“Fuck,” he rasps, as my hips move closer. Faster.

From the outside, this looks entirely innocent. All our clothes are on. We’re not touching anywhere except our laps. But nothing feels innocent about the sensations swirling inside me—the excitement and the arousal. They overwhelm me, adding to the thrill I always get around him. The inner giddiness is amplified to a degree that threatens to drown me, that overrides every instinct except one.

His erection thickens and hardens as I grind against it, chasing the bolts of pleasure that keep appearing when I nudge against him just right. His body is responding, but Holden hasn’t moved. He’s leaning back on one palm, blue eyes fixed on me straddling him.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. He’s drunk and experienced, and I’m neither of those things. The only guy I’ve kissed, much less humped in a dark driveway, is him.

A warm palm slides beneath the hem of my borrowed sweatshirt. His sweatshirt, technically. If he registers that detail, he doesn’t comment on it.

Holden’s hand slides higher and higher, over the curve of my ribs until it reaches the swell of my breast. He cups it and squeezes gently, taking advantage of the fact I’m not wearing a bra.

I moan, biting on my bottom lip to try to contain it. I wasn’t expecting his touch to feel so good. I imagine his mouth and his tongue replacing the warmth of his hand, and heat creeps across my skin.

His eyes flare at the sound.

I’m disappointed when his palm slides back to my waist. His other hand does the same, so he’s gripping my hips and guiding my movements. Immediately, the pleasure intensifies. I drop my head into the curve of his neck, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and cinnamon.

There’s a hint of weed too.

I try not to focus on that, choosing to ignore the reminder he’s been out tonight doing who knows what with who knows who. I focus on him, which is easy to do. Too easy to do. Especially now, when we’re doing things I’ve only fantasized about ever happening.

Our movements fall into a deceptive rhythm. Turn into a familiarity I thought was broken between us a long time ago. I can feel him—hard and thick and hot—between my thighs, and it fans the flames lighting between us.

Me.

He’s reacting this way to me.

I feel the pleasure building inside of me. My hips move faster, chasing the high that’s rapidly approaching. It explodes inside of me in a rush of euphoria, a thousand times more powerful than when I touch myself. I feel wetness soak my underwear as I muffle my moans in Holden’s sweatshirt. He jerks beneath me, finding his own release.