The leather of the passenger seat burns her thighs as she sits down. With the smallest of squeals she pops her legs up onto the dash, leaving only the tiny bit of her covered in denim to the scorching summer heat.
“If you were wearing clothes that wouldn’t happen.”
“I thought you wanted to see my legs.”
“I thought you wanted my eyes on the road.”
“I like living dangerously.”
His eyes drink her in. From her feet, precariously perched on the heels of her flip-flops, up and down and up and down again her legs, starting to bronze from the early summer sun, though a far cry from her usual late summer ocher.
“Red light, darling.” She grins, big and toothy. The car lurches to a stop, seat belts biting into both of their shoulders.
“Dangerous, you said.”
“Gonna make me eat my words?”
“I’m not even going to touch that one.”
The car hums again into motion. The sun beats down through the windows. The trees whiz by, one after another, a green blur. His hand finds the soft smoothness of her leg, which has finally drifted down into the seat proper. Their eyes meet the horizon.
“Is the air on?”
“Can’t you feel it?”
“All I feel is hot.”
“Getting ahead of yourself?”
“You’re bad.”
His hand strokes up and down in slow, purposeless circles, ever widening, until they reach from her knee to just under the hem of her shorts. He doesn’t follow with his eyes. She doesn’t doubt where his focus lies.
“Say cheese!” She holds her phone horizontally up to her eye.
“I’m driving.”
“Cheese.” She pouts. He shows his teeth. Click. She beams. He squeezes, hard, the tips of his fingers sinking deep into her thigh. “Easy, mister. Play nice.”
“Maybe I ain’t so nice.”
“Maybe.”
The miles and miles multiply before them. She starts to hum along to the radio. He turns it up, just a touch, then returns to tapping out the rhythm with his fingertips, against her skin. The shadows grow longer.
“I’m glad we’re doing this.” She squeezes his arm.
“Me too.”
“I mean, I’ve thought about it for, well…”
“Hey. Don’t spoil it.” His arm wraps around her. She leans into him.
* * *
The car pulls off the interstate in a nameless town with little more than a sun-bleached gas station and a few muddy roads leading off into evergreen mystery. They stop at the station, and he parks at the furthest pump. He turns to her, her head against the rest, eyes welded shut, stranded of her hair sticking to her face. His finger gently runs up and down her cheek, until she starts to stir.
“Why don’t you stretch those legs somewhere that won’t smudge my windshield.”
Eyes blinking, bleary, she sticks out her tongue and kicks a bare foot at him, though she connects much more with steering wheel than him. She winces, he laughs. She pouts. He takes her foot into his hands, gently kneading it between his thumbs, pecking the top with his lips.
“Better?”
“Much.”
“Good. Now go get me a drink.”
The back of her hand smacks against his shoulder. He grins. Their car doors open in tandem. He rifles through his pocket for his wallet, while she skips toward the peeling, yellow convenience store.
If at all possible, it’s even hotter inside the store than out. Flies buzz lazily from one wrapper to another, as she saunters to the refrigerator racks, eternally grateful not to have to pee. Row after row of sodas and waters and beer, the real kinds, of course, but also strange brands in garish day-glo with flavors that threaten cavities just by reading them. She frowns, shudders a little despite the heat at the foreignness, in a bad way.
Grabbing the biggest bottle of water she’s ever seen and a 6-pack of the first brand of beer she sees without a 40-oz counterpart, she nudges the refrigerator door closed with her hip and finds her way to browse what passes for a snack section. She can’t help but smile, guessing to herself how far past expiration the pre-packaged snack cakes are, before turning toward things possibly a little safer. He eye catches on an enormous bag of cheddar popcorn.
“Hey.” She turns. His cell phone flashes. She goes to cover her face, but too late. He beams.
“Are you serious! I look terrible.”
“I like it. You look so unsuspecting. Innocent, almost.” He admires the device in his hands. “Not that that’s fooling anyone.”
“Ha. Ha. Let me see it.”
“Promise not to delete it?”
“How am I going to with my hands full of your bullshit?
“Our bullshit, darling.”
He shows her the phone. She looks, shifting her weight from one foot to another.
“I look tired.”
“You look just like I want to always remember you.”
“How’s that?”
“Real.”
“As opposed to what?”
“I don’t know. Just a dream?”
She rolls her eyes. “Quit being dumb.”
He puts the phone in his pocket and steps forward, kissing her on her forehead as he takes the items from her hands.
“If only I were.”
They walk to the register, her hand squeezing his.
* * *
He returns the gas pump to its rightful place. She lingers against the car, not quite ready to get back in.
“Waiting for something?”
“Mmhmm.”
His lips meet hers. They linger, moving slowly, almost hesitantly, as if it were the first time. Her arms wrap around him, his body pressing her against the car as the kiss deepens, intensifies, begins to expand far beyond two mouths, to two bodies, rocking in hungry motion. His hands move down her back, up again her thighs, settling on her ass and pulling her against him, ever tighter, tighter. She at last comes up for air, gasping.
“Not here.” She glances around, smoothing her hair.
“No, not here.”
He leans back, taking her hand in his, and opens her door. He gives her one more slow kiss, his teeth just barely catching on her lower lip as his mouth lets go, before closing her door, and walking around the car to get back into his driver’s seat.
“Hey, let’s explore.” She has a grin on her face as she eyes him.
“Explore?” His head cocks.
“Down one of those roads. Without pavement. We’ve got time.”
He smirks. He turns away from the interstate.
* * *
The sky darkens, not with clouds, but with leaves, a verdant canopy enveloping from above. A cloud of dust covering from behind, the draw of the ever narrowing road pulling forward. Her hand takes hold of his arm, steading herself to lean forward, against the jostles and bumps, eyes squinting at the horizon.
“I don’t know how much road we have left.”
“You’re not pussing out on me now, are you?”
“Ever the lady, you are.”
“Damn right.”
A glint of silver shimmers up ahead. Her hand points. He nods. The car slows, finally coming to a stop just before a gate long unused.
“This look like the adventure you were hoping for?” He shifts into park.
“Only one way to find out.” Her grin threatens to devour her face entire. His eyes linger for a long moment, transfixed by their light. She opens her door.
The air is sticky, thick with moisture; the liquid scent of azaleas coats her lungs as she steps into the sun. His door closes and she turns, watching as he stretches, hand in hand over his head. Before them, the gate, once grey, now primarily red with rust, blocks from the road a path into the forest. Less a path, really, than a patch of weeds wedged between trees.
“See any signs?” There is only the faintest quaver to her voice.
“None to speak of.”
“What does that mean?”
“You don’t think the rust and vines are sign enough?”
“We can go back.”
He walks to where she stands, his hand finding her waist, her wide eyes finding his. He leans down, his lips meeting her forehead, before turning back to the car.
“Seriously?” She frowns.
He doesn’t answer. He opens the car door, leans in, and pulls out the 6-pack from the back seat.
“I figure we might need these. Protection against evil spirits.” He tosses a bottle to her, which she catches, fingertips flailing.
“Is this going to explode in my face now?”
“That’s why we have six, darling.”
With a grimace, she twists the cap off in her shirt-covered palm. The cap comes off with only the minimum of foam. With a wink, she blows him a kiss, before downing a long swallow. He follows suit.
“Shall we?”
Worming their way past the gate, they walk arm in arm down the path. Trees reaching down, branches just brushing their faces, faint lines of dirt under their feet the only evidence left that this way was once travelled by wheels. It winds and twists, closer, tighter, until she has to move behind him, her hands wrapped lightly around his waist, as he pushes ever onward through the leaves. The space around them grows dark, the sun shaded to stripes by the verdant canopy stretching overhead. The wood and bugs bite into their legs and arms, but they press on, toward the growing light just ahead.
He feels her arm tighten around him as he walks forward, bending back a branch before stepping out into the clearing ahead. He gasps. She shoves.
“Holy shit.”
They cover their eyes, the suddenly unrelenting light of the sun threatening to blind them, they take in the sight before them regardless. The bones of a carnival, trailer boxed rides, tents, space and pirate ships, lie scattered across the grass in all of their rusted glory. An enormous ferris wheel, long claimed to rust and tilting dangerously to one side, towers above it all in with a majesty untarnished by disrepair.
“Where are we?” Her eyes are wide and glistening in the late afternoon sun as she drinks in the images before her. His heart catches in his throat, his eyes unwilling to turn from that glisten.
“I don’t know.”
“Where fairs go to die. I guess.”
“Do the other fairs, the ones still traveling, come and visit?”
“I hope so.”
They walk on, his hand at the small of her back, through the lines and rough aisles between rides and hitches. Paint peeling, once bold designs reduced to outlines and sketches, the ghosts of the midway lay scattered about the field, fighting a losing battle to kudzu and the elements. She runs her fingers across the side of one, over the bare wood, icebergs here, the half face of a yeti there. Tiny touches of paint flaking off into the grass.
“Have you ever seen something like this?” He points to a large wheel, jutting out from the clay at an angle, sun-bleached, but the once painted hundred colors still shining through, ringed in holes bored out into the wood.
“No.”
She picks up a line of rope from a pony pen, stretches and bunches it up in her hands.
“I used to love riding the ponies when I was little.”
“Something tells me you were quite the tomboy.”
“Does it show?”
He steps to her, until they practically touch, and looks down into her face, wiping a streak of clay from her cheek.
“Just a little.”
They kiss. Her arms tangle up in him, the rope falling to the ground. His hands clench onto her shirt, wet with sweat, as he pulls her ever closer, closer, as close and as tight as he can, but never close enough. She sucks his lip into her mouth, then bites down. She pushes away.
“Catch me.”
She doesn’t run very far.
His arm grabs her shoulder, pulls her back. She almost stumbles, saved from falling at the last minute by his pressing her, hard, against the bulging wall of an old spook house. He kisses her again, this time with a hunger, only glowing before, but now burning white hot. She answers in kind. Grasping, pulling, tugging, their hands a web of entailed needs, their shirts a sweaty mess tumbling onto the ground, the furry faces and faded fangs peeling into nothing above them their only witnesses.
His lips find her neck, his hands unclasping her bra. Her head tilts back against the wall, her gasps growing louder and louder, until they barely count as gasps anymore. He takes her nipple, pink and glowing in the wild air, into his mouth, tongue swirling and dancing around it as it swells, her netting in his hair, holding his head tightly against her chest. His eyes look up, hers down, both locking in a fit of breathless fury. He straightens and grabs her, lifting her by her ass.
The grass is soft and damp against her back. She squints up at him, silhouetted by the setting sun, and shivers as he removes what little denim she’s wearing. Her hands almost flailing, grasping wildly at his chest, at his thighs, before grabbing onto the hem of his shorts and unfastening.
Both are free from the bonds of their clothing. He hovers above her, gazing down at how her hair rings her face in wet chaos against the shaded grass. She looks up at his face before darkened sky. And wraps her hand around his cock. He moans. She spreads her legs apart, and he grabs one by the thigh, lifting it up until almost to his shoulder. She slides him up and down her, lifting her other leg and throwing it over him, ready to be bent nearly in half by lust.
He slides inside of her.
They rock together, slow strokes in and out, all the way up and down the length of his cock. Their lips find each other, their tongues. Her hands wrap around his waist, grabbing him by his ass to hold him inside, all the way. They moan.
He slides out again, slowly, before thrusting in, hard. His pace quickens, the sounds of skin against skin and their breathless exhalations bounce against the midway in a chorus of lust. Her eyes are wide, barely blinking. His lock onto hers, her expression of lip-biting need. He needs it too. He lets go.
He fills her, deep inside. She screams. He’s not quiet either. And then silence, sweet and warm in the cool evening air. Broken only by a low, gentle laughter. She laughs, her grin wicked. He answers in kind. And they lay there, laughing, neither quite ready to let go.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/jjm27x/just_rolling_along