Morning After

The car is still moving but the world has stopped. Evelyn sits half-naked in the back seat, her black lingerie pushed to one side, the dark line of her hair falling across her shoulders. Manuel watches her like he has no choice. She climbs over him, straddles his lap in the narrow space, and grinds down slow, hips rolling in cow-girl rhythm while he grips her waist. She leans back just enough to wrap her hand around his cock, strokes him hard, then guides him between her lips and sucks him deep, lips tight, tongue working the underside. His hand fists in her hair. When she comes up for air she slides straight back onto him, taking every inch, riding him in tight, grinding circles. He palms her ass, fingers digging in, and she fucks him harder, faster, until the only sound is skin slapping skin and the wet, filthy noise of her dripping around him. She leans forward, plants her palms on his chest, and keeps moving, milking him with every roll of her hips until he pulls her down and grinds up, emptying inside her while the car keeps driving into nothing.