Took My Breath Away - Blog Posts

Greedy

NSFW!

The diner is loud, the chatter and clinking of silverware against plates. The neon sign outside flickers against the windows, casting a glow over Art’s face as he takes a slow sip of his milkshake, eyes locked on you.

“See?” he says, licking a stray drop of vanilla from his thumb. “Told you these were the best in town.”

You laugh, stirring yours with the straw. “I don’t know if they live up to all the hype.”

Art smirks. “You’re saying that so I’ll keep trying to convince you?”

You shake your head, but the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to in this entire place—makes your stomach flip. It’s dangerous, the way he makes you feel. Like this is normal. Like this isn’t something you’ll have to lie about when you go home.

By the time you leave the diner, the air outside is cool, the pavement damp from an earlier drizzle. You follow him to his car, his hand grazing the small of your back as you walk. It’s nothing, barely a touch, but it makes your breath catch.

Then, just as he unlocks the door, you hesitate.

Art notices. “What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. It’s everything. It’s the way his fingers brushed against yours when he paid for your food. It’s the way he leaned in closer than necessary to hear you over the diner noise. It’s the way your heart pounds every time he looks at you like that.

And then—like he can hear every thought in your head—he steps closer.

You don’t know who moves first, only that one second you’re staring at his lips, and the next, you’re kissing him like you won’t get another chance. His back hits the car door, his hands sliding up your waist, pulling you in. The kiss is messy, mindless, teeth and tongues and a little too much need.

His fingers tighten at your hips. “Get in,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough.

You do and your memories start to mix-

“Come on, come on, like that, keep it up,”

“Don’t stop, keep moving,” you ran to not miss the ball, it all sounds to similar now—

“That’s it, keep moving,” now you try to move faster.

“Come on, you’re a champ, give me another one,” sweat dripped down your forehead, a twist of your hand and SMACK!

“One more, mhm, I know, just give me one more,” you sweat now too, you let yourself fall down and—SMACK!

God, you almost knock his breath away with that one.

“Shit, just like that!” the way he smiled and ran to hug you.

“Shit— just like that...” he readjusts your hips.

It’s like... he was talking to you about tennis, was everything about tennis?

His hands are on your waist, and you feel like you’re going to collapse at any moment. Everything feels so tight—his cologne makes you dizzy, and the streetlamp light barely reflects in the rearview mirror.

His hands go to your back, reaching for the clasp of your bra. “Sorry... can I?,”. You almost laugh, he has you riding his dick in the backseat of his car and still asks your permission to take off the only garment that supports your little dignity.

“Yes...” you hold on to his shoulders, he peels off the bra from you. He looks down and immediately gives them a light squeeze, making you release air that you didn’t know you were holding.

“Fuck— you’re pretty...” He looks into your eyes, and you finally feel naked, your insides clenching at his words. It’s as if he can read your thoughts, how much you’ve dreamed of him like this.

You kiss him to get rid of your thoughts. He sighs and keeps moving you. He kisses down your neck, through the middle of your throat, in the middle of your clavicles, tracing the parallel with his tongue before going down to kiss the mole right next to your nipple. Kissing his way to the other to kiss now only your nipple.

His hot sighs on your wet skin make your skin bristle, and you can’t hold back a moan.

He smiles and soon you erase the smile from his silly face, stamping your hips. Being a double-edged sword since you now feel full.

Right there... there it is.

He seems to notice and lifts his hips. “There it is...” he moves you a little, “yeah...” his moans echo on your thoughts. Eyebrows furrowed as he watches himself going in and out of you.

His expression has you in a trance, wanting to see more changes in his handsome face. He tilts his head back while you accelerate the movement with the help of his hands.

You can’t resist and kiss his neck, over and over, until you reach his lips. He moans even more because of the increased speed.

“Art—“ you moan his name, your breath constant on his cupid’s bow.

God he sounds so good.

He squeezes your ass when you do it, kissing you gently while he feels like exploding, which he doesn’t take long to. He cums inside the condom with a groan and before you can protest a last thrust has you gasping for air and holding his shoulders tighter.

“God...” Art groans, his head tilted back against the seat, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. His hands, warm and strong, stay on your hips for just a second longer before they slip away.

The car is thick with heat, the windows fogged, the scent of sweat and him wrapping around you. You shift, legs shaky, reaching for your bra, but Art beats you to it. He holds it up with a smirk, letting the straps dangle from his fingers.

“You’re real proud of yourself, huh?” you say, voice hoarse.

His smirk deepens. “Maybe.” His fingers hooking onto the strap first. “Let me.”

The buzz of your phone cuts through the moment. You check it.

<<Mom: Where are you?>>

Your stomach clenches. You wipe your thumb against your damp skin before typing back, <<Still at school. Be home soon.>>

The lie comes easy now. Too easy.

Art is already pulling his shirt on, checking the time on his dashboard. “I should get you home,” he says, and even though you know he’s right, part of you doesn’t want this night to end.

The drive is quiet except for the sound of the engine, the occasional hum from him as he taps his fingers against the wheel. When he pulls up a block away from your house, he puts the car in park but doesn’t unlock the doors just yet.

You hesitate, not reaching for the handle right away. Art watches you, like he knows what you’re thinking.

Then, with that same cocky ease, he tilts his head, grinning. “Told you the milkshakes were good.”

You scoff. “Yeah. Totally the highlight of the night.”

He chuckles, low and knowing, then leans in. His hand slides up your thigh, stopping just before your knee, and he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s softer than you expect. Less teasing, more something else. Something you’re too scared to name.

When he pulls back, he taps your knee once, like a silent go on, before you change your mind.

You swallow and reach for the handle. The cold air bites at your skin the second you step out. As you walk up the street to your house, you can still feel his lips on yours, his touch seared into your skin.

You don’t look back. Because if you do you might kiss him again.