Not wanting to kill the mood, I do what she told me to do and remove her shirt, though I hardly tear it in the process. This doesn’t seem to matter much.
A moment later, her skirt is up above her ass and her panties are on the ground. I have no idea whether I had anything to do with it or not, but she’s pressing me against her now as my tie flaps in the breeze.
“On the hood of the car,” she instructs, and I walk her backward, laying her on the dark fiberglass. “Fuck me. I want it hard.”
I chuckle. “You must really be happy about this new position.”
“It’s not just that,” she says between deep kisses of my mouth and neck. “If things pan out all right, I’ll get another one in six months. Almost double the salary I was making before today.”
“That’s wonderful-” I tell her.
“Shut up and fuck me,” she interrupts, grabbing my cock and putting it against her wetness. “I want to feel you inside of me.”
I slide myself inside and we both gasp lightly with the feeling of it. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized just how long it’s been.
“Yeah,” she breathes, “just like that.”
She grabs my tie and pulls me down as she lies back all the way on the hood of the car.
The slight breeze catches her hair, blowing strands around our faces as the setting sun lends its warmth to the moment.
She’s biting my lower lip, harder than I’d prefer, but not so hard that I pull away or ask her to stop. Her breasts heave in her silken bra, and I try not to think about Yuri’s assertion that Melissa has implants.
Of course, I know she has implants, but that doesn’t bother me. It wouldn’t bother me if she didn’t have them. It’s something she wanted to do, and I’d find her sexy either way because her cup size has no bearing on how I feel about her.
How do I feel about her, though?
This feels so great, but it’s also strange, foreign. We haven’t really connected, sexually or otherwise, in quite some time, and I’m not sure what to do with this.
Get the fuck out of your head and just enjoy the moment.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
This is one of those questions for which there is no actual correct answer; there are answers that sound corny and answers that would quickly put an end to what we’re doing right now.
“I’m thinking about you,” I tell her, going with the corny option, as it does also bear the virtue of being true. “I’m thinking about us.”
“Yeah?” she asks, breathless. “Wann
a know what I’m thinking about?”
“What’s that?”
She lifts herself a little, just enough to smack me on the ass, but she doesn’t say anything more. If she’s trying to communicate something to me, I’m totally missing it.
“Tell me you want me,” she whispers, lifting herself to a near-sitting position.
“I do want you,” I tell her.
“Tell me you can’t imagine being without me,” she says.
“I can’t,” I answer.
She kisses me on the mouth, her eyes open, staring deep into mine.
“That’s what I want to hear,” she says.
With that, she pushes me backward, and I pull out of her as she puts her feet back onto the ground, and leaning forward over the hood of the car, she lifts her skirt a little further.