A Drive Home

Spicy short story because I was bored. Content may be R rated.

The long workdays now end in pure darkness. By 4:30pm, traffic in downtown Boston has tripled since early afternoon. Wild. My car is parked on the second level of the State Street underground garage. It was packed when I arrived; now most of the spots have emptied, the place nearly a ghost town. The sound of my heels clicking on the pavement echoes through the level, and somewhere below I hear engines starting and doors slamming.

My little red Corolla sits perfectly in a compact spot. I toss my purse and thick winter coat onto the passenger seat, then slide into the driver’s side. The silence engulfs me the second the door shuts with a deep thud. I lock the doors, lean my head back, and let my eyes drift closed in the quiet warmth, the day replaying in my mind.

I should circle back on that email tomorrow.
Did they ever get back to me on the list?
I need to make something for dinner.

I breathe in slowly, then let out a deep sigh as I peel my eyes open. The keys slip into the ignition. The engine hums to life. At the exit, I feed my ticket into the machine and the gate slides up. The night air slips in through my cracked window, crisp enough to make me shiver as I close it and turn on the heat. A sharp and much needed wake-up before entering the usual downtown war-zone.

It’s a dark evening, with standstill traffic - the city lights ignite the night sky, headlights flooding the streets. The brake lights of the Chevy in front of me cast my car in deep and bright red. I tap through the apps on my dashboard and resume my playlist. Old Dominion plays. When I flip back to the GPS, a message pops up, his name snapping my attention into place.

Don’t look at it. You’re driving.

My eyes jump back to the road. ETA forty-five minutes. Lord help me, I hate Boston. The message flashes again. My stomach flips. My fingers itch.

You don’t need to respond. Just take a peek.

The Chevy starts moving. I follow the familiar turns through downtown. Left onto State Street, another left, down Oliver, stopping at yet another red light.

You have two minutes.

My finger moves fast. Face ID unlocks the screen, his messages lined up like a dare.

Hi beautiful. My heart does a flip.

Did you leave work yet?

I want to see you.

Warmth spreads through my core. The Honda ahead lets off the brake, and my eyes snap back to the street, but my mind lingers. A small smile tugs at my lips. I want to see him. To feel his arms brush my shoulder, his voice low in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

That need is hard to explain. The way my skin remembers touch so vividly. The way warmth blooms between my legs at the thought alone. The flutter that settles deep when I picture their mouth, their hands.

Purchase Street is a deadlock as always. Cars line up outside garages and cross streets, squeezing into nothing. Traffic crawls. My hands barely stay on the wheel, resting on my lap, the center console. I glance around. There’s a pickup next to me. Hate it. The BMW behind me with LED lights brighter than the gates of heaven. Dick. The Bape Ferrari revving on my right. College kid, I swear, what the fuck?? The Boston potholes must suck for him though.

His name lights up my screen again. One look and the warmth slides lower.

Let me taste you baby.

Fuck. I want that. Memory and imagination intertwine, and I let them. I know how his lips taste. How his hands slide down my back, grip my ass hard, just how I like it, pulling me in. How hard he already is. One hand low on my stomach, fingers gently slipping under my panties, holding me there until a small whimper escapes.

Traffic steadies. I cross another intersection, then line up for the right turn onto 93 South. Another nightmare.

Sure, make that turn from the farthest left lane. Why not?

Obsessed comes on next. Zandros. I know it instantly. The slow, deep melody wraps around me, heavy and hypnotic.

Got you on your knees
Baby, rest in peace
If it’s up to me I’d put you where you’re meant to be
Got you obsessin’ now
Counting your blessings now

Her voice pulls me under. My body drives. My mind wanders.

Him on his knees. My leg over his shoulder. His tongue moving in gentle circles, hands gripping my hips, holding me in place while my fingers grip his hair. My thighs press together, either resisting or leaning in. I’m not sure which.

I merge onto the on-ramp. Here it gets tricky. Massholes hate waiting, and it’s usually the pickups. We get it. You’re in a big boy car. Fuck off. The merge isn’t terrible. I weave through the ones braking for no reason. Three miles from my exit, the lanes open and traffic finally flows. The GPS rattles on about closures and police ahead. Interesting.

Let me taste you.

The words repeat in my head. I want to answer. To tell him exactly what I want. His tongue, his fingers, the groan he makes when he realizes how soaked I am.

I’d tell him to bend me over the table and fill me, slow and deep, his dick throbbing against me. I’d kiss him, tasting myself on his lips. His hand in my hair, turning me around in one smooth motion. The hard press of his tip, another wave rushes through me. The sensation engulfs me when he pins my wrist behind my back, one sharp spank, then a hard thrust that drives him all the way in.

Fuck.

His groan fuels me. I push back into him, matching the rhythm. Hard. Deep. His mouth traces warm kisses against my shoulder, down my neck. Telling me how good I feel. Me telling him how badly I want him.

My exit is empty, like always. I speed up just a little, enjoying it. I crack the window, cold air biting my cheeks, turn the heat down. A dark street. My driveway empty except for my roommate’s car. I park beside it, grab my things, climb the steps to the apartment.

At the door, I check my phone. Another message from him, a few minutes old.

Let me know when you’re home.

I smile and type back.

I’m home.

You sure know how to get a girl’s attention.

I’ll be over soon?

Inside, the TV hums. Mean Girls. My roommate sprawls on the couch, phone in hand.

“Hiiii,” she says, not looking up.

“Hey.” I set my things down.

“Did you eat?”

“No.”

“There’s pasta and meat sauce on the stove.”

“Thank you,” I call from my room. I peel off work clothes, grab my robe. He writes back instantly:

I’ll be waiting, beautiful.

When I step back out, she finally looks up, smirking.

“Nice ass.”

“Why thank you.” I set my things in the bathroom, leaving the door cracked. “I’m gonna shower.” I turn on the hot water.

“Okaaay.”

“You want to join me?”

Silence. Then the couch creaks. Soft footsteps on hardwood.