Chapter 1: Sleeping Beauty's Secret Arousal
The road hummed beneath the tires, a constant drone broken only by the occasional swish of passing cars and Dave’s tuneless humming. Streetlights strobed through the windows, painting fleeting stripes of orange across the backseat. Abi’s head lolled against Will’s shoulder, her breathing deep and even. Sleep had claimed her somewhere past the city limits. One leg was curled beneath her, the other stretched out, the hem of her denim skirt riding high on her freckled thigh.
Will shifted slightly, the vinyl seat creaking under him. He glanced at Poppy in the front passenger seat. Her eyes, reflecting the dashboard lights, met his briefly in the rearview mirror before flicking away towards the dark motorway. Dave was engrossed in fiddling with the radio, static crackling then resolving into a pop song he immediately started tapping the wheel to. "This one's alright," he mumbled, mostly to himself.
Under the thick wool blanket pooled in their laps, Will’s hand rested on Abi’s bare knee. The skin was warm, impossibly soft. He traced slow circles with his thumb, feeling the slight bumps of gooseflesh rise in the cool air-conditioned draught. She stirred, murmured something unintelligible, and nestled closer. Her hand found his free one, fingers intertwining loosely.
He let his exploring hand drift higher, skating over the smooth skin of her inner thigh, just above her knee. The denim hem ended there, a frayed edge tickling his knuckles. Her skin was like silk. He moved slowly, incrementally upwards, his touch feather-light. Past the midpoint of her thigh. Higher still, towards the shadowed junction where the skirt fabric bunched.
Abi sighed in her sleep, a soft, contented sound. Her hips shifted almost imperceptibly, tilting just so, offering more access. Will’s fingers encountered the delicate edge of lace. Her panties. He traced the scalloped border, the contrast between the cool lace and her heated skin sending a jolt straight to his groin. He was achingly hard already, pressed uncomfortably against his jeans.
He hooked a finger under the lace. Slid it beneath the barrier. The heat emanating from her core was intense. His middle finger glided through slickness, finding her folds already swollen and wet. So goddamn wet, even asleep. He pushed a little deeper, feeling the hot, velvety softness part easily for him. A low, throaty moan escaped Abi’s lips, muffled against his shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. Her hips lifted subtly, pressing against his hand, seeking more pressure.
Will curled his finger inside her, exploring her tight, wet heat. She gasped, her breath hitching. Her fingers tightened around his other hand. He added a second finger, stretching her gently, feeling the incredible soft, gripping pressure. Her body moved with his rhythm now, tiny, unconscious undulations that made his cock throb. He rubbed his thumb firmly over her clit, the little nub already hard and eager beneath his touch.
“Fuck, Will,” she breathed, her voice thick with sleep and arousal. Her eyes were still closed, but her body was fully awake, arching against him. She reached down under the blanket, fumbling for the button of his jeans. Her fingers brushed against the hard ridge of his erection straining against the denim.
In the front seat, Poppy shifted. She’d been watching the mirror, the reflections dim but telling. She saw the concentrated intensity on Will’s face, half-shadowed in the passing lights. Saw the way Abi moved, the subtle lift of her hips, the tension in her neck. Saw the distinct movement beneath the blanket where Will’s arm disappeared. A slow, secretive smile touched Poppy’s lips. She leaned back slightly, her own hand drifting casually to her stomach, slipping under the loose fabric of her tunic top. Her fingers found the hard peak of her nipple beneath her bra, pinching it gently, rolling the sensitive bud. The friction sent sparks through her. She imagined Will’s fingers, thick and sure, buried inside Abi’s wetness. Imagined the feel of him, the stretch, the slick slide. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the answering pulse between her own legs. Her hand slid lower, under the waistband of her leggings, past the thick thatch of curls, finding her own slick folds. She traced her entrance, mimicking the rhythm she imagined Will was setting in the back seat, her breath catching in her throat, trying to keep it silent.
“Anyone hungry?” Dave asked suddenly, breaking the thick, charged silence. “Service station coming up in five klicks. Could grab some crisps?” He glanced at Poppy. “You alright? Bit quiet.”
Poppy snatched her hand out from under her top, resting it casually on her knee. Will froze, his fingers still buried deep inside Abi. Abi went completely still beneath the blanket, her eyes flying open wide, meeting Will’s in sudden, wide-awake panic. Poppy cleared her throat, forcing her voice steady. “Crisps sound good, Dave. Salt and vinegar.” She didn’t dare look back in the mirror.
Will slowly withdrew his fingers from Abi’s heat, making her bite her lip to stifle a whimper. He brought his wet fingers to his own mouth, tasting her tang on his tongue, his eyes locked on hers, dark and hungry. He wiped his hand surreptitiously on the blanket. Abi quickly adjusted her skirt, her face flushed crimson, trying to look composed as she sat up straighter, pulling the blanket higher.
Dave flicked the indicator. “Righto. Crisps and a piss stop it is.” He steered the car towards the bright lights of the service station exit, utterly oblivious to the damp heat lingering under the blanket, the frantic beating hearts in the back seat, or the dampness Poppy was trying to ignore between her own thighs as she stared fixedly out the passenger window into the dark. The car slowed, turning off the motorway, the sultry tension in the backseat momentarily suspended, but far from broken.