Chapter 97: Drives suck
The highway was a gray river, rushing beneath the low-slung chassis of the convertible with a steady, hypnotic roar. It was the sound of flight, of escape, a mechanical heartbeat that thrummed up through the leather seats and into their bones. Golden afternoon sunlight, heavy and rich as melted honey, slanted through the car’s tinted windows, painting tiger stripes across Lisa’s bare thighs and the polished burl wood of the dashboard.
Lucas drove with one hand resting lightly on the gear shift, the other draped over the curve of the steering wheel. He wore dark aviators, his profile sharp against the blur of green pines and granite outcrops that rushed past on either side. The wind, chaotic and playful at speed, snatched at the ends of the sheer silk scarf Lisa had tied loosely around her neck—the same scarf from last night, he noticed, still carrying the faint, ghostly traces of jasmine and their mingled sweat.
She sat curled toward him in the passenger seat, one leg tucked beneath her, the other stretched out. Her skirt was black leather, so supple it looked poured on, hugging the extravagant swell of her hips and the sublime, round promise of her ass before ending a reckless few inches above her knees. The top she wore was a simple ribbed tank, ivory white, but she’d pulled the wide neckline down over one shoulder, and the stretchy material was losing its battle with the magnificent geography of her breasts. A deep, shadowed cleft was visible, the upper curve of one areola threatening to escape with every minor bump in the road.
She was quiet, watching the landscape unravel, a small, secret smile playing on her lips. Her fingers trailed absently along the line of his forearm where it rested on the center console. The touch was feather-light, possessive.
“Beautiful day for it,” Lucas said, his voice cutting easily through the wind and engine noise. He didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on the road, but his awareness of her was total, a sixth sense humming in the space between them.
“Mmm,” she agreed, her voice a low, contented purr. “Better than being stuck in the studio. Even if the studio has its… perks.” She let her hand slide from his arm to his thigh, her palm warm through the thin linen of his trousers. She squeezed, high up, near the junction of his hip.
A slow, hot current began to flow in his veins. He shifted minutely in his seat, the growing pressure in his groin becoming a pleasant, persistent ache. “Perks are portable, mother,” he said, a smile in his voice.
Her answering laugh was rich, swallowed by the wind. Her hand didn’t move from his thigh. Instead, her fingers began a slow, exploratory tracing of the seam of his trousers, moving inward. “Are they now?”
The highway curved, sweeping around a mountainside. A vast, breathtaking vista opened up to their left—a rolling, forested valley hundreds of feet below, dotted with tiny, mirror-like lakes catching the sun. The sky was an infinite, cloudless blue. It was a day for postcards, for grand, empty declarations. The beauty of it was almost absurd, a stark, clean contrast to the dirty, specific heat gathering in the cockpit of the car.
Lucas let go of the gear shift. He reached over, his movements deliberate and smooth. His hand found the bare skin of her shoulder where the top had slipped down. He traced the elegant line of her collarbone with his thumb, then let his fingers slide downward, dipping beneath the stretched neckline of her tank.
His fingertips met the impossibly soft, heavy swell of her breast. The skin here was fever-warm, silk over firm, yielding flesh. He cupped her, his whole hand filling with her, his palm cradling the intoxicating weight. Her breath hitched, a sharp, sweet intake of air that was louder than the road noise. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second.
“You’re distracting the driver,” she murmured, but she arched her back, pushing her breast more firmly into his hand.
“That’s the idea, mum,” he said softly. His thumb found her nipple, already a hard little bead through the fabric. He circled it, slowly, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. He could feel the peak tightening further, straining against the cotton. “This top is a menace. It’s not doing its job at all.”
“It’s doing exactly what I bought it to do,” she whispered, her head lolling back against the headrest, her eyes half-closed now, watching him through her lashes.
With a gentle, insistent tug, he pulled the neckline down further. The fabric gave, stretching, surrendering. Her right breast spilled free into the golden sunlight and the rushing wind. It was a sight that punched the air from his lungs every single time. The perfection of its shape, the large, dark areola, the nipple rigid and begging for his mouth. The cool air made it pucker exquisitely. He let go of the wheel entirely for a dangerous, thrilling second, using both hands to pull the tank top down until both breasts were free, resting heavily on her ribcage, gloriously exposed to the open sky and the passing world.
She made no move to cover herself. She simply watched him, her smile turning wicked, her eyes dark with anticipation. The wind whipped around them, cooling the wet tips of her nipples, making them ache. “Better?” she breathed.
“A start,” he said, his voice gone gravelly. He returned one hand to the wheel, guiding the car around another sweeping curve. His other hand returned to her breast, but this time his touch was not a caress. It was a claiming. He squeezed, his fingers sinking deep into the luscious flesh, kneading it possessively. He plucked at her nipple, rolling it roughly between his thumb and forefinger. She cried out, a sharp, pleasure-pained sound that was stolen by the wind.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he said, the words low and fervent, not a question but a statement of fact. “Driving. Just driving. With these… these miracles just sitting there. Begging for it.”
“They’re not just sitting,” she moaned, her own hands coming up to cover his, to press his touch deeper into her flesh. “They’re yours. They’re always yours. Touch them however you want. Hurt them a little. Please.”
He complied. He pinched her nipple, harder, a quick, sharp twist that made her back arch off the seat. A bright flush bloomed across her chest. He soothed it immediately with the palm of his hand, then pinched the other, eliciting another beautiful, gasped cry. He alternated, a rhythm of sweet cruelty, while the car ate up the miles and the valley deepened below them.
The need in him was a coiling serpent, tightening its loops. The sight of her like this, exposed and writhing under his hands while the world blurred past, was the most potent aphrodisiac he had ever known. The persistent, heavy fullness in his trousers was becoming insistent, a throbbing demand.
She saw it. Her eyes, hazy with lust, dropped to his lap. The outline of his erection was unmistakable, straining against the light fabric, a thick, impressive length tenting the linen. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips.
Without a word, she moved.
In one fluid, sinuous motion, she unbuckled her seatbelt. The click was decisive. She twisted in her seat, sliding down, her body folding in the confined space. She pushed his hand gently but firmly away from her breast. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice husky with promise.
She knelt on the floor of the passenger well, a tight fit for her voluptuous frame. The leather of her skirt creaked. Her head was now level with his hip. She looked up at him, her eyes huge, her lip caught between her teeth. The wind tore through her hair, a wild, dark banner. Her breasts, still bare and gloriously heavy, swayed with the motion of the car.
Her hands went to his belt. Her fingers, nimble and sure, worked the buckle. The rasp of the leather tongue slipping free was obscenely loud. She undid the button of his trousers, then the zipper. The sound was a slow, deliberate tear in the fabric of the day.
Cool air washed over his heated flesh. Then her small, warm hand was there, sliding into the opening, wrapping around him. Her touch was electric. Her fingers couldn’t quite meet around his girth. She squeezed, a slow, pulsing pressure that made him groan and his foot jerk slightly on the accelerator. The car surged forward for a second before he checked it.
“Easy, love,” he breathed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “We’ve got all the time in the world. A long, beautiful drive.”
“I know,” she said, her voice a sultry murmur against the denim of his trousers. She began to ease him out, pulling his cock free into the open air. The sunlight caught him, highlighting the thick veins, the flushed, broad head already wet with pre-cum. He was fully, impressively hard, jutting up from his open fly. A low, appreciative hum vibrated in her throat. “My god. Just look at you. Every time. It’s like the first time.”
She didn’t kiss him. Not yet. She just looked, her gaze worshipful, hungry. She leaned in and nuzzled the length of him, her cheek soft against the throbbing shaft. She inhaled deeply, her nose buried in the crisp, dark hair at his base. “You smell like you,” she whispered. “Like home. And sex. My sex.”
He tangled the fingers of one hand in her wind-whipped hair, not guiding, just holding, connecting. “It is your sex, mum. Every part of me belongs to you.”
That seemed to decide her. With a slow, deliberate flick of her tongue, she lapped at the bead of moisture gathered at his slit. The touch was a lightning bolt of sensation, sharp and sweet. She took the broad head into her mouth.
The heat was instant, overwhelming. Her mouth was a furnace, wet and velvety. She swirled her tongue around the sensitive corona, lavishing attention on the frenulum, that tender spot just beneath. Lucas hissed, a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth. His hips bucked involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into that heavenly warmth.
“Steady,” she cooed, pulling off with a soft, wet pop. She grinned up at him, a vixenish, joyful expression. “You’re the one driving, remember? Just relax. Let your mother take care of you.”
She ducked her head again, taking him deeper this time. She worked him with a lazy, decadent rhythm, perfectly in sync with the purr of the engine and the smooth, sweeping curves of the highway. She would sink down, taking half his length, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked, then pull back to lavish attention on the head with her tongue. Her hands weren’t idle. One came up to fondle his balls, rolling the heavy orbs gently in their sac, feeling them already drawing up tight. The other hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, stroking in counterpoint to the movements of her mouth.
Lucas let his head fall back against the headrest, his aviator-clad eyes fixed on the limitless blue sky overhead. Sensation washed over him in warm, delicious waves. The visual was almost as potent as the physical: her head bobbing in his lap, her wild hair, the mesmerizing jiggle of her incredible, bare breasts with every motion of the car. The sun warmed his face. The wind was a cool caress. And in his lap, paradise.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick. His hand in her hair tightened slightly, not forcing, just feeling the silken strands, the shape of her skull. “You’re so good at this. Your mouth was made for this. For me.”
She moaned around him, the vibration traveling straight to his core. She took him deeper, challenging her own limits. Her nose pressed into the wiry hair at his base. She held herself there, her throat working around the invasion, her eyes watering beautifully. He could feel the frantic, fluttering pulse in her neck against his shaft.
“Fuck, mother… that’s so deep,” he groaned. “Look at you. Taking your son so deep in your throat on the open road. You’re absolutely filthy. My perfect, filthy angel.”
The words spurred her. She pulled off, gasping for air, a long string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his glistening cock. She didn’t pause. She dove back down, her rhythm becoming more urgent, more hungry. Her sucking was louder now, a wet, rhythmic schlorp that competed with the wind. She used her hand in tandem, twisting on the upstroke, her fist a tight, milking tunnel. She was relentless, a woman possessed by the singular mission of drawing his pleasure from him.
They drove like that for miles. The landscape transformed. The dense pine forests gave way to high, rocky desert, the air drying, the light taking on a harder, sharper quality. Scrub brush and monolithic sandstone formations painted in rust and ochre replaced the deep green. The highway stretched ahead, a straight, black line into the shimmering distance. The convertible was a tiny, moving island of profound, illicit intimacy in a vast, empty sea of stone and sky.
Lucas’s praises were a continuous, loving stream. “Beautiful. So good. You have no idea what you look like. I could watch this forever. That tongue… Christ. Right there. Yes. God, I love you. I love you so much it feels like my heart is going to explode.”
She would look up at his words, her eyes glazed with devotion and lust, his cock still in her mouth, and the sight would nearly undo him. Her makeup was smudged, her lips red and puffy. She was a portrait of debauched worship.
After a long while, she pulled off again, resting her forehead against his thigh. She was breathing hard. “Top,” she panted. “It’s in the way.”
Understanding, Lucas helped her. He reached over, his own movements clumsy with desire, and grabbed the hem of her ivory tank top. She raised her arms. In one smooth motion, he pulled it up and over her head, tossing it into the backseat where it fluttered like a surrendering flag. Now she was completely bare from the waist up, kneeling in the footwell, her magnificent breasts on full, awe-inspiring display. The sun and wind kissed her skin, hardening her nipples into deep red, pointed peaks.
“Better,” she sighed, as if she’d removed a great burden. She immediately went back to work, taking him into her mouth with renewed fervor, her bare shoulders rolling with the effort.
His hands were everywhere now. One still tangled in her hair, the other roamed over the bare landscape of her back, feeling the muscles work beneath her skin, tracing the delicate ridge of her spine, then sliding around to cup the full, heavy weight of her breast from below. He kneaded it, his thumb brushing back and forth over her nipple in time with the thrust of her mouth.
The pressure built, a slow, tectonic gathering. His remarkable stamina was both a blessing and a sweet torture. He could feel the orgasm looming, a distant storm on the horizon, but he held it at bay, savoring every second of her dedicated, sinful attention. He watched the miles tick by on the dashboard, each one marked by the rhythm of her lips and tongue.
“I’m not going to last much longer, mum,” he warned, his voice strained, a raw scrape of sound. “You’re too good. You’re going to make me come in that gorgeous mouth.”
She made a desperate, eager sound and doubled her efforts. Her hand stroked faster. Her mouth worked him with a frantic, sucking intensity. She was humming now, a low, steady vibration that he felt in his teeth.
It was the vibration that did it. The coil, wound so tight for so long, finally snapped.
“Lisa… Mother… I’m coming!” The cry was ripped from him, raw and unfiltered.
He expected her to pull off, to take his release on her face as she so often did. But she didn’t. She sank down, taking him to the hilt, her throat opening around him, and held him there, her eyes squeezed shut in total surrender.
The first jet was volcanic. It erupted directly into the back of her throat. She gulped convulsively, swallowing around him. He felt the muscle contractions, the eager acceptance. It triggered the second, even larger pulse. And then there was no stopping it.
His orgasm was not a single event but a prolonged, cataclysmic series. His hips jerked off the seat, driving himself deeper into her willing throat. Rope after rope of thick, hot seed pumped into her. His hand fisted in her hair, holding her in place as his body emptied itself in a seemingly endless torrent. He saw stars, the desert sky whiting out at the edges of his vision. Guttural, animal sounds were torn from his chest, lost to the wind.
She drank it all. Every salty, musky drop.