His hands left the wheel and came to her hips, gripping hard. “I don’t think I can…”
“Yes, you can.” She rolled her hips against him, feeling him hard beneath his jeans, and he groaned. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jack.”
One of his hands stayed on the wheel, barely keeping them on course, while the other gripped her hip almost painfully. She could feel him trembling beneath her, feel the rapid beating of his heart.
“I’ve wanted you since the day I met you,” he gasped. “Watching you, thinking about you, imagining, God, Rachel…”
She ground down harder against him, feeling the rough denim of his jeans against her inner thighs, the hard ridge of his cock pressing exactly where she needed it. His face was a study in pleasure and agony, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, ragged breath. A crimson flush spread from his neck across his cheeks. He was close, she could tell from the desperate rhythm of his hips, the way his fingers dug into her flesh. Wound so tight from weeks of wanting that this would be over fast.
“Let go,” she whispered in his ear. “It’s okay. Let go.”
His hand tightened on her hip, his whole body going rigid, and then she felt him shudder beneath her, heard him make a raw groan against her neck.
When she pulled back to look at him, his face was flushed, with arousal, with embarrassment, with disbelief.
“I can’t believe I just…” he started, looking mortified. “In my jeans like a fucking kid. I’m sorry, I…”
She silenced him with a kiss. It was their first, and the moment their lips met, something ignited. Jack kissed her back desperately, one hand coming up to cup the back of her head, pulling her closer. She could taste the desire in it.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, she said, “Don’t apologize. That was incredibly hot.”
“You’re going to kill me,” he said, but his hands were already moving on her, sliding up her sides, and she could feel him stirring again beneath her despite what had just happened.
“The lesson’s over,” she said, climbing off him. “Take us back to the barn.”
He did, his hands unsteady on the controls, his eyes constantly darting to her. When they finally parked, he turned to her.
“What now?” he asked.
She gave him a quick kiss. “Go get cleaned up. Tomorrow is another day, Jack.”
__________
Rachel lay in bed that night, the memory of Jack’s hands on her hips burned into her skin, the taste of his mouth lingering at the corner of her lips. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her hand drifted down over her breasts, the ache of wanting still in her. She pushed her fingers between her legs and let herself relive it: the desperation in his voice, the way his body trembled under her, the absolute abandon she could feel in his body. It had been too long since anyone had made her feel sexual.
She came quietly this time, a kind of relief, every muscle in her body going slack all at once. She drifted into sleep with his face in her dreams.
In the mornings, Rachel always woke before the sun. She dressed in the gray-blue dark, her body still humming from the night before. Coffee. The familiar ritual steadied her, even as she realized she was listening for Jack before she even made it to her boots.