His interest is fully piqued, mostly by my hushed tone. Even to my own ears it sounds rather sexy. “Yeah?”

“I’ve kinda been wondering if this center console folds up.”

His eyes stray to the middle partition with its empty cup holders. “As a matter of fact, it does.”

“May I see?” Whoa, Skylar, where did that voice come from? I sound like I’m asking to see something else entirely.

“As a matter of fact, you may.”

Unbuckled, Abe’s hands dig under the hard plastic between us, pushing it up, nestling it like a puzzle piece, creating a bench in the front of the truck.

“There’s so much more room for activities,” I joke.

“And stuff.”

Stuff. I’m reminded of the ridiculous chat I had with Hannah and her saying butt stuff, and I stifle a laugh—no one wants to explain that conversation on a first date. Abe does not need to know how perverted girls can be.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Then I remember we promised to be honest. “Actually, that’s not true. You said stuff, and it made me think of Hannah saying…uhhh, butt stuff the other afternoon. Long story.”

I leave it at that, and he doesn’t prod, and now we’re back to staring at one another in the dark, wanting so badly to close the gap between us. The air practically crackles from the energy.

“I…have no idea how to respond to that.”

“Please don’t. I’m begging you,” I say, and we both laugh nervously. Laugh until we’re both acutely aware of how alone we are, surrounded by strangers in a secluded parking lot, overlooking the city below.

Nothing but space between us, begging to be filled.

Surprisingly, it’s me who moves first, resting my hand where the console used to be, trailing a finger across the dark, gray seat. I lay my palm upside down.

Leave it there.

As bait.

Not surprisingly, Abe takes it, sliding his own palm against my skin, back and forth—not lacing our fingers, but it’s almost more erotic. Back and forth, the tip of his middle finger lagging behind, nail tickling the delicate skin of my hand.

I shiver.

Bite down on my bottom lip, glancing out the window at the cars parked beside us.

A sea of tinted windows.

“Maybe instead of talking we should…” I don’t know how to put this, so I just throw it out there. “I want to get to know you and everything, I really do, it’s just—I want to kiss you even more right now.”

“Same.”

We move at the same time, meeting in the middle, mouths fusing, instantly combustible.

Open mouths. Wet tongues.

I ache for him.

Ache for his hands. They’re swiftly in my hair, holding it back, his mouth releasing mine to nip at the side of my neck. Gently sniffing, nose rubbing below my ear.

“You smell so fucking good.”

“God that feels good.” I sigh, tilting so he can kiss the column of my slender neck. I’m insatiable for his mouth on my skin, lips, and body after three hot seconds.

This doesn’t bode well for my chastity later, not when I’ve been so chaste for so long.

“What turns you on?” I ask on an exhalation, head tipped back, allowing him free rein.

“About you? Everything.”

“Oh Abe, I like that answer.”

“I like you.”

“I like your hands, too. They’re huge.” Mmm, his hands…

“I like your mouth.”

I’m sitting at an awkward angle, still in the same spot, body twisted in his direction but not close enough to really touch him. With only one solution available, I shift, back to the door, ass scooting down, removing both my shoes before setting my feet in his lap.

My head hits the seat and I’m flat on my back, legs spread, the invitation impossible to misinterpret: Come here.

Abe doesn’t hesitate, his giant body looming over mine, moving between my legs. Kissing me while he runs a hand up my denim-clad thigh, fingers finding the hem of my shirt, pushing it up as his hand slips underneath.

Keep going, keep going, keep going, my brain chants, wanting—no, needing him to touch my boobs.

He keeps going, dragging his palm along my ribcage, up over my stomach, forefinger tracing the underwire of my black satin bra. Runs it along the full curve of my breast, sliding it under the strap and pulling it down.

My shirt gets pushed aside. Up. Bra along with it. That rough, calloused hand cups me, thumb stroking my hard nipple.

Mouth sucks it.

This is what I want, this is what I want…

I grasp at his hair. Tug. Run my fingers through it while he sucks me, lapping with his tongue. Blowing cool air across the hardened tip.

“Oh…”

I feel between our bodies for his erection, knowing full well I’m going to find it straining in his pants. And I do.

We’re both panting hard as I go for his zipper, wanting to touch it, wanting to stro—

“Fuck. Stop,” he rasps. “Skylar, I…don’t know any other way to say this. It’s going to sound fucking terrible.” Abe’s fingers gently roll my nipples and I could die from how good it feels.

Die.

“Just say it.” What could it be? Oh god. Self-doubt takes over like a wave crashing onto a calm shore. What if he hates my boobs? He hates my body, thinks I’m too—

“Dry-humping you is neat and all, and I want you to stroke my cock, but what I really want is to fuck you. So bad.”

He wants to fuck me? That’s great news! It’s none of those things I just mentioned; forget I said all that.

“You want to have sex with me?”

“Duh. Can’t you feel my cock?”

Cock.

When it’s not gloriously rubbing the denim seam in my jeans, it’s digging into my thigh. Big and thick and—hard.

So yes. I can feel his cock.

Do I want it inside me? That’s the big question I have to answer. And honestly…

I gather my wits, and my common sense. “Abe, I want you too—so bad—but I’m not having sex in the front seat of a truck, no matter how bad I want you inside me.” There. I said it.

“What are we going to do? We can’t go back to my place—JB is home, and if he sees you, he’ll get fighting mad.”

My teeth chew at my bottom lip. “We can’t go back to mine—Hannah is there, and she won’t leave us alone if she sees us walking in the door.”

Or hears us having sex in the other room. I’d never live it down. Not in a million years.

“That’s better than being at my place. JB comes into my room unannounced all the goddamn time. I have no privacy.”

Pfft. “You think that’s bad? Even if I lock my door, Hannah can pick it open with a bobby pin. She’s worse than a petty thief.”

Abe is quiet for a few seconds, solving our problem. “Would you mind climbing in through my window instead of using the front door? At least JB doesn’t pick locks.”

“What’s the worst thing that will happen if he finds me at your place?”

“Uh. He might punch me, but I doubt it. But he might.”

“Can you live with that?”

“Um, yeah. I can live with him decking me in the face for a chance to fuck you in my actual bed.”