Black Velvet (59) ⚠️ NSFW ⚠️ (Patreon)

(Warnings: slightly rough and mildly explicit sexual content, frotting, very mild dirty talk, very light d/s undertones.  For those who don’t read NSFW or are underage this chapter is skippable!)

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"You said that the next one... Isn't for fifteen years." He pauses, face set with something akin to confusion or surprise.  The dark-eyed man reaches out to intertwines his fingers with mine. I take them happily, the warmth of them comforting.

"Yeah," I nod, squeeze his hand, turn to watch him over my shoulder. "Fifteen years."

I don't know what provokes him this time or what has me suddenly pressed flush against the cold metal of his car. It's fast enough that when Tobias turns to lift my thighs, my legs lock around his waist on instinct, and then I'm there — trapped against the weight and warmth of his body.

"Fifteen years." Tobias agrees with spearmint on his breath and a sentiment that I can't grasp, his lips brushing mine before his hands shove under the back of my sweater, and his kiss returns — deepening as my eyes lid.

His kiss is almost desperate. It takes me a moment to return the heat of it, thoughts lagging somewhere between the moon and the last kiss, and how it feels as if I've confessed something much more profound than love.

"Okay?" Tobias' teeth catch on my bottom lip, dragging it forward with a soft bite. A noise slips out in place of response, something that's entirely too needy and inexperienced — an embarrassing sound of desire. My cheeks flush. Tobias' mouth meets mine, harder, with more urgency, his tongue sliding in and against my own.

It's different than the time in my bedroom. There's a dominant quality to it, a rough, hot edge that pebbles my skin with goosebumps. My hands are frantic without purchase, and I'm overwhelmed, grasping at the front of Tobias' shirt, and I swallow down a gasp — another heated moan.

"Tobias," I pull from him, ducking my head into his neck to fend off the distraction of his lips. I inhale, embarrassment spiking. What if it only feels good to me? What if I — "I — Uh. I don't really know what I'm doing."

"Haven't noticed, valedictorian." Tobias' fingers slide over the nape of my neck, through my curls, and he softly tugs them until I'm staring up at him. "You're a fast learner," he smirks, but it feels more like a smile. "Aren't you?"

"Yeah." I lean upwards, and my lashes flutter under Tobias' sharp regard. I try to return his taunt. "I'll — I can learn."

His head tilts before he kisses me again, slower, and the difference in our height has never sent butterflies through my stomach the way it does now, with the way he holds me tighter as he hunches forward — palms digging into my backside to keep me up, one hand leaving in search of something behind us,

The door handle, I figure out, as I hear his backdoor unlatch — and as he pushes me inside.  I fall back onto his discarded hoodie and soft exterior, struggling up onto my elbows as he climbs between my legs, leaving the door open behind him.

"Tobias, are — is this okay?" He drags away from me, and his jaw jumps when I lick my lips, his gaze chasing the movement. They laze over me in an unhurried interest, from my face, down my chest, and finally my hips.  "Should we stop?"

"Do you want to stop?" Tobias asks. His palms are on my thighs. They're warm — distracting. His voice has that gravel undertone, quiet and clear all at once. I swallow down the urge to clear my throat. My face feels warm as his hands shift, gripping my legs, and pushing them apart to make room for himself.

He crouches over me, and in the smallness of his back seat, he feels as if he encompasses all of me.

"I don't want to stop."

It's breathier than I meant it to be. I don't have much control — over anything.

"I won't do much," Tobias whispers, his hand sinking over the curve of my hip onto my backside,  kneading it upwards to press himself closer. It shifts us together in a way that exposes his lust, and mine, and I inhale loudly. I reach up, grabbing hold of his shoulders, and feel the muscles in his back move as he leans closer to me, "you can tell me to fuck off.”

"We need — ah, more room!” It takes an awful lot for me to manage those four words because Tobias rolls his hips into mine just before I say them, and my stomach threatens to fall out with the way that it flips.

Tobias chuckles quietly, and his brows quirk.

"There's this or the trunk." He hums, and then he twists himself to the side, pushing up my shirt with his palm. His tongue slides over the dip of my hipbone that peaks from my upturned sweater and my  fingers knot in his hair,

"Oh," my hips shift closer to him. Tobias nips the skin of my waist, and I turn my head, hiding my face in my upper arm to moan when he rocks forward a second time. I peek at him from behind my sleeve, blush darkening.

"-- More room."

"Then get on my lap,"  Tobias leans back, pushing the driver's seat forward to make room for his legs. And then he sits there, knees spread, and cocks his head.

I nod, climbing onto him with unsteady legs, unsure of myself, at first. But then he grabs my jaw, his thumb pressed to my cheek, and pulls me forward into another kiss. His other hand is on my thigh, and the kiss is wet — open, and I tremble.  My knees find their place on either side of him.

I grab a fistful of his lower back and pull him against me so I can shift my hips down onto his, seeking the feeling from before, and swallow the low sound of his broken groan when my nails scrape against his skin.

"Fast learner," Tobias whispers.  His lips leave mine to find my neck, my collar, open-mouthed — with teeth sinking into the softer parts of me.  Each time they do, my body feels slack.

I can't help but think that this is Tobias, at his least controlled. I used to think it was when he was drunk, or maybe when he curled up on his porch or snapped at me on my front lawn — but it's not, it's when he kisses too roughly, when he seeks out my skin like a vice.

My nerves are on fire, and it's hot, too hot for the sweater, despite the snow outside.  Tobias' body heat encompasses me — and I keep pushing him back into the seat each time our hips meet because I want more.  My arms are around his shoulders, the headrest, and my nails are inside the plush of it.

His heart is thumping against my chest as he inhales,

"Sit facing the front." He murmurs, and it's too close to my ear. I shudder softly, chewing the inside of my cheek, eyes squeezed closed tightly.  I can't make sense of his words.  I just want friction.

Tobias pushes me back gently, a palm to my chest.  I lean back, maneuvering so that I face the front seat.

"What are we...." I start.  I don't have time to question the change in position. He shifts his hips up, rolls his arousal against my ass, curls his arm over my chest so he can pull me back — kisses me with a tilt of my neck, ragged the harder he rolls into me,

"You can tell me to stop,"  Tobias' voice is low, ragged, sends a chill over my neck when he speaks, his hand curling over my waist, jerking at the button of my corduroys.  "And I will."

I nod.  I nod again.  I can feel him, the swell of his length pressed against my backside,

"I want you to keep going."  My words spill together.  Tobias hums in response.  I don't have the mind to feel embarrassed by that.

How could I be composed?

All I can see is the broadness of Tobias' hand splayed between my legs, how he rubs long fingers over the fabric on the soft part of my inner thigh.  I ache.  He rolls his hips upwards against me again, harder.  His eagerness makes me arch — right as he snags the zipper of my pants, yanking it down.

"Still okay?"  He whispers, his free forearm still bracketed over my chest.  I know my heart is beating against it. I wonder if he can feel it like I felt his.

"I'll tell you,"  my voice is uneven.  I can't catch my breath.  "If I want to stop."

Tobias' my pants down from the front, and the fabric drags against everything in a way that's oversensitive.  His hand slips inside my boxers — and every touch is nothing, nothing like this,

"Fuck,"  I yelp.  I roll back against him when his calloused fingers grip me, sliding down the base of my length as he pushes his hips upwards.  My stomach flips again like I'm speeding downhill, and maybe I am, "Tobias, oh my God,"

I jerk back against him again.  I mean to roll forward — into his hands, but I cover my face with my palms, flush traveling my cheeks. I rock back into him hard, when the groan he breathes against the base of my neck makes my hips jerk,

I've never been touched.

"Don't cover your face,"  Tobias demands, rolls forward, tightens his arm across my chest, drags me back when I throw my head back against his shoulder.  I moan louder than I should, ever would if —

Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror.  The door is open, and the overhead light is still on, casting shadows on us both.  His eyes are dark, his gaze intent.  I feel like my blood is boiling.

"Don't stop,"  I beg.  I feel his fingers tighten around me and whimper,

"Fucking Christ,"  he hisses.  He pushes me upwards, and I feel off-balance before he jerks down the back of my pants.  I can feel his hand at work on his zipper — then the warmth of his bare skin, voice cracking with an indrawn moan.

"You like that?"  Tobias husks.  He pulls his hand away, and his eyes meet mine again in the mirror when he licks his palm, his tongue sliding against his skin like a promise, and his length presses against my bareness when he pulls me back to him.

I feel a misplaced curiosity.  I want to see him, more of him, and push my hips back slowly for a better feel of it.  I nod when his grip rewinds around me, and this time it's wet.

I curl into myself when he shifts his thumb over the tip of me and starts to pull in an offbeat rhythm, jerks his hips forward as he does so,

"I want to touch you too,"  I can barely get a word out, stretch myself back against him, rock my skin against where he fucks against it, "I want to —"

I wrap my hands around his forearm for support, gasp, and he hums,

"Next time,"  he groans, thrusts so hard that I'm gripping the back of the front seat, and he's leaning over me, cramped for space but almost unaware of it, "This view —  is enough."

Tobias pulls my sweater up with the arm that's wrapped around me, thumbs at the center of my chest, lets go of me for a moment — despite my startled disapproval, pulls me back into his lap to face him,

"I want to see you,"  He wraps his hand around us both, his rhythm picking up, and my gaze flickers down between us.  I watch the way we're slotted together there between his long fingers, in one palm.

I nod shakily, breath out an expletive, eyes closed and head falling back.  I cant my hips upward, faster against his as he tugs, and I feel another moan bubble from my throat.  Tobias watches me, his brows gathering.

I try to bury my face in his shoulder,  but Tobias grabs my jaw with his free hand, pulling me back into his line of sight.

"I want to see you cum," he holds me there in front of him, like art, and swallows my protest with a kiss that leaves us panting with quiet sounds in each other's mouths.  His pace quickens, my legs tangling around him in a silent plea,

My spine tingles when his strokes become erratic, when that low growl of a voice starts to whisper filthy things,

"I'm going to mess you up, Oliver," there are sounds I can't mimic, Tobias' teeth becoming a part of the way he kisses, "Fuck, I wanna be inside of you," and then he releases his hold on my face, his gaze still entirely mine — and intertwines his fingers into my hand that he holds against my chest,

"I can't wait to fuck you," Tobias' dark eyes shift to mine when he whispers his desire, and I finish on the thought of that, of him — inside me — of the sight of sincerity in his gaze.  I moan out his name as I do, as he jerks us together raggedly,

"Fuck," Tobias hisses the curse between his teeth — before his jaw clenches and he groans; spilling warmth along my chest.  I inhale, flushed and quivering, my legs sore and weightless.

And then I fall asleep with him, in the backseat of his car, praying that my alarms will wake me up in time for work.

Tobias doesn't let go of my hand — and instead curls it close to his chest.

I could wait fifteen years.

I could wait fifty.

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