Launi

I'm pressed up against Rye, his warmth seeping into every inch of my body. He touches his finger against his lips to tell me to remain quiet. I'm not sure how much it matters as the noise from the band members and groupies radiates down the hallway past our bunks. I push him, my arms trying to extend and exert enough force to shove him from my space. If he doesn't want to be found, that's his problem. I'm tired from the day and want to get some rest before we make it to the next stop.

Rye grabs my wrist and glares into my eyes with warning. My lips twitch in challenge. With one shout I can blow his cover and the disgusting groupie that climbed on the bus in hopes of some fun with him will have her victim. It's his job really, to give me some content, so maybe I should help him with that. I move my knees, pressing for leverage my feet against the back wall so I can force him from the small space.

He's so fucking stubborn. His jaw ticks as he watches me. His breathing is quick as his eyes scans my determined face.

"His is the top left bunk," someone tells her.

I smile, he's so screwed. The sound of the curtain being pulled back quickly across from us is hard but not impossible to hear over the loud music blasting through the speakers. It's a steady thumping almost in sync with my racing heart. I'm so pissed.

Right?

I'm enraged. That's the feeling I have right now. It's got my body so hot my skin is flushed, and my pulse is beating strongly in my throat and gut. Rye's eyes search mine, begging me to stay still and give up the force with which I'm trying to shove him from the bunk. He reaches for my thigh as I draw it up between us to deliver more pressure on his leg. His large, impressive hand wraps around it and pushes it down just enough to show me I'm weak when it comes to overpowering this man's body. He's practically chiseled from stone.

God, he smells good. I lose my focus for a second and close my eyes to breathe him in.

The girl slides the curtain closed again and leaves the small hallway between the bunks, but Rye doesn't take his hands off me. In fact, his thumb is digging into my inner thigh, dangerously close to another place where my pulse is pumping right beneath the surface. I'm hot, so hot. I hate him—so why do I want him to touch me? His lips are dangerously close to mine and it makes me feel drunk. Rational thoughts are fleeting.

In the distant corner of my mind, I know we aren't alone. I recognize there's just a curtain between us and everyone else in this bus, but I also know that there's very little material between he and I.

His hand slips higher. It's just enough for the tip of his thumb to brush my panties. I'm still pressing forward, even though it's futile. Our breathes are in sync. I can hear my heart beating in my ears as the world around us fades out. My brain has a new focus. It's one I try to fight as my body ignites from the sensation of his fingertip at the lace between my legs.

I want him.

My body NEEDS him.

His eyes stay on mine even though I know my own are hazy with lust. I don't think I've ever experienced this feeling before. I've had sex, and I had wanted it, but this—this is different. This I NEED. I need it in spite of where we are and in spite of our complicated situation. I'm helpless to it. This is pure primal instinct.

When he moves his thumb again, I can't help but moan. His eyes narrow in on mine. They're dark and dilated, rapidly searching my own for some sort of answer. Is he feeling this way too? His body tells me yes.

His fingers slip beneath the edge of the lace as he watches for my reaction. I bite my lip to keep quiet. His face is so close to mine.

"Shhh," he whispers.

My hand grips his bicep. I want to be closer. Every part of me wants to be pressed against him. His muscle flexes beneath my palm. He presses his forehead to mine, closing his eyes for one second as if my touch has caused him to feel dizzy. I know this because my own head is spinning. I wiggle to get closer. His eyes open quickly, and I see the moment he crosses the invisible line between us. He doesn't care where we are either, or that what we both want to do so badly is a terrible fucking idea. We can't help it.

There's no space or time to get naked. Our bodies need to connect and we need it NOW. His fingers wrap around the small scrap of fabric between my legs and he pulls suddenly, tearing them at the tiny seam. I have little time to recover from the shock of it because he's already pulling me on top of him. The space is so small that we're sharing, our bodies have nowhere to go but to press against each other, my soft curves filling in the spaces his hard muscles don't occupy.

I'm straddling him, but it's not close enough. I want to crawl inside this man, that's how badly I ache for him. I'm determined to feel him inside me as quickly as possible. None of this is fast enough, close enough, CONSUMING enough.

His right hand combs into my hair on the back of my head, his finger closing slightly, taking my hair into his fist. A wave of heat and desire race from his grip to between my legs, and my hips rock forward, seeking the relief I know I'll find with him. His other hand grabs my hip, pulling me so tightly onto him I feel the slight bite sensation of my flesh as his dick, hard and thick beneath my skin drives closer. The pain should make me want to get away, but instead it makes me more needy.

His hand in my hair pulls my face to his. "Shhhh," he reminds me quietly and softly I nod as I draw my lower lip between my teeth to stay silent.

This is a terrible idea, but there's no stopping it. I think I might die if he pulled away now. I'd simply burn up from the heat and ache that are consuming me.

He uses his fist in my hair to pull my face away from his long enough for our eyes to find each other's. His are half-lidded, dark and searching. He wants consent.

I nod and whisper, "Yes," and when he doesn't move fast enough, I hear myself beg, "please."

I lift my hips, allowing him the space to reach between us. His fingers trace my body, dipping inside me to check if I'm ready before he withdraws them. His eyes shut and he exhales a slow but deep breath. When they open again, it's as if all restraint has been lost. His lips find mine easily as he guides me to him, his hand tangled dominantly in my hair. His tongue is in my mouth, and I meet him eagerly with my own. Any noises we make, we try to swallow or smoother between us.

Finally, when I think I can't take it anymore, I feel the tip of his dick slip between the wet space that's ready for him. With great restraint, he holds me still. He pulls my hair enough to tip my lips away from his and as asks one last time, "Yes?'

"Yes," I answer. I meet his thrust, dropping my hips and he slides all the way inside me. We both exhale.

"Fuck," I hear him say into my mouth.

"Shh," I remind him this time. I'm breathing heavy but trying to be quiet about it. There's no way anyone could hear over the music, but we shouldn't be testing that theory.

His teeth capture my bottom lip as he slides out and then back in again. I hang on to him tightly, my brain feeling like mush in my skull. Not one thought except how good he feels inside me. I tighten around him and in response I feel his hand at my hip grip tighter.

A whimper escapes and I move my hand to hold tightly to the wrist of the hand holding my hair. My other hand is bracing me on top of him from the head wall of the bed.

I can taste the vodka on his tongue, or maybe it's the vodka in my own mouth.

He pulls my head back, exposing my neck and licks his way up to my lips again. At the same time, his hand at my hip slides me forward and back, allowing the sensitive bud between my legs to rub against him as he rocks up inside me. He's watching, his attention on my face as he pushes and pulls me along his body. My eyes close, my breathing stopped as I concentrate on the sensations. I'm close. So fucking close.

"Now," he growls, "please now." He rocks his hips forward, increasing the friction and sending me over the edge in pleasure.

I'm not breathing or thinking. All I'm doing is feeling, He holds me there, the deepest he can be inside me as I ride out the waves.

"I'm gonna--" he starts and then frantically looks for something.

From the haze of post orgasm, I shake my head. "Pill," I say. This has been reckless and stupid already, but I don't want him to stop. I want him to feel as good as he just made me feel.

"Fuck," he says so quietly I almost miss it. He folds my head into the space between his cheek and shoulder, pressing me there before releasing his grip in my hair to hold both my hips.

"You're sure," he asks in my ear, his hot breath making my skin pebble as it washes over me.

"Yes."

His hands at my hips brace tight, and he guides my body to meet each of his thrust before pushing himself inside me as deep as possible. He grips my ass, pressing me as close to him as he can. I feel him tense beneath me. His already hard body going rigid with his pleasure. His breath escapes in a rush but catches and then he groans next to my ear low enough it might be the sexiest sound I've ever heard. Rye rocks one last time into me. His hands immediately leave my hips and splay out over my back, holding me tightly to him as we both catch our breaths. 

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