Chapter 2: Dangerous Fingertips
The harsh fluorescent lights of the service station car park bled through the windscreen, bleaching colour from the interior. Dave killed the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the thrum of distant traffic. "Right then," he announced, stretching with a groan. "Crisps, piss, maybe a dodgy pasty? Abi? Poppy? What's your poison?"
Abi shifted, the blanket pooling around her waist, exposing her rumpled top. Will’s hand, concealed beneath the fabric, was still cupping her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple through the thin cotton. The earlier interruption had only stoked the fire. "Salt and vinegar, like Poppy said," Abi managed, her voice tight. She shot Will a look that was equal parts warning and promise.
Will leaned in, his stubble scraping her ear, his whisper a hot, wet promise that made her shiver despite the warm car. "Still thinking about you bent over that filthy sink in there, little slut. My cock stretching that tight cunt wide open while you watch yourself in the mirror." His hand moved, fingers finding her nipple again through the fabric, pinching hard. Not playfully. Possessively. Cruelly.
Abi gasped, a sharp intake of breath that wasn't entirely pain. Her back arched, pressing her breast harder into his punishing grip. Her eyes fluttered shut. "Fuck," she breathed.
In the front seat, Poppy was already unbuckling. Her gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, catching the minute tremor in Abi's lips, the way Will’s knuckles whitened where he pinched. The cotton pulled taut across Abi’s small, perfect breast, the hard outline of her nipple achingly clear. Poppy felt a fresh pulse of heat between her own legs. Her hand, resting on her thigh, inched towards the warm junction. "Just crisps for me too, Dave," she said, her voice remarkably steady. "And maybe a water."
Dave swung his door open, letting in a blast of cool night air and the smell of petrol and fried food. "Gotcha. Back in a flash." He clambered out, oblivious, and slammed the door.
The moment the door shut, the atmosphere in the car thickened, charged and dangerous. Will didn't let go. He twisted Abi's nipple, drawing a choked whimper from her. "Look at you," he growled, his other hand sliding down her stomach, under the waistband of her skirt, fingers diving beneath her damp lace. "Soaking already. Just from thinking about my cock shoving into that needy little hole." He plunged two fingers deep inside her, curling them.
Abi cried out, her hips jerking off the seat. "Will!" Her hand clamped over his wrist, not pushing away, just holding on. "Someone... someone could see..."
"Let them," Will muttered, his fingers working her ruthlessly, the wet, sucking sounds loud in the confined space. "Let Poppy see what a greedy little fuck you are." He thrust his fingers in and out, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit. "Look at her."
Abi’s eyes, hazy with lust, flicked to Poppy. Poppy wasn’t pretending anymore. Her hand was buried beneath her own tunic top, under the waistband of her leggings. Her eyes were locked on Will’s hand moving beneath Abi’s skirt, her breathing shallow and rapid. She was touching herself, mirroring the rough rhythm Will set, her face flushed.
Emboldened, Will pulled his fingers out of Abi, glistening wet. He brought them to her mouth. "Suck." His voice was a command. Abi opened her lips, taking his fingers in, her tongue swirling around them, tasting herself, her eyes never leaving his. The obscene sight made Poppy moan softly, her own fingers working faster, deeper beneath her clothes.
Will withdrew his fingers from Abi's mouth with a pop. He shifted, the thick ridge of his erection straining obscenely against his jeans. "Fuck waiting for the toilets," he rasped, fumbling with his belt buckle. "Need that cunt now."
Poppy, lost in the rhythm of her own arousal, reached down to adjust her leg. Her water bottle, forgotten on the floor by her feet, rolled forward under the passenger seat. "Shit," she muttered, leaning down between the seats, her arm outstretched to retrieve it. Her hand groped blindly, brushing over the tangled blankets. Her knuckles grazed something hard, impossibly hot, pulsing beneath denim and wool.
It was Will's cock.
The contact was electric. A jolt shot through both of them. Will froze, a sharp hiss escaping him. Poppy gasped, her fingers instinctively curling for a fraction of a second, feeling the solid, straining length through the fabric, before snatching her hand back as if burned. Her bottle clattered onto the floor mat. They stared at each other through the gap in the seats, Poppy's cheeks flaming, her eyes wide, her own arousal momentarily forgotten in the shock of contact. Will’s gaze was dark, intense, predatory.
Abi saw the exchange. Saw the raw hunger in Poppy’s eyes, the stunned arousal in Will’s. Her own desire flared, sharp and possessive. With a swift, deliberate movement, she slapped Will’s hand away from his belt buckle. Hard.
"Hey!" Will protested, startled.
Abi sat up, pushing the blanket aside. Her eyes blazed, her ginger hair mussed, her lips swollen. She looked utterly debauched and fiercely in control. "No," she stated, her voice low and dangerous. "You don't get it that easy." She leaned towards him, her hand sliding boldly over the hard bulge in his jeans, squeezing firmly, making him groan. "You want my cunt, Will? You'll beg for it first."
She shoved him back against the seat, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "And you," she added, glancing pointedly at Poppy, whose hand was now frozen between her own legs, "might want to sort yourself out. Dave’s coming back."
Poppy scrambled upright, pulling her hand free and smoothing her top just as the driver's door swung open. Dave climbed in, tossing packets of crisps into Poppy’s lap. "Got salt and vinegar. And some cheesy Wotsits for me. Got trapped behind some old dear arguing about the price of a tea. Ready?"
He started the engine, the headlights slicing through the gloom. Will slumped back, throbbing painfully in his jeans, his jaw clenched. Abi settled beside him, crossing her legs deliberately, a picture of cool composure, except for the flush high on her freckled cheeks and the promise burning in her eyes. Poppy stared straight ahead, her heart hammering, the phantom heat of Will’s cock branded onto her knuckles, the dampness between her thighs a secret she could still feel. The car pulled away, carrying its heavy cargo of unspoken promises and simmering, frustrated heat back onto the dark motorway. The game was far from over.