When he groans, the sound pushes a button somewhere inside that unleashes the frenzy. I don’t care that we’re in the car in the middle of a street. It’s quiet. It’s dusk. We may as well be alone on an island somewhere for all I care about the setting.

Feel him, take him in your body and feel him. It’s been too long.

He’s one step ahead of me, reaching between us to unzip his pants and shove them down his hips and I feel his bare cock on my thigh; the skin is paradoxically warm and soft around something so inflexible. His fingers fumble with my underwear, pushing them aside, not even bothering to take them off, fingertips seeking and finding me wet and greedy, my unintelligible sounds telling him where I need him to be.

“We doing this?” he rasps.

I nod urgently and he holds himself for me to take in. It’s all happening so fast, he’s sinking deep inside, and we’re gasping because it’s so good.

It’s so good.

His gaze catches mine and the relief in his expression makes me feel shaky and fragile, like blown glass. I’ve missed this, I need this.

I think I need him.

He sits up, kissing me wet and messy, groaning against my teeth when he’s buried inside and grunts these tiny perfect sounds of approval every time I rock forward and back, whispering, Like that, and Ah, so good, and, Jesus, baby, I can’t... He trails off, more kissing, more teeth grazing my lips, my jaw, my neck. More sounds of need. Just please... I can’t.

He reaches between us, two fingers so gently petting where I need him. A ragged groan tears from his throat, and I hear the tiny hiccupping sounds I’m making, begging, so close—

“Oh, shit, I’m coming,” he gasps right when I’m falling. And I throw my head back and scream—because it feels so different—and at the same time he cries out, arching from the seat and wildly shoving deeper into me, my body clutching and squeezing all around him. It feels like forever that I’m coming and kissing him and his hands are on my face and his sounds are pressed into my skin in my tiny car with no tint on the windows, at the peak of the sunset in Indian summer.

I love him.

I love him.

I crumple against his chest, on the verge of tears. It’s a relief I can barely process—being with him like this again, even if it’s in the front seat of my car with the skirt of my dress billowing around me. He feels so sturdy, his heart pounding against my ear.

Finn twitches inside me, his shaking breath ruffling my hair. “Harlow,” he says quietly, exhaling in a tight burst.

“I know,” I agree. “Holy shit that was amazing.”