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“The lift,” I said. “If you’re sure.”
Her car was a battered little Fiesta, parked behind the bins. The heater roared and nothing happened. She drove with her hood up and one hand on the wheel and the other, after about a mile, on my knee.
When we pulled up outside my building she didn’t turn the engine off.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
She leaned across the handbrake and kissed me. It started soft, and then it absolutely wasn’t. Her tongue in my mouth, her hand sliding up my thigh, finding my cock and squeezing it through my jeans.
“Five hours,” she murmured. “I’ve been watching you get hard for five hours.”
She popped my button and zip with one hand, very practised, and pulled me out. Her palm was cool. She spat into it and started stroking, slow and firm, twisting over the head, while she kissed my neck.
“I can’t come up,” she whispered. “I’ve got an exam in the morning. But I can do this.”
I came in about ninety seconds, all over her hand and the gearstick, groaning into her hair. She laughed and wiped her hand on a napkin from the glovebox.
“Bryony,” she said. “That’s my real name.”
“Can I see you again?”
“You can see me Friday.” She kissed me once more. “And pay for a dance like everybody else.”
The Fiesta pulled away. I stood on the pavement, zipped up wrong, grinning like an idiot. She had an exam in the morning. I had nothing to do all weekend.
→ I come back on Friday and pay for a dance like everybody else
→ I turn up at the university in the morning with coffee and flowers