.

I grabbed her bag, tossed it in the trunk.

"Sure, as long as you don't snore the whole time I am driving."

"Deal. But I'm picking snacks. No weird beef jerky this time."

We slid into the car. I started the engine.  As we pulled away from the Santa Monica coastline, the sun lit up her legs like they were carved from honey, smooth, golden, impossible to ignore. The sunlight kissed every curve and all I could think was how unfair it was for someone to look that good doing nothing at all. This was either going to be a really good or a really long trip--and probably both.

We stopped for gas and bad coffee at a gas station in Barstow. She bought Twizzlers and sunglasses shaped like hearts, then climbed back into the car and unwrapped the candy with slow fingers. She took a bite and pulled the candy between her lips, eyes on the road but fully aware of how she looked. Her tongue flicked out, catching the sugar at the corner of her mouth. I tried not to stare, but her lips were shiny, sticky red--and I was already thinking about them in ways I shouldn't.

"What?" she asked, smirking without turning her head. "You look like you're watching a slow-motion car crash."

"Just... surprised you didn't get Sour Patch instead."

She laughed, deep and low. "Too easy. I like something I can work with."

She slid another piece between her teeth. And I kept my hands on the wheel, trying not to think about what else she might be willing to work with.

Eventually the desert gave way to city lights just after dark, neon flickering up over the horizon. Vegas always felt fake to me--too bright, too loud, too desperate--but Amber lit up the second we hit the Strip. Her eyes widened, mouth parted slightly, and she leaned forward in her seat like she was afraid to blink and miss something.

"God, look at it," she said, pressing her hand to the glass. "It's ridiculous. I love it."

I watched the lights, but more than that, I watched her.

"You planning on getting wild tonight?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

She looked over her shoulder with a slow grin. "Depends on how well you behave."

We checked into the Cosmo around 8. Amber insisted it was the one place she had to stay. She said the view was insane and the bathroom mirrors were made for good selfies. I didn't argue. I wasn't about to deny her anything when she looked that happy.

Our room was high up, with a balcony that looked out over the Bellagio fountains. She stepped outside immediately, arms out, letting the warm Vegas air kiss her bare skin.

"This feels right," she said, grinning back at me, her eyes catching the gold of the setting sun like they were made to reflect it.

She disappeared into the bathroom with her bag, told me to be ready in thirty. I watched SportsCenter on mute and tried not to think about her getting dressed inches away. The water ran, the hairdryer kicked on. Every now and then I caught the rustle of fabric, a zipper, the quiet hum of her voice as she sang to herself.

When she finally emerged, I forgot how to breathe.

Short black dress. Bare shoulders. Heels that made her legs look like they went on forever. The fabric hugged her hips like it had been poured on. Her skin glowed, her lips shimmered, and her eyes had that dangerous spark that only showed when she was fully aware of her own effect.

I felt myself harden instantly, the kind of response I couldn't will away. But I played it cool. I had to. She couldn't know how badly I wanted her to drop to her knees right then and there.

She twirled slowly, deliberately, her ass giving a slight jiggle at the end of the spin.

"Well?" she asked, head tilted, watching me with a knowing smile.

"You clean up... nice," I muttered, voice tight.

She smirked. "Good. Let's go."

The club was everything I expected and still too much. Lights like lightning. Bass that pounded in your chest. Sweat-slick bodies pressing against each other in time with the music.

Amber didn't hesitate. She pulled me into the heart of it, hands already on me, dancing like we weren't supposed to survive the night.

Her back found my chest, smooth and warm through her thin black dress, her hips moving in slow, deliberate circles that made it hard to think. The dress clung to her with every motion, sliding up her thighs just enough to tease, to taunt, to show me exactly what I wasn't supposed to want.

I placed my hands on her waist, cautious at first, but she reached back without looking and guided them lower--over the curve of her hips, just above the hem of her dress. My fingers skimmed bare skin and I swallowed hard, heat rushing through me so fast it made my hands shake.

I got hard. Fast. Obvious.

I hated how quickly it happened--how there was no hiding it.

She was pressed up against me too close, too right, and I couldn't make myself pull away. I told myself maybe she'd had too much to drink. Maybe she wouldn't remember. Maybe it wouldn't mean anything in the morning.

Her ass rolled back into me, slow and sure, like she felt it already.

The lights spun above us. Her dress slid higher with every grind. The silk of it bunched at her hips and I could feel the heat of her through the thin barrier left between us. Her hair brushed my jaw as she leaned back, her mouth just close enough to graze my cheek.

"You're tense," she murmured, playful and low.

I laughed it off, barely.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," she said, dragging her nails lightly down my arm. "Honestly... I kinda like it."

She went right back to dancing after that like it was nothing, like she hadn't just commented on her body grinding against my hard-on.

***

She collapsed onto the bed, one heel still on, the other somewhere lost in the hallway.

"My feet are dead," she groaned. "You're a terrible dance partner, by the way."

"You were dancing for both of us."

"Damn right I was."

She rolled onto her side, looking at me with heavy eyes. Her dress had ridden up just enough to make me lose my train of thought.

"Did you have fun?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

She nodded. "More than I should've."

"Why 'should've'?"

She didn't answer right away. Just reached out and tugged my shirt, pulling me down beside her.

"I forget how easy it is to feel good with you," she said, softer now.

I didn't know what to say to that. So I didn't say anything. Just lay there.

I was close enough to kiss her. I didn't

I fell asleep eventually and then came the dream.

Her legs wrapped around me. Smooth, strong, tight. We moved together like we had on the dance floor, but slower now, stripped of everything but skin and heat. No clothes. No space. Just friction and breath and that look in her eyes--half-closed, glazed, locked on mine like I was the only real thing in the world.

Her hands fisted the sheets, her mouth open letting out a soft moan. We moved in rhythm, in sync, like we'd been doing this for years instead of me just imagining it.

She said my name in the dream--not loud, not sweet. Raw. When I woke up, I was hard, breathless, heart pounding in the dark.

The room was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioner. Outside, the Strip still burned with life, but in here, it was still.

She was curled beneath the covers, her back to me, her hair spilled across the pillow.

I didn't sleep again. Instead i went into the restoom and used my hands to find that ryhtm again. I imagined her body moving with me, her breath on my skin, lips wrapped around me tightly instead of my own hands.

My hands were rough. but I was slick with precum. I worked my hands faster and harder, trying to get it to feel as good as the dream. My muscles were tense, my breathing heavy.

I wanted my to be on the dance floor again. Her body against mine. Only instead of hiding my erection, I wanted to slide it into her. I wanted feel her wrap around me. I wanted to fuck her brains out.

My balls were tight. My breathing was ragged. I came in streaks onto the mirror. It felt like I was coming forever, but it was only a minute, maybe two. I collapsed holding myself up with the sink. After I finally got my breathing under control, I washed the mirror off, showered and took a deep breath.

When I came back to the room Amber stretched under the covers with a quiet sigh, hair tousled, skin golden in the early light.

Amber yawned and pushed herself up on one elbow. "You look like hell," she said, eyes still hazy with sleep.

"Didn't sleep much."

She smirked. "Nightmares?"

I shrugged. "Something like that."

She rolled out of bed, blanket falling away to reveal the smooth curve of her hip where her tank had ridden up. She didn't bother adjusting it. Didn't seem to notice, or maybe she did and just didn't care.

"I remember most of last night," she said, padding barefoot across the room. "The music. The lights. You trying not to enjoy dancing with me too much."

I looked up, met her gaze.

"I wasn't trying."

She blinked--surprised maybe. Then gave me a slow, satisfied smile. "Good."

She disappeared into the bathroom, and I was left with the silence, and the weight of the dream.

***

We left the Strip behind in silence, the desert swallowing the skyline as quickly as it had appeared. Amber was quieter that day--less performative, but no less magnetic. Her bare legs curled up on the seat, a popsicle lazily melting between her fingers, streaking red across her knuckles and lips.

At one point, somewhere outside Flagstaff, she broke the silence with that voice she used when she was either bored or planning something.

"You ever gotten road head?" she asked, casual as you please.

I almost swerved.

"No," I said, too quickly.

She grinned, still watching the road. "I always thought it sounded hot. Not even the sex part, really. Just the idea of... doing that while someone's trying to keep it together. That tension. Being in control of their focus, knowing they have to keep driving while I'm down there--that does something for me."

I glanced at her, pulse suddenly pounding.

"And I mean..." she went on, licking a bit of cherry syrup from the corner of her mouth, "I like giving head. Like, genuinely. There's something powerful about it. Watching a guy come apart from something so simple."

She said it like she was talking about the weather. Like this was just some casual, late-afternoon chat between old friends. No intent. No pressure.

Just left the words hanging in the dry air between us.

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

Instead, I spent the next hundred miles trying not to think about her lips around me, her head bobbing gently between my legs while the car hummed along and I tried to keep it between the lines.

***

We reached Santa Fe, New Mexico that night.

The motel was modest--adobe-style, cracked tile floors, a single bed that sagged in the center. It smelled like dust and old linens, the kind of place you forget until something unforgettable happens inside it.

Amber dropped her bag and stretched, shirt riding high enough to flash a sliver of hipbone, a glimpse of skin just above the waistband of her shorts. She caught me looking, smiled faintly.

"I'm showering," she said, already turning away.

I nodded, throat tight. Tried not to watch her walk into the bathroom. Failed.

The door didn't close all the way.

Not wide open. Not an invitation.

Just enough.

I sat on the edge of the bed. I told myself to look at my phone, at the wall, anywhere else. But my eyes kept flicking to the mirror above the desk. The angle was just right. Just cruel.

Amber in the shower, one hand braced against the tile, the other between her legs. Steam rising. The faintest sounds drifting out.

It was a good view.

I told myself not to look. That I should let her be. I told myself, but my body wasn't listening. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Steam bloomed behind the glass. Her silhouette blurred, but it was still all there. The curve of her back, the sweep of her waist. She ran her hands through her hair, lifted it off her neck. The water streamed down her body.

Then--fuck me--she turned. Just enough. Just once. Her face angled toward the mirror. She had to know. She had to.

I looked away, heart hammering, guilt coiled in my chest like smoke.

When she came out, she wore a towel slung low and loose around her chest. Damp strands of hair clung to her collarbone. Her skin glowed, flushed pink from the heat. She didn't look at me. Didn't acknowledge anything.

She just climbed into bed and pulled the sheets up.

"You gonna shower?" she asked, voice soft, sleep already dragging at her words.

"Yeah," I said, barely.

I waited until her breathing slowed. Until she turned on her side and let out the smallest sigh. Then I stood, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door.

The steam still clung to the mirror.

Her scent still lingered in the air--sweet, human, intimate.

I stood at the sink for a long time, gripping the porcelain like it could steady me.

Then I turned the water on hot, stepped under the spray, and gave in.

My body was tight, pulsing. I'd been holding everything back. From her words in the car. From the way she moved. From the blurred glimpse of her in that mirror, naked, close, unreal.

I wrapped my hand around myself, breath catching as my eyes shut tight.

I saw her.

Kneeling between the seats. Her lips wrapped around me, slow and sure, her hand gripping my thigh while her eyes watched mine, amused and hungry. I imagined her mouth--wet, warm, pulling me in inch by inch. The moan she'd make when I grabbed her hair. The way her tongue would flick just right, cruel and perfect. The sound of her swallowing me whole.

I braced myself against the tile, chest heaving, the water masking the sharp, involuntary groan that ripped from my throat as I came hard.

It was raw, intense,   and messy.

When it passed, I just stood there. Let the water run over me, washing it away. Wanting more.

She was asleep when I came out, or pretending to be.

The towel she'd worn was crumpled on the floor. She lay on her side, tank top riding up slightly, a sliver of her lower back visible just above her underwear. One leg bent. The sheet barely covering her.

I climbed into bed slowly, facing the ceiling.

"Shower help?" she murmured suddenly, her voice drowsy but knowing.

I didn't respond.

She didn't press.  Just shifted under the covers, and let the silence stretch out.

Sleep came, eventually.

***

We hit Austin by late afternoon, sun still glaring and the air thick, every breath clinging to skin already too warm. Amber had the windows down, one leg tucked under her, hair whipped into knots by the wind. She looked wild. Free.  

"Tonight," she said, pointing ahead like we were chasing something. "No holding back. No rules. Just fun."

I nodded.  

The city buzzed like it had a fever. Music spilling out of every door, concrete radiating heat, strangers already swaying on sidewalks like the night had swallowed them whole. We checked into a hotel off Sixth Street--brick-walled, dark, the kind of place that didn't ask questions.

Later, on Sixth Street

Amber knocked back shots like she was trying to drown something. Tequila, vodka, bourbon--whatever was handed to her, she took with a tilt of her head and a grin that made strangers lean in too close.

"C'mon," she said, slurring just enough to be dangerous. "We're not here to sip and behave."

I tried to keep up, but mostly I watched. Watched her smile too big at guys who didn't know her. Watched her laugh when one tried to pull her toward the bar. My jaw clenched. I stepped in before she could say anything.

"She's good," I said, sharp and flat. My arm wrapped around her waist like it was natural. Like it had always been there.

She looked up at me, surprised. But not displeased.

"Oh, now we're playing possessive?" she teased, close enough I could feel her breath on my cheek.

"Someone's gotta keep your drunk ass upright," I muttered, glaring at the guy until he turned away.

We danced. God, did we dance. Her back to my chest, grinding in a way that made everything I'd buried since Las Vegas come roaring back to the surface. Her body against mine made it impossible to pretend. There was no chivalry left in me, not with her moving like that, not with her ass rolling into my lap while I tried to stay cool.

"Relax," she whispered, voice hot and sticky. "You're allowed to want me."

Her hair clung to the sweat on her neck. She turned to face me, hands trailing down my sides, her fingers tracing the lines of my hips. The music throbbed, and her hands gripped my belt loops.

I pulled her hips against me. The fabric of her dress soft under my fingers, and she arched her back, pressing into me. I wanted to touch her bare skin, wanted to run my fingers over every inch of her body.

My thumbs skated along the bottom of her rib cage, and I could feel the muscles in her back tense. I lowered my hands to her bare thighs. My fingers pressed into her skin. Her hands gripped the hair at the back of my neck, pulling me close.

My hand slipped under her dress. She was wet, so fucking wet. I could feel her through the thin cotton she was wearing underneath. I wanted to rip the fabric apart, but she was already moving against me, urging my hand where she wanted it. I pushed the cotton aside and traced a finger through her folds. Her grip on my hair tightened, her nails digging into the base of my neck.

She moaned into my ear, her hips still rocking against me, urging me forward.

My finger pressed against her clit. She moaned again, the sound muffled in the crook of my neck.

The song ended, and the club returned to its normal volume. My hands were on her waist, the fabric of her dress bunched around my wrists.

We were both panting. She reached down and pulled her dress back over her thighs. Her fingers trailed over my belt.

I could barely breathe. She looked up at me, biting her lip..

"Let's get out of here."

***

We tumbled in to the hotel, breathless and clumsy. Her heels hit the floor with a clatter. I opened my mouth to say something--anything--but she was already there, pressing into me, lips hot and tasting like whiskey and want.

We kissed like we were starving. Like it had been building for years, not days.

She pushed me back against the wall, hands under my shirt, her thighs bracketing mine as she climbed up me, needing contact. I gripped her ass and hoisted her up, letting her grind into me, my cock already straining through denim, already aching. I couldn't pretend I didn't want her.

We hit the bed hard. Her bra came off fast. My hands were everywhere--waist, ribs, breasts, thighs. Every inch of her skin was warm, slick, alive.

She climbed onto me, straddling, rolling her hips in slow, teasing circles that made me gasp into her mouth. My hands shook as I traced the curve of her spine.

"I want this," she whispered.

I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to take her right then--to pull her underwear aside, slide into her, feel all of her wrapped around me. I wanted to see her fall apart. For me.

But something in me buckled. A flicker. A pause.

I looked at her--really looked--and saw the haze in her eyes, the shine of alcohol, the way her breath was too fast, too shallow.

Just like mine.

And suddenly, this didn't feel like the moment. It felt like a fire we hadn't thought to contain.

"Maybe we shouldn't," I said, barely above a whisper.

She stilled. Not angry. Not hurt. Just breathing.

Then she nodded, slow. "Yeah."

She kissed me once more--softer. Less urgent. Like a thank you or an apology.

Then she curled up beside me, her body still half-naked, her skin still burning against mine.

We didn't speak again.

We just lay there, coming down.

The room spun. My heart wouldn't slow. My body ached with the weight of what almost was.

I held the silence. Let her drift off leaving me awake beside her, skin buzzing, wondering what just happened.

The next morning was different.

No teasing. No jokes to deflect what had happened. Just silence so thick it hummed. The kind that vibrates between bodies when too much has been left unsaid--and even more has been felt.

She wore her sunglasses, but I could feel her watching me. Not playing. Not poking. Just watching.

We were past the point of pretending.

The air in the car was warm, heavy with the ghosts of last night. My hands stayed glued to the wheel at ten and two, like I was gripping the only thing keeping me from doing something reckless. But everything in me burned. My skin still ached where hers had touched. My lips remembered the taste of her laugh.

Texas blurred behind us, and the road stretched out like a promise I wasn't sure I wanted to outrun.

Amber pulled her hair up into a messy knot, exposing the smooth column of her throat. A bead of sweat slid down her neck, slow and perfect. Her tank top clung in places that made me want to run red lights just to feel her again.

She shifted, stretched her legs long, and crossed them in a way that made her shorts ride higher. Skin everywhere. Unapologetic.

She glanced at me, slow and deliberate. Her voice was quiet. Measured.

"Remember when I said I always wanted to try road head?"

My jaw clenched. The wheel felt too small in my hands.

"Yeah," I said, barely.

She didn't smile. Didn't flirt. There was no amusement in her face. Only heat. Only honesty.

"I wasn't kidding. I've always loved it--giving. There's something about it... the control, the intimacy. Watching someone unravel in real time, trying so hard to hold it together."

She leaned closer, her voice low enough to tremble in my bones. "And the taste. God. Feeling every twitch before it hits. Letting the first drops coat my tongue... waiting for more. That moment--right before he loses it completely--it gets me off."

My breath caught. My pulse thundered.

She turned fully toward me, one hand slipping onto my thigh. Not playful. Not testing. Just sure.

"Last night, when we stopped--I didn't want to. I only did because I was drunk. But now..."

She unbuckled her seatbelt, graceful and slow, then shifted towards me.

"Now I'm not."

I opened my mouth to say something, anything. But then her fingers were on my belt, my zipper, and all language left me.

Her hand slipped inside my jeans. Her palm brushed the length of me, and she paused.

"Fuck," she whispered.

Her fingers traced my erection. Her touch was soft and searching. Tentative. Her hand slipped beneath the waistband of my boxers. I hissed as her fingers wrapped around me. Her grip was firm. Possessive. Her hand slid down my length, and my hips bucked at the sensation.

She pulled me out with care. Her hand warm, her breath warmer. And then she wrapped her lips around me like she'd been waiting for this exact moment her whole life.

I groaned--loud. My knuckles whitened on the wheel.

She started slow. Deliberate.

Her tongue moved like silk, tracing me with aching precision. She sucked me deeper, inch by inch, her throat welcoming, steady. Every pull, every motion a confession. Her lips stretched.

She moaned around me. Soft, low, full of possession. The sound vibrated through me like thunder through bone.

I tried to focus on the road. I tried to breathe. But her pace was unrelenting, methodical. Her fingers dug into my thigh with every rhythm, grounding me just enough not to crash.

I could feel it building. A violent, beautiful undoing. My whole body tense, trembling. My foot hovered on the gas, and I forgot what speed meant.

She pushed deeper, took me full. Her jaw flexed. Her cheeks hollowed. She took me deep, and I felt the back of her throat. She gagged, and the sound was obscene. Erotic. She pulled back, and then took me deep again. And again. And again.

And I shattered.

I came with a cry I couldn't contain, hips jerking once, twice. She didn't pull away. She held me in her mouth through every twitch, every pulse.

I watched her--her eyes closing as she let it pool on her tongue, savoring it. She opened her mouth just enough, showing me the glisten, the surrender. Then she swallowed. Slow. Intentional. Her gaze never leaving mine.

It wasn't about lust.

It was about her choosing me.

She leaned back, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then slid her sunglasses on.

"Now you can say you've done it," she whispered, her voice hoarse, stripped down to something vulnerable and real.

We didn't speak for miles.

But every breath that passed between us was different 

The sky was low and heavy when we arrived at New Orleans, clouds threatening, thick with the smell of wet concrete and moss. Spanish moss hung from every tree like the ghosts of stories waiting to be told.

Amber leaned her head out the window, eyes closed, letting the humid air whip through her hair. Her lips were parted. Her skin still glowing, soft with leftover heat.

I watched her. Imagining her lips all over me again.

***

We decided to go to bourbon street that night.

The street pulsed with life--drunken bodies, neon signs buzzing like bad decisions, music from every doorway. Amber wanted it all. She dragged me from one bar to the next, buying drinks, laughing with strangers, moving like she was feeding off the energy of the city.

She danced on the sidewalk, arms above her head, hips swaying with no music at all. Just rhythm. Just instinct. Just heat.

"You're staring again," she said, spinning toward me.

"You're giving me reasons."

She stepped close, breath hot with whiskey and something sweeter. "Earlier... did that change anything?"

I didn't say anything.

I just pulled her in and kissed her.

Hard. Messy. Tongue and teeth. She melted into me, hands in my hair, body pressing tight like she wanted to crawl under my skin.

People passed. Didn't matter.

She bit my lip and pulled back, her breath shaking. "We need to go."

We stumbled through the door, laughing and breathless, the noise of Bourbon Street still ringing in our ears like thunder fading into memory. The room was dark but not quiet--our breathing filled the space, wild and uneven. My back hit the wall, and her hands were already under my shirt, her mouth at my neck, teeth grazing skin like she was starving.

I grabbed her hips, tugged her dress up over her thighs, her skin hot and slick beneath my palms. The air between us was thick with sweat, perfume, and liquor--everything sticky and raw.

She shoved me onto the bed, climbed on top of me without hesitation. Her thighs straddled mine, dress bunched at her waist, panties already damp against the denim of my jeans. She kissed me hard--open-mouthed, frantic. She tasted like tequila and heat and the last breath before drowning.

Her hands were everywhere--clutching my shoulders, threading into my hair, yanking when I tried to slow us down.

And then she paused, eyes dark and wet and locked on mine.

"Don't stop again," she said, her voice cracked and low, shaking like she'd been holding that sentence in her ribs for years.

"I won't."

I flipped her gently onto her back, but everything about it felt urgent now. My hands roamed her body like I was trying to memorize her in the dark. Her skin was flushed, shining, soft in places and firm in others. My fingers slid down her ribs, over her trembling stomach, hooking the sides of her underwear and dragging them down her legs.

She opened for me--knees parted, breath shallow, eyes wide. There was no hesitation. No teasing. Just Amber, laid out and wanting, skin burning, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with need.

I kissed down her body, jaw to collarbone to chest, licking between her breasts, dragging my teeth gently along the underside until she gasped. I kept going. Down her abdomen. Over her hips.

She was already slick--dripping.

I settled between her legs, dragged my tongue slowly up her slit, savoring the taste of her. She arched with a choked cry, fingers diving into my hair. I licked again, slower, flatter, more deliberate. She twitched. Moaned. Cursed.

"Oh fuck--don't stop--please--"

I didn't.

I sucked her clit into my mouth and moaned against it, letting the vibration do the work. Her hips bucked. Her thighs clamped tight around my head. She came hard, sudden and shaking, with a scream she tried to muffle with her fist. Her whole body seized and then fell limp.

But I wasn't done.

I kissed my way up, slow and reverent. Her chest was rising and falling like she'd run a marathon. Her lips were parted, eyes glassy, dazed.

When I kissed her, she whimpered against my mouth, tasting herself on me.

"Please," she whispered again, barely audible. "Please, I need you."

I pushed into her slow, watching every flicker of her expression. Her mouth dropped open, eyes fluttered shut, fingers digging into my shoulders.

She was so fucking warm. Tight. Wet. She gripped me like a fist. It took everything in me not to lose it right there.

We stayed like that for a moment. Frozen. Buried deep.

Then she wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me in harder.

And we moved.

There was no rhythm, no finesse. Just two bodies crashing together, finally. Her nails dragged down my back. My teeth found her shoulder. She moaned every time I bottomed out. We kissed between gasps, mouths open, lips bruised, tongues tangled. The sounds were raw. Sloppy. Animal.

She came again, a sob catching in her throat as her body clenched around me. I wasn't far behind.

My orgasm tore through me like a dam breaking, unstoppable and brutal. I groaned her name into her neck as I came, buried deep, releasing everything--every mile, every ache, every day I hadn't touched her--into her.

She whimpered when I pulled out of her, a dribble of cum leaking from her pussy and dripping onto the sheets. I didn't let it go to waste.

I rolled her over onto her stomache. I pulled her ass cheeks apart. I pushed a finger inside her, slowly thrusting. When she began pushing back against my hand, I replaced my finger with my cock.

Sweat dripped from my face and chest, making my skin gleam in the firelight. The smell of sex and the sound of our moans filled the room.

It didn't last long. The pleasure was too intense. My vision whited out as I fininshed inside her one more time leaving the room smelling of sweat and sex.

We collapsed. Tangled, slick with sweat and each other. My chest to her back. Her hand clutched in mine. Our breathing slowing, hearts still out of sync.

Her skin was still glowing, her thighs trembling slightly. She turned her head and kissed the inside of my wrist.

***

The next day we left New Orleans in the early afternoon, the city still sticky on our skin, her perfume clinging to the seats like a secret. The scent of her was everywhere--citrus and sweat, heat and hunger. It lingered in my nose, in my mouth, in my bloodstream.

Neither of us said much.

Last night was still with us.

But now we were on the final stretch. Savannah on the horizon. And everything had shifted.

Somewhere outside Mobile, the road dipped into quiet. Pine trees blurred past the windows, their shadows flickering over the dashboard.  

Amber shifted in her seat, eyes fixed on the passing tree line. Then she looked at me.

She wore one of my old T-shirts, baggy but off one shoulder, her legs bare and folded in the seat. Hair tangled, lips flushed from the heat, thighs smooth and golden in the southern light.

She leaned her head back, eyes still on me. "Have I mentioned how much I like the taste?"

Her voice was low, smoky. No smirk. No flirt.

Just hunger.

I glanced at her, confused unsure at first what she meant.

She unbuckled her seatbelt slowly. Then she slipped across the console her hand sliding up my thigh with the slow certainty of someone who'd stopped second-guessing herself.

Her fingers worked my zipper with ease, her knuckles grazing my stomach. My heart was a hammer in my chest.

She didn't wait.

Her lips wrapped around me in one smooth motion--wet, hot, certain--and I nearly swerved off the road.

"Fuck," I hissed, eyes locking on the highway as my hips bucked up against her mouth.

She moaned around me, the vibration shooting up my spine. Her hands held me steady, but her mouth did all the work--slow at first, deliberate, then faster, deeper, her tongue swirling under the head, teasing every nerve ending.

I fought the wheel, trying to keep the car steady while she unraveled me. My eyes blurred. My thighs tensed. Every breath was a battle.

She pulled back just enough to whisper, breath warm and ragged, "I love the way you taste. Those first drops? When you try to hold back? That's the part I want."

Then she took me again, deeper, letting her throat flex around me. I groaned, nearly missing a turn in the road.

It was messy. Intense. Her spit mixed with precome, shining on my skin, her jaw working, her mouth slick and determined.

I cried out as I came one hand in her hair, hips jerking into her mouth.

She let it happen.

I spilled deep in her throat, my vision white around the edges.

She didn't pull away. She held me there, swallowing what she could.

She sat back in her seat, licked the corner of her mouth, and wiped her chin with the back of her hand before licking it up. Hair wild. Eyes shining. Skin flushed.

"Tonight," she said, almost casually.

I could barely breathe. I nodded, dazed.

She looked out the window, one leg pulled back up under her. "When we get to Savannah, I want you to take your time. I want to feel every inch of what you've been holding back. I want to remember how you looked when you couldn't stay quiet."

I glanced at her. My voice was barely a whisper.

"What happens when the trip ends?"

She turned her head slowly.

"Then we stop pretending it was just the road."

And with that, she smiled.

***

The sky over Savannah was already bleeding into pink when we rolled into the historic district, the silence between us thick with all the things we hadn't said--but had already felt. Spanish moss draped from the oaks like forgotten confessions. The streets were quiet. Holding their breath. Just like us.

The inn was old and warm, brick and wood and too expensive. She picked it months ago, before any of this had become what it was. The floorboards creaked beneath our feet, the air smelled like cedar and rain. She didn't pause at the front desk. Just led the way, eyes forward, body tight with purpose.

When the door closed behind us, something shifted. Like the weight of all those miles had finally caught up. Like neither of us could carry the restraint a second longer.

She turned to me. There was no teasing in her eyes. No games.

"Do you remember what I said?"

I nodded.

She stepped close, placed a hand on my chest, and pushed me gently back until I hit the edge of the couch. "Good," she said softly. "Because I need you to remember all of it."

She turned away, slow, deliberate, like she wanted to make me feel every second of the wait. Her fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, revealing slivers of golden skin, each stretch of exposed flesh like a lit fuse. The black lace of her bra hugged her tight, framing the soft curve of her breasts as the shirt finally cleared her head and hit the floor.

She didn't rush.

Her fingers played at the clasp behind her back. A slight twist of her shoulders, a subtle lift of her chin, and the bra unhooked with a soft snap. It slid from her shoulders in a slow, sensual fall, landing on the floor with a whisper.

She turned to face me, and it nearly undid me.

Glowing. Her nipples were tight, puckered in the chill of the room, the pale rise and fall of her chest fast and unsteady. Her hair fell wild over her shoulders, tousled and tangled, her eyes locked to mine with heat so thick I could taste it.

She crawled onto my lap, straddling me, pressing against the throbbing bulge in my jeans. I was painfully hard, straining, my pulse pounding against the inside of my zipper. My hands hovered, not sure where to go first--her hips, her breasts, her hair--everything about her was magnetic.

We didn't speak.

We kissed.

It was chaos. Our mouths crashed, all tongue and teeth, gasps between the pull. Her hands clawed at my shirt, mine clutching her ass like I could keep her there forever. She ground against me, slick heat soaking through denim, dragging a moan from my throat.

She broke the kiss and stood, her chest heaving, eyes locked to mine. Then she turned.

Bent.

And hooked her thumbs in the sides of her thong.

She slid it down slow, deliberate, swaying her hips as it slipped past her thighs, her calves, until it pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it and looked over her shoulder.

Her ass--round, perfect, the smooth line of her spine arching, muscles tight under golden skin--was a vision. She widened her stance just enough.

And I saw everything.

Slick. Swollen. Ready.

My cock twitched, straining against my jeans like it might rip free. My fingers ached to touch, to taste, to claim.

She didn't have to say a word.

She stood back up and turned toward me slowly, and it knocked the breath out of my lungs. Her body was flushed, slick with the heat of wanting, her thighs damp, inner lips glistening from how badly she needed it. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, her eyes--wide, wild, burning--never left mine.

She didn't cover herself. She didn't flinch.  

She walked toward me, hips swaying, heat rolling off her like smoke. I could see the glimmer of her arousal catching the light with every step. My cock ached, already hard beyond comfort, throbbing at the base, every part of me screaming to bury myself inside her.

Then she climbed into my lap again, slow and sure, straddling me bare, the slick warmth of her grazing the denim where I strained beneath it.

"Take them off," she whispered, grinding just enough to make me grunt.

We didn't make it to the bed. The floor caught us.

I pulled my shirt off, kicked off my jeans, and she climbed onto me like we'd been doing this forever. Her hands were in my hair again. My mouth was on her breasts. Her body wrapped around mine.

When I pushed into her, she cried out. Sharp. Beautiful.

Everything else disappeared.

The floor. The room. The dawn bleeding into the window. All gone.

She rocked against me, desperate, frantic, clawing at my shoulders, whispering my name like it was the only thing holding her together. I grabbed her hips, held her steady, thrust deep--again, again, again--until the only thing left between us was breath and sweat and the sounds of skin on skin.

She came hard, breaking apart in my arms, her thighs clenching around my hips like she didn't want to let me go, her cry muffled against my shoulder, her nails digging raw lines down my back. Her body trembled in pulses, heat and slick coating us both. When I finally pulled out, still hard, still aching, she slid down between us, her hair tangled, her mouth swollen, her eyes sure.

She took me in her mouth with a hunger that made me hold my breath--slow, messy, every movement soaked in purpose. Her tongue traced every sensitive edge, lips sealing around me with heat and wetness, savoring the twitch of my body as I neared again.

"I want all of it," she whispered against me, voice low, raw. "Don't hold back."

When I came, it was helpless, violent, ripped from somewhere deep. She let it pool on her tongue, let the first thick drops coat her mouth. She opened slightly, just enough for me to see it glisten between her lips before she swallowed with a soft, satisfied moan.

Her lips were red, wet, irresistible.

We collapsed. Her chest against mine. Legs tangled. Skin still twitching with aftershocks.

Outside, the sun cracked open above Savannah. Inside, we laid there, breathless.

***

The trip home was quieter. Not awkward. Not empty. Just... different.

Amber wore my hoodie. Nothing underneath. Her thighs bare, one knee pulled up against the dash. Her sunglasses were too big for her face, but she wore them anyway, chewing the end of a licorice stick like she had the night we stopped in Barstow.

Every time she shifted in her seat, I caught a glimpse of the curve of her ass or the soft inside of her thigh. I was hard half the drive, straining against denim, trying to keep the wheel steady.

She noticed somewhere outside Houston, when the sun dipped low and painted her golden again.

"You thinking about me?"

I didn't look away from the road. "It's hard not to."

She leaned over, dragged her fingers up my thigh. "I think about it every time I shift. I can still feel you inside me. Still sore. Still swollen."

I groaned.

"Pull over," she said. I didn't hesitate.

"Not for that," she laughed "Just... let's watch the sunset."

I found a dirt turnout. Gravel crunched under the tires. The sky went molten. We sat on the hood of the car, our shoulders touching, her legs swinging.

"This trip changed everything," I said.

She nodded. "And now we go back."

"What does that mean?"

She pulled her legs into her lap, wrapped her arms around them. "If we try to shove this back into 'just friends'--we'll ruin it."

"So we keep going?"

She looked at me then, raw and unguarded. "We already started."

I kissed her under the burning sky, dirt on our boots, her skin still warm from the seat.

We drove on through the night.

And somewhere between Texas and California, I realized:

We were never going back.

We were only going forward--with eachother.