Languishing in the intense pleasure of his fingers milking her nipple and the thrilling warmth of his words on her neck, Rachel closes her eyes. That 'something about him' had just solidified in her and she knew then what it was. It was the rare earth magnet pull of chemistry. How your body knows before the first touch how good it will be. It had been so long since she had felt it that she was afraid it had gone away. Now every nerve ending in her body was resonating with it, energized by the lightning storm erupting from his touch. She knew without having to ask that he felt it too. Not just because he was hard or advancing. She knew a man's body, and therefore a man, will respond to visual stimuli without really engaging the mind. No, this was more. Way more. It was his primal breathing, the smell of his skin, the intensity of his firm but tender hold on her breast. He was measuring -- not taking. It was there for him too, thick and strong.
She feels the intense need to experience his mouth on her. Rachel wants to suckle him, she wishes he could feed from her body. All of it. Demands form in her depths but she suppresses them for now. She enjoys being suspended in the bipolar thrill of urgency and the slowing down of time registering every touch, savoring. It does wicked things to her body. Her sex is overflowing - her lips swelling her insides hot, pink, and ripe -- her clit throbbing. Desire leaks from her slit slippery wet. She feels herself surrender to the exquisite feelings of her re-awakening and moans his name.
'Ooooooohhhhhh Sam.' The sound is molten heat through his body, sizzling its way down and erupting in his loins. His cock throbs and jerks, precum oozing from the head. His balls tingle then tighten, as if he might cum from the sound of her. Her breast is so full, her nipple rock hard from his attention. He can smell her arousal, it taunts his nostrils with promise of sweet succulence. His hunger is almost unbearable. He is feral and starving for her.
In a fluid motion attesting to feminine grace, Rachel tips her head forward while her eyes flutter their long lashes. It is coy and provocative. She is so close now that they are sharing breath. Their heads slowly begin to undulate in rhythm -- lips parted, tongues snaking across lower lips. The synapse between them alive with anticipation, their mouths dance, eyes lock and then travel searching, recording every movement. 'So hot,' Sam breathes as he breaks the plane descending upon her mouth. In the static filled instant that their lips meet for the first time, the barrier is broken and lust surges forth. He reaches up and threads his fingers through her hair, capturing his prey as he consumes her soft full mouth. Rachel yields to him, granting entrance -- drawing him in with her tongue and her velvety smooth lips. Passionately he kisses her, sucking and exploring, teasing her lips with his. Their tongues meet, rolling and gliding in and out exploring. Bound together they linger lip locked on the precipice of their carnal abyss.
Just then Rachel's phone rings. The cacophonous shriek of the ringer makes them both jump. Rachel grabs for her purse, desperate to silence the intrusion. Caller-id shows it's Carol. She can't ignore her -- Carol's a worrier. If she has gotten the message then she'll need to know that things are all right. If she hasn't, then she's worried sick. "Hey there!" Rachel answers. Carol's animated voice squawks rapidly out of the earpiece while Rachel grins mischievously at Sam. 'No. It's all right, everything is fine. I'm fine.' More talking on the other end. 'Someone stopped to help, he's taking me to get a tire.' The voice gets louder, all rapid fire questions and concerns. 'I'm fine, REALLY. I'm safe I promise." Rachel winks. She moves over and opens the passenger door stepping out while motioning that Carol won't shut up.
As Rachel begins to pace slowly back and forth talking quietly outside the car, Sam stretches in his seat - grateful for the opportunity to rearrange his raging erection. He is so swollen and full of pent up seed that it aches. His cock is now stubbornly stuck at full attention -- 8 ½ inches of pulsing need. Straight up his cockhead is pushing at the top of his jeans. The front of his boxer briefs is soaked with precum. Sam leans his head against the back window of the truck, rubbing his dick he groans. His thoughts are jumbled by this screaming need for release. We can't fuck here in broad daylight, he thinks masturbating himself through the denim. His next thought is of home. He wants to take her to his bed. The thought of driving the miles home with his cock throbbing painfully makes him grimace and groan again. 'Fuck!' he growls.
Sam rolls his head and looks out the window at Rachel who is absentmindedly playing with a tendril of her hair while talking away on her cell. Her smile is so breathtaking that for a moment he forgets his inner conversation and just stares. He wants her. All of her. Every centimeter of flesh, every taste, every sound. He clenches his jaw at the image of her naked. He wants to see those tits and that scrumptious ass dance for him. He wants to feel her skin. He wants to see her surrender to him, her hair spread out on his pillow and her body slowly moving to his touch. He wants to see her open herself for him. He wants . . . needs to fill her, thrust deep and hold rocking his balls against her. Sam can't wait to feast on her sweet wet pussy. He can't wait to feel her, hear her orgasm around him. He wants Rachel like nothing he's ever known. He rolls his head back and forth smiling as the thought hits him that it's been less than 20 minutes and by all accounts he's been TKO'd.
Rachel hangs up with a now calm Carol, promising to call later. She gets back into the truck smirking.
"Sorry about that. That's the friend I was going to meet -- she's a little high strung."
"Not a problem," Sam chokes out, setting himself upright in the seat. Sitting up the pressure in his groin is painful. He hopes to god he doesn't look like an idiot and tries to act natural.
"So? Where to?" he asks in his best 'it's all good' voice.
"Well, there's my tire," Rachel says pointing to the truckbed, "Remember?"
Sam doesn't follow her gesture. Instead he stares straight ahead, his jaw working systematically as he considers his options. He could excuse himself and go back in to the restaurant bathroom and jack off. What a fucking waste. He could take her to a tire shop farther south to buy time for a miracle to happen -- the one where his hard-on subsides and the ache in his balls just disappears. Yeah, right. He could drive her to his house, where he wanted to be right now. He could ask her, but then she might get scared or feel like he's pressuring her. He could . . .
"Sam?" Rachel interrupted. "You ok?"
He turned to face her, his expression pained and searching -- that expression told her everything she needed to know. Her eyes danced and a slow wicked smile spread across her face.
"You poor thing," Rachel cooed sliding over in the seat. "Think you can drive?"
Back on the road Sam rolls down the window to get some fresh air moving. The wind feels great rushing in as he heads back towards the highway and Sam feels the first hints of relief washing over him as the air works its magic. Maybe there'd be a miracle after all.
At the feeder road they hit a red light and Rachel turns him. One look at her and he instantly searches for those lips, kissing hungrily. Rachel responds with intensity in kind -- their mouths expressing their unspoken pleas for more. It continues until a horn blares. Sam looks up to see a green light signally that he is holding up traffic as Rachel's mouth wanders -- soft warm wet kisses on his face, his chin, down his neck to his adam's apple.
