Butterflies tumble in my stomach as passengers begin to trickle through the arrivals gate. All around me people greet their loved ones. They share hugs and occasional tears. Watching them while I await my own greeting is one of my favorite things to do. I make up their stories in my head, then listen as they pass. My hands twist the straps of my purse over and around. I can sit no longer. He has been gone three weeks and I am giddy with the anticipation of kissing him, of having his hands on my skin. Jumping to my feet, I pace the waiting area, my eyes fixed on the viewing window.

Finally, he comes around the corner of the corridor, grinning at me from the other side of the glass. Dodging through the crowd, we make our way to each other. He pauses, holds me at arm's length, and lets his eyes wander up and down, taking in my high heeled boots and short floral dress. They are not winter attire, but I had donned them with the explicit intention of driving him wild before the evening is over. Already the hunger in his eyes tells me my efforts are not going unnoticed. He pulls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. For a moment we stand, content just to hold each other.

“God, I missed you.” Cupping my face between his hands, he kisses me. His lips tease against mine, making so many promises. “Do we still have to go for dinner?” he whispers against my ear. The warmth of his breath drives a delicious shiver up my spine.

I tangle my fingers in the hair at the back of his neck and pull him down for another kiss. He smells of cedarwood, and spice, and home. I long to find us an empty room and remind him he is mine; confirm I have been dreaming of having him back over the long weeks that he has been away.

“Yes,” I murmur against his mouth, “but then we can go home, and go to bed.” I draw the word out, filling it with as much innuendo as one word can hold.

“Mmmm.” His hands slide down the curve my ass, and he grips both cheeks, pulling me tight against his body. “Then let's get this show on the road.”

We make it to the car and buckle into our seats. But before I can turn the key his hand is at my nape, tugging me close. He kisses me in the way he could not in the busy airport. His fingers knot in my hair and his tongue runs along my lips before slipping between, seeking mine out to dance. He had drinks on the plane. His mouth tastes of warm, hard alcohol and mint. A massive ache starts between my thighs and thrums outward, through my limbs until I am burning up. 

“I want you so badly,” he growls before releasing me with a frustrated sigh. I grip the wheel and attempt to slow my breathing. A glance in the mirror tells me I am as disheveled as I suspected.

Dinner is fun—a friend’s birthday celebration. Everyone drinks and laughs together, but every time I look at him, I prickle with anticipation all over again. I catch him watching me across the rim of his glass, and a ripple of goosebumps moves up the backs of my arms. His thoughts match mine and it shows in his eyes. He extends a hand and his fingers skim my knee beneath the table. I twitch and clench my legs together trapping it there, fearful and hopeful at the same time that he will move it higher. I’ve been wet through my panties for hours. Filled with daring, I reach below and press his fingers up until they encounter the damp fabric. He disguises a groan by sputtering on his drink. Our friend pounds him on the back.

When the others suggest it is time to head home, the two of us jump up from our chairs without further hesitation. We say our goodbyes without lingering and escape into the chilly evening. He holds my hand, quiet as we walk, and when we get to the vehicle, he pushes me up against the side. The cold metal makes me gasp, but his mouth seizes mine, swallowing the sound. He leans his body into me, forcing a knee between my legs. I whimper and grind shamelessly against the fabric covering the hard muscles of his thigh. 

“Teasing little minx. Get in the car,” he growls. “If I can’t get inside you soon, I will go crazy, I swear.”

When I turn to oblige, struggling to open the door with shaking fingers, he grabs a fistful of my hair. Tipping my head back he drags his teeth down the side of my neck. The rigid outline of his cock grinds against my ass and I know I would let him take me there if he asked. If he were to flip my skirt over my hips and plunge inside me, I would not say a word. I almost expect it and a part of me sinks in disappointment when he opens the car door and pushes me inside.

The city fades behind us as I drive, and we sit in charged quiet, waiting. I know we are both lost in our anticipation of what is to come. I try to force myself to concentrate on driving but feel the weight of his gaze on me. I glance over, smiling, ecstatic just for the fact that he is there beside me. A sexy, mischievous look glints in his eyes.

“What is it?” I ask, laughing. He grins, and his dimples pop, and my heart skips against my ribs.

“Nothing, I like looking at you. Keep driving.” He continues to stare at me, his hand crossing the center console to find my bare leg beneath the hem of my skirt. My body leaps under his touch. He traces the skin on my knee a moment before his fingers wander higher to the heat between my thighs. Upwards, until they press against the barrier of my panties. 

“Oh,” I hiss, struggling to keep my eyes on the road where they belong. My hands sweat against the steering wheel. My fingers want nothing more than to reach out and touch him back, but I force them to remain clenched, keeping the vehicle on the road, reminding myself we are going home.

“Concentrate,” he warns slipping past the lace thong and delving into the wetness behind it. I moan. Sliding his fingertips over me, he spreads the moisture around and then settles on my clit. He works it in slow circles with a feather-light touch. My hips jump and seek more pressure, but he continues to tease the aching bead of flesh until I'm shaking. 

“You will make me come,” I warn, squirming. “I don’t know if I can keep the car on the road if you make me come.”

“You’re so wet.” His voice is rough with desire, and a thrill shoots through me. “I can’t wait to shove my cock inside you.” 

A shuddery little gasp is the only response I can give him. My knuckles are white on the wheel, I have to remind myself to keep my eyes open and focused on the dark ribbon of road winding before us. I love it when he talks dirty to me, and he knows it. Like I had with my dress and heels, the thong beneath, he was using all his weapons to drive me crazy with wanting him. 

Carefully, he takes his free hand and pries my right one off the steering wheel. His eyes never leave my face, the weight of his gaze is like a touch. Shifting closer, he presses my hand against the rock hard bulge in the front of his jeans.

“That’s it.” I tug my hand back and hit the turn signal. “I can’t do this, I will crash.”

There is a dark road to the right. My heart is pulsing in my throat, I pull the car off the highway at a speed that knocks him back against the window. Understanding dawns across his face, and he grins in a wild way I have never seen. His hands are scrambling to unbuckle us both before I come to a complete stop. The vehicle is too small for me to climb across. I punch the car into park and fling the door open, tripping as I rush to the passenger side. He yanks me inside and on top of him.

I do my best to straddle him in the confines of the seat. Our knees and elbows hit dashes and gear shifts as we fight to be closer, seeking the press of each other’s bodies. He kisses me as if he is starving, all teeth and gasping air. I long to be consumed. I am empty and aching; he is the only thing that will make me whole. 

I claw at his belt. There is no more room to move no matter how we try. His hands are beneath my skirt, trying to yank my panties to the side.

“Fuck!” I cannot free him from his belt, his jeans—everything I want gone. 

“Out, get out,” he pants, shoving me out the door. I spare one glance at the highway a few hundred meters away, then his hands are pushing me forward against the car. My cheek pressed to the hood, I arch my body back, hands seeking anything to hold on to. I do not feel the bite of November air against my bare ass, only his hands shoving my dress up and cupping my aching pussy. 

I reach back and at last, blindly, undo his belt and yank it free. He shoves his pants down with a huff, and I twist my head around, relishing the sight of him. I’m sure my hand is cold, but he groans approvingly when I take him in my hand. I’ve never felt him so hard, the head of his cock is slick and dripping, as ready as I am. I release him, prostrating myself on the hood and press my ass upwards, presenting myself to him. Seizing my hair, he steps behind me and pushes inside my body with an agonized moan. There is no resistance. I clench around him, my body a welcoming, slippery fist, and he lets out a guttural cry. The force of his thrusts pushes me forward so hard the car shifts beneath my hands. My tits brush against the icy metal of the car, but everything else is aflame. The world consists of he and I and the pure joy of finally having him fill my aching body. 

“Oh god, oh fuck,” he chants as he slams into me. He will not last long, but I don’t mind. I thrill at the knowledge of what I do to him. How badly he aches for me. The knowledge turns me on as much as his touch, or the dirty words that are falling from his gorgeous lips. Tendrils of orgasm snake through my limbs and convene, clustering low in my belly. I whimper. He holds my hips and slams himself in and out of my body with a force that borders on pain. The sort of painful pleasure that consumes the body until it erupts. 

“I’m going to come, baby,” he pants in a broken, breathless voice. “Tell me you want me to fill you up.”

“I do,” I sob, “please, I want to feel you. Come for me.” 

He does the instant the words leave my mouth, holding me against him so he is as deep inside me as he can be. The heat of him hits me, and the sounds he makes in his pleasure send me tumbling over the edge after him. I clench and writhe around him until neither of us has anything left. He bends forward, holding me as I stand wide-legged and spent against the car, our cum running down my legs. 

With a sigh he pulls out and bends down, pulling my underwear up. “I want to think of you wearing those soaking wet panties the rest of the way home,” he gives me a lingering kiss. “Then we are going to do that again."