I’m straddling you while you finger me in the cab.
We’re headed back to your apartment in Harlem after dinner in Brooklyn. I’m kissing your neck and breathing loud enough that you cover my mouth with your other hand. I lick your fingers, still sweet from eating cannolis after dinner.
The dark glassed partition is opaque. We’re behind the driver, anyway. The window is open. At a light in Chinatown, pedestrians pass by. Some stare. Other drivers look. We don’t care.
Your cock is rock hard against my thigh, close to your hand inside me. I’m unzipping your pants. God, I want you in me so badly. I can’t wait.
Your hand on my pussy slips; it’s so wet. You’re shifting me over you, closing your eyes. They are striking in their caramel color against your dark skin and framed by your long eyelashes. Your hypnotic hold over me breaks momentarily, letting me slip back into my body.
Stroking the head of your cock with my thumb, I feel drops of precum. I want to taste. I slide off your lap into the space behind the driver. It’s just wide enough for me to kneel in front of you.