The Rest Stop 9

Author '

s Note

This story is based on a true experience--the first sexual encounter I had with my partner over ten years ago. It was spontaneous, filthy, tender, and unforgettable. Writing it now feels like honoring the intimacy and electricity we shared in that moment. It definitely has been a strong start to the other adventures we've had as a couple.

Enjoy,

-G

All characters are over the age of 18.

--

The bus was still rumbling as we pulled into the station before mine. I remember texting him,

"

One more stop--about 45 minutes out."

He replied with a thumbs up and said he'd leave in twenty.

That last stretch felt like a dream. I kept smoothing my hands down my thighs, checking my breath, trying to calm the nerves buzzing beneath my skin. It was the ache of wanting something for so long and knowing it was

finally

within reach.

And then we were there.

I looked out the window and saw his white SUV parked just beyond the curb. He was already there. Already watching. Through the windshield I could see him--arms resting on the steering wheel, gaze locked on the doors of the bus like he was holding his breath too.

When the bus hissed to a stop and the doors groaned open, he got out of the car in one fluid motion. Tall. Solid. Everything I remembered from the screen, but so much more

real

. More

there

. The air changed when he moved. It's the only way I can describe it.

I was the only person getting off, but there was a line of passengers waiting to board.

The driver stepped out to open the luggage compartment for new passengers, but I didn't need it. I'd packed light--just a small duffel I kept by my feet. I stood, legs stiff from the ride, and slung it over my shoulder, heart thumping in my chest nervously.

And there he was.

Up close, he looked exactly like his pictures. Exactly like he had on camera when we stayed up late coaxing each other to orgasm. But now I could smell his soap, deodorant and his heady pheromones under that. Sandalwood and cedar. His skin had a glow from being outside in the summer, and even though his eyes were shielded by a pair of sunglasses, I could feel them roam over my outfit appreciatively. I had changed out of my jeans a few stops back opting for a short black skater skirt so he could see my thick, long legs.

God, he was fine. Finer than I'd even let myself imagine. He was wearing a tight black shirt and I caught a glimpse of his tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves that wrapped tightly around his muscular frame.

He stepped closer, just enough to be in my space, and grinned. "You're even sexier in person," he said taking my bag in one hand and lacing the other through the fingers of one of mine.

My whole body flushed, arousal surging up so fast it made me lightheaded. The nerves melted away, replaced by something wetter, deeper.

"Same," I cleared my throat.

He opened my door like a true gentleman, his fingertips brushed my lower back possessively as he helped me climb inside and he set my bag in the trunk before climbing back into the front seat next to me.

The car doors shut with a soft

thunk,

muffling the sounds of the station behind us. It was like we were sealed inside a little universe of our own

.

When the engine rumbled to life and we watched the bus pull away, something shifted.

I turned to look at him, heart still pounding. He took off his sunglasses and set them on the console.

That was the first time I saw his eyes in person--blue-gray, stormy and clouded with lust. They flicked up to meet mine, and we just sat there for a breath too long, smiling like idiots.

Then he leaned in. And kissed me.

God.

That kiss. I've kissed a lot of people, but nothing had ever felt like that--not before, not since.

His lips were the perfect softness and he tasted like mint and something slightly sweet--maybe a drink from earlier--but I didn't care. I barely noticed the gear shift pressing into my side as he reached across and pulled me toward him, one strong arm around my back, the other braced near my hip.

His biceps flexed beneath my palm, solid and warm under the soft cotton of his black T-shirt. I felt the shape of him--the broadness of his chest, the heat of his body, the way I was surrounded by his presence. His tongue snaked into my mouth and I groaned as he deepened the kiss, feeling the growing wetness in my panties. My perfect man.

I melted into him, my hand curling around his shoulder, and suddenly the months of waiting collapsed into this single moment and I forgot everything.

I forgot how long the bus ride had been. I forgot the strangers outside. I even forgot to text my best friend that I'd arrived safely--because in that moment, with his mouth on mine and his body pressed to mine and his hands moving like he'd been touching me like this forever, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

When we finally pulled apart, just barely, he whispered, "I've been waiting to do that since I first talked to you on the phone."

I laughed, breathless as he pulled out onto the street. "Me too."

The drive back to his place was only about twenty minutes, but my body had different plans. After sixteen hours of sitting, vibrating with nerves and tension and fantasizing through half-sleep, everything in me ached--and not just from desire.

"Can we stop somewhere?" I asked, shifting in my seat. "I need a bathroom. And... I want to freshen up a little."

He gave me a glance and nodded. "There's a rest stop up ahead. Two minutes."

When he pulled off the interstate, the sun was just beginning to dip low in the sky, casting a soft golden haze over everything. We parked near the edge of the lot, tucked slightly behind a row of tall hedges near where the trucks idled. Quiet. Private enough.

"I'll be quick," I promised, giving him a quick kiss before grabbing my purse and slipping out of the vehicle and made my way toward the bathrooms.

It wasn't just that I needed to pee--I needed to

breathe.

Sixteen hours on a bus had left me feeling sticky, cramped, and half-feral. I wanted to smooth my hair, wipe the stale bus air from my skin... and I wanted to do one more thing.

I reached under my skirt and slid my panties down. Black cotton, trimmed with lace--he'd seen them before, the first time I'd bent over on camera for him, teasingly before squirting all over my favorite blanket.

The back passenger door was halfway open, and he was just closing it when I came out of the bathroom. The rest stop was busy. Cars came and went in a slow, lazy rhythm. A minivan idled a few rows over. A trucker was eating chips out of a bag in the cab of his rig. We weren't hidden--not really. But the SUV had tinted windows, and he knew me.

He knew what I liked. We'd talked about it in the dark, in low whispers, with our hands between our legs hundreds of miles apart. I'd told him I had an exhibitionist streak. I liked to be

seen.

Or at least... almost seen.

I opened the front door and slipped back into the passenger seat, heart hammering in my chest from more than just nerves. I reached into my bag and pulled out the little bundle of lace and cotton.

"I brought you a present," I said, my voice sweet, syrupy with mischief.

His gaze flicked to my hand, and his lips parted as he reached for them--no hesitation. He took them gently. Lifted them to his face and breathed in, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

He dropped the panties into the console, turned toward me, and said, "We're really close to the house."

Then he paused. His voice dropped an octave, eyes heavy on mine. "But I don't think I can wait. I

need

to be inside you."

My breath caught.

The drive there had been one long tease--his hand resting high on my thigh, fingers stroking lazy circles just beneath the hem of my skirt. Every time he touched that tender space near the seam of my underwear, I forgot how tired I was.

I forgot how to think. I didn't even try to protest. The windows of the SUV were tinted but there were people parked close enough to know what was going on even if they couldn't really see inside. None of it mattered. Not with the way he was looking at me like I was something he'd been starving for. Like he was already undressing me in his mind.

I bit my lip, unbuckled my seatbelt, and opened the door.

He was already opening the back door on his side.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the rest of the world fell away.

We were inside a bubble of our own desire.

He climbed in behind me, the seats already laid flat, his eyes never leaving mine. I crawled toward the back, heart hammering, body buzzing with adrenaline and desire.

His hands found my waist, slid up beneath my shirt, reverent and sure. "You're even more beautiful in person," he murmured, and I believed him.

I pulled him to me again, and it was like the first kiss all over again--slow at first, lips parting with a soft sigh, then deeper, hungrier, desperate. His tongue met mine and I moaned against him, hands threading through his hair, clutching the nape of his neck.

His shirt brushed my bare thighs as he settled over me. The heat of his body, the solid press of his chest to mine--I felt so sexy. Like a wanton slut.

His

wanton slut.

There wasn't much undressing. There didn't need to be. He lifted my skirt, eased his jeans open, and I reached between us, guiding him toward my soaking wet hole. He didn't even have to get me ready. We'd been teasing, edging, flirting with the thought of what if...

What if I came down to visit him? What if he fucked me so hard I didn't want to leave? What if I was so wet, and tight, and warm that he didn't let me leave? What if no one else would feel the same?

Our gazes met as he slowly slid home, his eyes burning into mine as a low moan of pleasure blossomed from my lips. I wanted to close my eyes and lose myself in the feel of him pressed into me, but I was afraid that if I did, I'd open them and he'd be gone...and I'd be back at my parents' apartment sweaty and aching and empty again.

So I kept them open, already on the edge of my orgasm he was just inside me.

Fuck. I felt so full of him. My fingers fisted in my skirt, yanking it up over my belly so I could watch him spreading me open. I watched in awe as the dark, slick folds of my pussy yielded to the pale length of his thick, hard cock as he slowly slid out and back in again.

We both gasped, bodies molding to each other as he filled me with a stretch that made me ache in the most exquisite way, but it wasn't just the sensation--it was the feeling. The

knowing

. That this was something we'd both wanted for so long and were now living in, flesh to flesh.

He moved slowly at first, rocking his hips with care, holding my gaze like he couldn't bear to look away. One of his hands cradled my cheek, his fingers threading through the long, black braids hanging behind me; the other anchored around one of my thick thighs, steadying me with a gentleness that made tears spring to my eyes.

Wrapped in our own little world, not caring who might've passed by. We wouldn't have noticed. My body had been waiting for this moment, this man, for my whole life. We stayed like that for a moment before his lips grazed my ear.

"I'm going to taste you now." He rasped, and a fresh gush of wetness coated his cock. He smiled at my response, and ground into me before pulling out completely.

I felt his hands slide up my shirt and reach behind me, unclipping my bra like he'd done it a million times. He pulled the cups down and groaned softly when my tits spilled out. He leaned in and sucked on one stiffened peak immediately, tongue circling one nipple while the other hand greedily squeezed and pinched the other. The way he caressed me was unfiltered and possessive.

I love when he touches me like that.

Then he dropped to his knees between my legs, wide shoulders parting my thighs as he eased them open with his hands.

"Mmm, look at this pussy," he muttered, almost to himself, eyes locked on the slick heat between my legs. "Been thinking about tasting you for months."

And then he dove in enthusiastically. He licked me with slow and flat strokes of his tongue, from my dripping hole all the way up to my clit, then sucked it into his mouth. "Fuck, you're sweet," he groaned into me, his breath hot, tongue already moving again.

He licked me deep and full, tongue fucking me, then sliding up to swirl tight circles around my clit.

I gasped and rocked against his face, hips twitching with every stroke. "Oh my god--fuck

,

" I moaned, my hands holding my skirt up so I could watch him eat me. He groaned again, louder this time, sucking harder.

"Yeah," he said, pulling back just long enough to smirk up at me, lips and chin soaked. "I want you to ride my face like that baby. Let me feel how bad you need it."

Then he buried his tongue in me again, moving fast and wet and filthy. My thighs started to shake. I couldn't stop grinding on him, every nerve on fire, every muscle pulling tighter. He devoured me like he'd starve without it.

I was right there--teetering, breath catching, thighs shaking--when he pulled away.

He took his mouth off my pussy with a wet slurp, and I almost sobbed. I bucked my hips up, trying to chase the pressure, but he held me down.

"Don't," I begged. "Don't stop, I was about to--"

He looked up at me, his face slick with my wetness, lips swollen. "I know."

And then he slapped my pussy.

The sound cracked sharp between us. I gasped, body jolting hard, the sting blooming across my clit and echoing up my spine. My thighs trembled.

Before I could recover, he did it again--another slap, this one slower, more deliberate.

"Fuck--please

,

" I whimpered, writhing under him. "Please, I need to cum. I need it so bad."

He smirked, dragging two fingers through the mess between my legs. "You were gonna cum without my cock inside you?"

"I don't care," I gasped. "I just need to cum, please--fuck me, please."

But he wasn't done teasing. He leaned in and kissed me again, slow and filthy, smearing my wetness across my mouth and chin as he licked into me like he owned my body.

Then I felt his cock, thick and slick, rubbing up and down my slit, teasing me with the head, dragging it over my clit and down to my dripping entrance. I was throbbing, breathless, clutching at his arms.

And then, finally, he shoved himself in.

One hard, perfect thrust that filled me in a single, aching stroke. I gasped, body arching, as my pussy clenched down around him so tight he groaned.

"Jesus--look at you," he muttered, voice strained. "Squeezing the fuck out of me already. That little pussy is so tight, baby."

He started fucking me. Deep, hard, relentless. His hips slammed into mine, skin smacking skin, the wet, obscene sounds of it echoing loud and raw in the SUV. I tried to cry out--but he slapped a hand over my mouth.

"Shhh," he whispered against my ear. "You don't want anyone hearing you get ruined, do you?"

His cock pistoned into me with brutal rhythm for a few strokes then he slowed, grinding deep, hitting that perfect spot inside me that made me whimper against his palm. Then he picked up speed again, thrusting so hard it knocked the air from my lungs.

That teasing rhythm, the hard and the slow, the brutal and the tender threatened to short circuit my brain

.

I felt the orgasm build again, sharper this time, from being denied. My whole body locked up, the pressure unbearable as the ripples of pleasure rolled over me like a tsunami from my aching, sopping wet cunt out to the tips of my fingers. Even my scalp felt like it was rippling from the strength of my orgasm

I came with a scream muffled by his hand--legs shaking, pussy spasming hard around him, my whole body twitching from the intensity.

His breath hitched and he bit back a groan, eyes locked onto mine, and thrust once deep into me and came, cock pulsing inside me, heat flooding me, his whole body vibrating as he shot rope after rope of cum deep inside of my quivering pussy.

He stayed there, buried to the hilt, hand still on my mouth, eyes on mine.

We just breathed. A tangle of sweat, slick, and everything we'd wanted from each other for too long.