“Get your ass in the backseat,” she tells me, sliding off my lap as I groan at the loss of her heat. I crank the volume up, happy that I put a little extra into the sound system of the Eldorado. Blew through a good quarter of my savings on the damn thing, but like, what’s the point of driving such a beautiful car if you don’t have the right soundtrack to go with it?
I hop into the back, stretching my legs along the bench seat as Bernie crawls over and straddles me. Her pretty little hands free my pulsing cock, teasing the pre-cum that leaks from the tip as she lifts her green eyes up to mine. Tucking some of that gorgeous hair behind her ear, she leans down, leather-clad ass up in the air as she slicks her tongue around the head.
Her mouth creates a torrid love affair with my cock as my fingers massage her scalp, encouraging her to take me as deep as she can. The slick feel of her tongue makes my balls contract, and I have to bite my lower lip to keep from spilling myself too early.
I’m going to savor this fucking moment.
The sound of tires on gravel precedes the police cruiser pulling into the lot, and I glance briefly at the screen of my phone before chucking it into the front seat.
“Seventeen minutes,” I groan as the song switches to “Porn Star Dancing” by My Darkest Days and Zakk Wylde. The police keep their distance, parking in the space farthest from us, but with the top down, and Bernie’s ass sticking up the way it is, there can’t be any doubt as to what we’re up to over here.
And, like, I honestly couldn’t give a fuck less.
All that matters right now is the way Bernie squeezes the base of my shaft, her tongue slicking up the underside like she’s licking a goddamn lollipop. She flicks her gaze up to mine as she wraps her pink mouth around the tip, tongue shooting out and tasting me as my hips buck up against her face.
“We have an audience,” I tell her, but Bernie just chuckles, her mouth still wrapped around my cock. The vibration of that throaty sound vibrates my shaft, and my eyes roll back into my head. “Jesus Christ, Blackbird.”
“That’s nothing special,” she murmurs, yanking my jeans down and encouraging me to take them off. Well, shit. In the backseat of the Eldorado, the top open, the city stretched out before us … The Ford F100 across the parking lot is bouncing quite nicely, letting me know that Pussy Point is living up to its name.
I kick my boots off and let Bernadette pants my ass. She sits up briefly, undoing her own pants and dipping her hand inside, her eyelids fluttering as she plays with her pussy for a moment. I have no clue what she’s doing, but I’m game to watch. When she withdraws her hand, her fingers are slick with her own lube.
I watch, fascinated, as she drops her mouth back to my cock, circling the base with her left hand and sucking the tip while at the same time inserting a lubed-up finger into my ass.
“Motherfucker,” I groan, the fingers of one hand digging into the seat while the other grips Bernie’s hair with a rough, almost violent contraction. There’s no controlling myself then. The orgasm slips from me along with a guttural sound that echoes across the parking lot and I shoot a hot stream of cum into my girl’s mouth.
She stays where she is as I pulse and thrust against her and then collapse into the seat.
“I take it you liked that,” Bernie purrs as I yank my shirt over my head and offer it to her to clean her fingers off. She chucks it into the front seat and then crawls up against me, her breasts pressing against my chest as our mouths come together with a sweet heat, sultry rock music spilling out into the night.
“Thank fuck Oregon recently passed that close-in-age exemption law,” I say, still panting heavily as Bernadette trails hot kisses along the length of my jaw, pausing at the pulsing throb of my pulse. She pulls back just slightly and quirks a brow. “Romeo and Juliet law? No?”
“So you won’t get charged with statutory rape?” she queries back, and I nod. Technically, since I’m eighteen and she’s seventeen, and we’re being followed by cops, it could be bad news bear for me. “Oh, and that’s absolutely something Sara Young would do.” She sits up and combs her hair over her shoulder, her hands resting on my bare thighs.
A pleasured scream sounds from the direction of the Ford across the lot and we grin at each other.
“This is fun, having a bit of an audience,” I murmur, snatching my boxers from the floor as Bernadette scoots back, and dragging them back on. “I mean, if that’s something you’re into, we’ve got a built-in one back home, now don’t we?”
Bernie’s eyes sparkle, and I wonder if she hasn’t thought about all the fun we could get up to together. Different partners, different groups, different … arrangements. I wouldn’t mind being watched, the way Victor did that first night, when he filmed us. I’d like to do that again except, you know, without getting kicked out.
“You put your underwear back on,” she hazards, like she actually thinks I’m going to nut and run. Nah. I might’ve been a man-whore, but I was never that sort.
“Yeah, but only so I’m not flashing bare ass and getting myself arrested.” I grab her and she lets out a small gasp as I flip her body and pin her underneath me. My mouth finds Bernadette’s, sucking her lip between my teeth and biting down gently, just enough to make her squirm. “You yourself said it: if she can find a trumped-up charge to bring one of us, Police Girl will do it.”
“And why, exactly, would your bare ass be showing?” she whispers as I grin against her mouth, pressing close and encouraging her lips to part for my tongue. I’ve never tasted a girl so sweet with such an acidic mouth. Like, she can pop off like the best of the Prescott bitches, but when we kiss, and I close my eyes, I imagine that we’re just a pair of high school sweethearts from the fifties, destined to grow old together.
Feels like we could be, up here on ‘Hookup Point’, in this fifties car. Shit, even the Ford parked across the lot is from the fifties. Add in that leather Havoc jacket she was wearing, like she’s one of the Pink Ladies from Grease, and our favorite drive-in, Wesley’s. The soda fountain in south Prescott …
I break away briefly to change the music from sultry rock to classic fifties hits.
“What on earth is this?” Bernadette asks as I start “Where the Boys Are” by Connie Francis.
“Just roll with it, Blackbird,” I tell her, pushing her back onto the seat with a hand on her chest. I undo those sexy pink cigarette pants of hers—also, incidentally a fashion from the fifties—and yank them off along with her panties. It’s full dark now, the city lights sparkling in the valley below us.
You’d never know, looking at us now, that we survived a school shooting less than two weeks prior. Or that we’re in the middle of a gang war. No, up here on the Butte, everything else fades away. We’re just two teenagers in the backseat of a pink Caddy with heated bodies and wandering hands.
“Blackbird,” I start again as I part her sweet, white thighs with my tattooed hands. Bernie moans and lets her head fall back, completely unashamed at exposing the swollen plump heat of her cunt to me. My own breath catches and my lashes flutter. I can already feel blood rushing to my cock as I stare down at her, wearing Victor’s old Prescott High tank, looking like a princess from another decade. “Those nights at the homeless shelter with you were some of the best days in my entire childhood.”
“Don’t say that,” she whispers, but it’s the truth and I’m not ashamed. “You have no idea what a comfort you were to me,” she adds unexpectedly as I drop a single finger to the sweet curls between her legs. I’ve never liked girls that shave it all off. Kinda bothers me. Like, God or Goddess or Mother Nature put hair here for a reason, right? I run my fingers over those pale curls, teasing my finger down the slick line between Bernie’s thighs until she parts her lips in a sexy pout. “For years, I thought about you whenever I got scared on a stormy night.”
“No,” I breathe, because I just can’t take hearing that. It’s too much. It’s far too much, more than someone like me deserves. “Blackbird …” My thumb finds the swollen nub of her clit, sliding over it as she throws her arms back, hands clutching at the edge of the car behind her.
With my other hand, I tickle the softly dimpled flesh of her inner thighs, my eyes drinking in her perfect curves, the frantic rise and fall of her breasts as she closes her own eyes and pants in desperation and need. I can’t resist; I drop my mouth down between her thighs, sliding my tongue between her folds and swirling it around her clit.
She curves her legs over my shoulders, trapping me where she wants me and giving me the privilege of paying off my debt. My hands curve underneath her, cupping and kneading the rounded perfection of her ass as I taste that tart-sweetness of her cunt. There’s nothing else in the world like it, that soft fragrance, that dulcet tang on my tongue.
“Oh, Hael,” she groans, her hips rising up to meet my mouth. I lift my head up just enough so that I can look at her, her lids squeezed shut, her fingers digging into the Cadillac that I put so much work into. Just for her. This is a gift that I’d only ever give to my one and only.
A smile curves across my lips as I move my left hand—yeah, I’m a leftie—to her pussy, slipping a single finger inside of her and feeling the silken heat of her wrap around me.
“Shit.” The word escapes my lips before I drop my mouth back to her clit, adding a second finger and then a third, Bernadette’s body stretching to accommodate me. It’s so goddamn warm inside, so slick, the walls textured in a way that my cock full-well remembers. My hand pumps in and out as I use my tongue in a slow, languorous rhythm, my own hips grinding against the seat. With nothing but my boxers between me and the leather seat, I have no problem finding a spot that gets me just right.
As Connie sings about where the boys are, I only have one girl on my mind.
“Please, please, please,” Bernie moans, her back arching as my fingers slide in and out in that same, slow, perfect pace. She gets fucked enough. Girl needs to just relax into this. I ignore her cries for faster, harder, more, and take my time, loving the fine beads of sweat that cling to her white skin. It’s a cool February evening, but if the sex is good, you always sweat, even just a little.