Humboldt County winters are bleak and miserable, just endless days of gray skies and cold rain, and that distinctive stink of mold. Last year I just about lost it. So this year, I’ve made plans to get away from it, at least for the winter holidays.

My Christmas break's comin' up next week, and I'm already thinkin' about that long-ass drive down to SoCal. Sixteen hours of nothin' but me, the road, and whatever crap music the radio decides to torture me with. At least I got my old pickup tuned up—girl's been reliable as fuck, unlike most of the actual women in my life. I got my route all planned out, stops marked on my phone, just the way I like it. Me, myself, and nobody else's bullshit to deal with.

Then my phone buzzes. It's Amanda, this chick I know from a creative writing class I took. We ain't exactly friends, but we're cool enough that I don't ignore her texts.

"Hey man, got a favor to ask. Friend of mine needs a ride home for Christmas. She's broke as shit. You're heading south, right? Any chance you could give her a lift?"

I stare at my phone, my thumb hoverin’ over the keyboard. Fuck. I hate when people ask for favors. Especially when it means bein' trapped in a car with some random chick for hours. What if she talks the whole damn time? What if she smells weird? What if she's hot and I spend the whole drive with an awkward boner?

I type back: "Depends where?"

The three dots appear, then: "Lone Pine. Her name's Sage. She's cool, studying art. Not a psycho or anything lol."

I type back: "WTF?"

Where the fuck is Lone Pine, I think to myself.

There’s more back-and-forth between us; I’ll spare ya’ the boring details.

Lone Pine. Shit! Turns out that's a whole other highway outta my way! Each way. That's gas money and time I ain't gettin’ back.

"What's in it for me?" I type, then delete it. Even I ain't that much of an asshole. Besides, I know Amanda wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Instead, I write: "Fine. But she's chipping in for gas."

Amanda sends back a thumbs up and a "You're the best, Gabs!" that makes me roll my eyes so hard I damn near see my own brain.

More textin’, and we line up a meeting at Tony's Market next morning at 8.

I toss my phone on the couch and rub my face. The fuck am I doing? My nice, peaceful solo drive just turned into a goddamn charity mission. I hate people in my car when I’m on a long ride. They touch shit. They wanna control the music. They gotta’ fuckin’ pee every twenty minutes.

Now I gotta’ drive some broke college chick all the way to some outta-the-way shithole. On the east side of the motherfuckin’ Sierras! And then I gotta drive my ass down to where I'm actually going. And what if she's one of those people who can't shut up? Sixteen hours of "So, what kind of music do you like?" and "Do you have any siblings?" Christ.

I grab my laptop to check the route, see exactly how much of a pain in the ass this detour's gonna be. Yep, just as I thought. At least four fuckin’ extra hours! That's eight goddamn hours of my life I'm never gettin' back, plus the extra gas.

But fuck it. It's Christmas, right? Season of giving and all that horseshit. Maybe this Sage chick will be cool. Maybe she'll sleep the whole way and I won't have to make awkward conversation. Maybe she'll even be hot. Yeah, those art chicks got a reputation—horny fuckin’ whack jobs—that’s a plus!

And hey, worst case scenario, it'll give me material for my writing. Some of my best stories come from the weird shit that happens on road trips.

I close my laptop and grab a beer from the fridge. Twist off the cap and take a long pull. Tomorrow, Tony's Market, 8 AM. I'll size up this Sage person, make sure she ain't gonna murder me in my sleep at some rest stop, and figure out if this whole thing is worth the trouble.

At least Tony's has decent coffee. I'm gonna need it.

Next day, Tony's Market! Place is steamed up like a fuckin' sauna when I push through the door, shaking rain off my jacket. The windows are all fogged up, and the place reeks of coffee and bacon and wet wool from all the soggy customers huddled inside. It's barely 8, and the rain's coming down so hard it sounds like someone's throwing gravel at the roof.

I grab a seat near the window, where I can keep an eye on the door and my car. The chair's one of those uncomfortable wooden bastards that makes your ass go numb after ten minutes. I check my phone - 8:07. Already she's late. Fantastic start.

I order a black coffee from a babe with more piercings than face, and I'm halfway through it when the door finally swings open at 8:23. In walks this girl, soaked to the bone like she decided to swim here instead of drive. Her dark hair's plastered to her head, water dripping down her face, and her thin shirt is clinging to her body like a second skin. I can see the outline of her bra, the curve of her tits, the shape of her waist. God, she’s fuckin’ cute! My dick twitches, and I curse myself silently. Get it together, for fuck's sake.

She looks around, those big eyes scanning the room till they land on me. I raise my hand, and she heads over, leaving a trail of water behind her.

"Gabby?" she asks, her teeth chattering slightly.

"The one and only," I say. "You must be Sage. You look like you could use something warm."

She laughs, a bright sound that cuts through the din of the morning crowd. "God, yes. I'm freezing my ass off. My car wouldn't start, so I had to walk."

I get up and gesture toward the counter. "Let me buy you a coffee. You want anything to eat?"

"You don't have to—"

"Just saving time. Can't have you dying of hypothermia. Amanda would never forgive me.”

She grins, and something flips in my chest. She's pretty when she smiles, in that girl-next-door kinda’ way. "Coffee and a blueberry muffin would be amazing."

We get in line, and I can feel the cold radiating off her body. She's shivering, arms wrapped around herself, water dripping from her hair onto the floor. When we get to the counter, I order her coffee—she takes it with cream and two sugars, like a child—and the biggest blueberry muffin they have.

We find a small table in the corner, away from the door's draft. She takes a sip of her coffee and sighs, this breathy little moan that makes me shift in my seat.

"So," I say, trying to focus on why we're here, "Amanda says you need a ride to..., where was that again?"

She nods, breaking off a piece of muffin. "Yeah, Big Pine. My parents' place. I was going to drive, but my car won’t make it, and tuition hit my bank account like a wrecking ball, and now I'm broke until financial aid comes through in January."

She pauses, tilting her head and staring at me. Her eyes narrow slightly, like she's trying to place me in a lineup.

"What?" I ask, suddenly feeling like I've got something on my face.

"Nothing, it's just... you look really familiar." She keeps staring, and it's starting to make me sweat. "Have we met before?"

"I don't think so. I'd remember." It comes out sounding more flirtatious than I meant it to.

She takes another bite of muffin, still studying my face. "Are you in the education program? Maybe I've seen you around campus."

"Nope. Not on campus."

"Hmm." She's still looking at me like I'm a puzzle she can't quite figure out. The scrutiny is making my skin itch. I'm not used to being looked at this hard by anyone, let alone a pretty girl with raindrops still clinging to her eyelashes.

Sage is still staring.

"Seriously, what?" I finally ask, annoyed. "Do I have a booger hanging or something?"

She laughs, but shakes her head. "No, sorry. I just... I know I've seen you somewhere before." She leans in a little, and I get a whiff of her—rain and some flowery shampoo and woman. "It's driving me crazy."

I shift in my chair again, suddenly uncomfortable. Is this chick a stalker? Did she set this whole thing up? My paranoid brain starts spinning scenarios—maybe she's obsessed with me, found out my travel plans, convinced Amanda to hook us up.

But that's crazy. Nobody's obsessed with me. I ain't exactly Brad fucking Pitt.

"Well, keep staring. Maybe it'll come to you," I mutter, taking a gulp of coffee.

"I will," she says, dead serious. And she does. For the next several minutes, while we discuss the road trip logistics—when to leave, the route, gas money, bathroom breaks—she keeps pausing mid-sentence to squint at me, like my face is a Magic Eye puzzle and she's waiting for the hidden image to appear.

It's making me twitchy as fuck. I'm not used to being looked at this hard. I wipe at my mouth, run a hand through my hair, check my shirt for stains. Nothing. Just her eyes, moving from my face to my hands, back to my face.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," I finally snap, immediately feeling like a dick.

But Sage just grins, completely unfazed. "Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. "I just know I've seen you somewhere."

The rain keeps drumming against the windows, and I'm starting to sweat despite the chill. I should've just said no to this whole effin’ thing. Sixteen hours in a car with this ditz is gonna be a special kind of hell.

Sage keeps starin' at me like I'm some kinda puzzle she's tryin' to solve. I'm gettin' real fuckin' uncomfortable, shiftin' in my seat every few seconds. Then suddenly, her eyes go wide, and her mouth forms this perfect little "O" shape. That look—I know that look. It's the "holy shit, I just remembered where I know you from" look, and it's never good news. Never. Especially when it comes from a girl you're about to be trapped in a car with for sixteen fuckin' hours.

"What?" I snap, feeling heat creep up my neck.

She leans across the table, this big shit-eating grin spreading across her face. Her wet hair drips onto the laminate surface as she gets close enough for me to smell the coffee on her breath.

"I know where I've seen you before," she says, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow manages to sound louder than a fuckin' megaphone to my ears.

"Yeah? Where's that?" I try to sound casual, but my heart's hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.

She glances around—like we're in some spy movie—then leans in even closer. "Trillz. That adult store on Broadway." She sits back, watching my reaction with those big brown eyes, looking way too fuckin' amused.

I'm mid-sip when she says it, and coffee goes down the wrong pipe. I choke, sputtering and coughing like I'm hacking up a lung. Coffee dribbles down my chin, and I grab a napkin, my face burning hotter than the surface of the goddamn sun.

"You okay there?" she asks, still grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

"Fuckin’ peachy," I manage, wiping my mouth, my throat raw. My ears are ringing, and I know my face must be redder than a baboon's ass. I can't look at her. I stare at my coffee instead, wondering if I could drown myself in it.

"You were checking out dildos. And lingerie. And you bought lube," she continues, apparently determined to fuckin' kill me with embarrassment. "And a vibe. You got a vibe. A psychedelic one."

"Jesus Christ," I hiss, looking around to see if anyone heard. An old lady at the next table glances over, and I want to melt into the floor. "Could you maybe not announce that to the whole damn coffee shop?"

Sage laughs, and it's a nice laugh, which somehow makes this whole thing worse. "Relax! Nobody's listening." She leans in again. "It was the day before Halloween. I thought it was interesting because you looked like such a straight-laced square. You were wearing a button-up shirt tucked into khakis. You looked like you were shopping for office supplies, not sex toys."

I shift in my chair, the wood creaking under me. My hands can't stay still—they're fidgeting with my coffee cup, the napkin, the edge of the table. I run one through my hair, then down my face.

"It was for research," I mutter, which is partly true. But also, a man has needs, and sometimes those needs involve silicone and water-based lubricant.

"Research," she repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"Look," I say, finally meeting her eyes, "can we just forget about this? Pretend it never happened? I'll drive you to wherever, you keep my shopping habits to yourself. Deal?"

She studies me for a second, head tilted. "You were the only guy in there, you know. That's why I noticed. Usually, it's just women when I go."

Great. So not only did I get caught buying sex toys, I got caught being the lone dude in a store full of women. Fucking fantastic.

"You go there a lot?" I ask, immediately regretting it. Why the fuck would I extend this conversation?

"Often enough," she says with a shrug. "They have sexy lingerie." She says this so casually, like she's talking about the weather, not the fact that she regularly shops for sexy underwear. The mental image of Sage in lingerie flashes through my brain, and I shift in my chair again, adjusting my suddenly tight jeans.

"Cool. Great. Fascinating," I mutter, draining the last of my coffee. "So about this road trip—"

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," she interrupts. "Sex toys are normal. I have a whole drawer full."

I nearly choke again, this time on air. The mental image of her "drawer full" sends blood rushing to my dick. Christ, this girl has no friggin’ filter.

"That's... great," I say, my voice strained. "Really happy for you and your drawer."

"Just saying," she shrugs, breaking off another piece of muffin. "No judgment here."

I drum my fingers on the table, my leg bouncing under it. The rain continues to pound against the window, and I'm hyper-aware of every sensation—the damp collar of my shirt, the way my jeans are suddenly too tight in the crotch, the sweat beading at my hairline despite the chill in the air.

"So," I say, desperate to change the subject, "you gonna be ready to hit the road next week? And I wanna get an early start."

She smiles, and there's something knowing in it that makes my stomach flip. "Sure thing, Dildo Guy. Early start sounds good."

"Don't call me that," I growl, but there's nothin’ angry in it.

She laughs again, that bright sound cutting through my embarrassment. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

I shake my head, feeling a reluctant smile tug at my lips despite everything. Maybe this trip won't be a complete disaster after all. Mortifying, that’s for sure. A pain in the ass? Maybe. But not a disaster.

"Just so you know," she says, leaning in again, "your secret's safe with me." She mimes zipping her lips, but the mischief in her eyes tells me I'm never gonna live this down. At least not during our sixteen-hour road trip from hell.

I take a deep breath, figure I might as well go all in. If she already knows I'm a pervert who buys giant dildos, might as well own it completely. Besides, maybe this'll make her see me as something other than "Dildo Guy" for the entire damn road trip.

"Since we're sharing embarrassing personal details," I say, lowering my voice, "I might as well tell you why I was doing 'research' at Trillz."

Again, I think, why am I extending this conversation?

She raises an eyebrow, waiting. The rain drums against the window beside us, creating this weird intimate bubble in the noisy coffee shop.

"I write stories," I mutter, staring at my empty coffee cup. "Erotic stories. For a website."

Her eyes widen slightly, but not in the judgmental way I expected. There's something else there—interest?

"Seriously? Like, professionally?" she asks.

I shrug. "Nah. It's just something I do while I work on my real writing."

"That's actually pretty cool," she says, leaning forward. "What site?"

I hesitate for a second. This is getting real personal real fast. But fuck it—we're gonna be trapped in a car together for a few hours. Might as well have something to talk about besides the weather.

"Lush Stories," I admit, studying her face for a reaction.

What I don't expect is for her eyes to go wide as fuckin' saucers and her mouth to drop open.

"Oh my god," she says, her voice rising enough that the old lady at the next table glances over again. "Are you kidding me? I read Lush all the time!"

Now it's my turn to be surprised. "Wh-what? You do?"

"Hell yes! It's way better than watching porn. The stories are so much more... fun." She's practically bouncing in her seat now, all traces of the shivering, rain-soaked girl gone. "What's your username?"

I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling exposed again. This is even more intimate than her knowing about the dildo. These are my words, my fantasies, the shit that comes straight from my brain onto the page.

"Gabby Cross," I whisper, so quietly I'm not sure she heard me.

But she definitely heard me, because her hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, and like a kid, she does this kinda’ excited happy dance with her legs, her whole body shaking as she gets into it. Her fingers are warm against my skin, and the contact sends a jolt straight to my dick.

"No fucking way," she breathes, staring at me like I just told her I'm a secret Hemingway. "You're Gabby? Are you serious right now?"

I nod, a weird mix of pride and embarrassment swirling in my gut. "You've read my stuff?"

"Read it? Dude, you're one of my favorites! Your stories are so filthy. I've read some a few times. Like that series, Gabby And Pete And Emma." She's still holding my wrist, her thumb absently stroking my skin in a way that's making it hard to concentrate. "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm having coffee with that Gabby. This is insane!"

I can't help but grin. There's something deeply satisfying about meeting a fan, especially an enthusiastic one, especially an enthusiastic one who happens to be a cute girl with rain-damp clothes clinging to her.

"That series is one of my most popular," I say, feeling myself relax a little. "But I'm thinking about a new one now, about a road trip..." I lied. The road trip thing only came into my head because now I’m fantasizing about the two of us.

"Is that why you were buying the toys? Research?" She's leaning so far across the table now that I can see down her shirt, the swell of her breasts visible where her wet top clings to her skin. I force myself to maintain eye contact.

"Yeah, wanted to get the details right," I say, which is only half a lie. "Gotta’ make it real."

"That's dedication to your craft," she says with a grin. "I respect that."

We fall into a conversation about writing erotica that's surprisingly easy. Sage knows her shit—she talks about character development, plot arcs, the importance of sensory details. It's not just the sex parts she likes, though she's definitely not shy about discussing those too.

"Your sex scenes are so fucking hot," she says casually, like she's commenting on the weather. "Most writers rush through them, but you take your time. You make it feel real."

My cock stirs in my jeans, and I shift in my seat again. Is she flirting? Is this just literary appreciation? I can't tell, and it's driving me crazy.

"Thanks," I manage. "I, uh, try to write what I know."

She smiles, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine. "Is that so?"

The air between us feels charged now, electric, like right before lightning strikes. She's still leaning forward, her muffin forgotten, her coffee gone cold. There's a smudge of blueberry at the corner of her mouth that I have a sudden, powerful urge to lick.

"So," she says, finally releasing my wrist and sitting back, "when you write those scenes about eating pussy—the ones that go one forever, where the guy describes exactly how it tastes, how it feels on his tongue—is that 'writing what you know' too?"

Jesus Christ. My dick is fully hard now, pressing uncomfortably against my zipper. Is she seriously asking me this? In Tony's Market, at 9 AM, with an old lady two tables away eating a friggin’ scone?

"Yeah," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. "That's definitely writing what I know."

Her smile widens. "Thought so. You can tell when someone's writing from experience and not just making shit up."

The rain continues to batter the windows, but I barely notice it anymore. The coffee shop around us has faded to background noise. All I can focus on is Sage, the way she's looking at me, the way she just casually dropped that she's read my blow job scenes multiple times.

"So," I say, desperate to regain some control of this conversation, "now that you know my dirty secret, the road trip's still on, right? You're not freaked out?"

She laughs, that bright, clear sound that cuts through everything. "Freaked out? Gabby, this makes me way more excited for this road trip, not less. Sixteen hours with one of my favorite erotica writers? Sign me the fuck up."

I can't help but laugh too, the last of my tension draining away. Whatever this is—this weird, charged conversation with a girl who reads my porn—it's definitely more interesting than the goddamn long road trip I was dreading.

We finish our coffee, and I crumple up the napkins, tossin' 'em on the tray with our empty cups. The rain's still coming down like God's own personal vendetta, sheets of it slammin’ against the windows. I look at Sage, who's staring out at the deluge with a grimace on her face.

"Need a ride somewhere?" I ask, jingling my keys. "Seein' as you walked here in the fuckin' monsoon."

She turns to me, relief washing over her face. "God, yes. That would be amazing. I don't have class until two. I was just heading back to my place to do some reading."

"No problem. My car's just across the lot."

We dash outside, the cold rain hitting us like needles. Sage squeals and runs ahead of me, her ass looking damn fine in those wet jeans. I unlock the Subaru with the fob, and she yanks the passenger door open, diving inside like she's escaping a war zone.

I slide into the driver's seat, shaking water from my coat like a dog. Drops fly everywhere, including on Sage, who squeaks and covers her face.

"Real nice," she laughs, wiping her cheek. "I wasn't wet enough already?"

"Sorry," I say, not feeling sorry at all. I start the engine, cranking the heat. "Where to?"

She gives me directions to her place—an apartment complex about ten minutes from campus. As I pull out of the parking lot, the rain drums against the roof and windshield, creating this cocoon of sound around us. The wipers slap back and forth, barely keeping up with the downpour.

"So," she says, breaking the comfortable silence, "are we still on for the road trip?"

That seemed like a weird thing to ask. "Yeah, if you're still game,” I tell her. "Though I gotta’ warn ya’, now that you know my dirty little writing secret, I might pick your brain for story ideas the whole way."

She grins, tugging at a strand of her wet hair. "I'm full of ideas. You have no idea."

The way she says it, all low and suggestive, makes my dick twitch in my jeans. This chick’s somethin’ else.

"What are you doing for the rest of the morning?" she asks. "After you drop me off?"

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the road. The visibility's shit, and the last thing I need is to wreck my car with a hot girl in the passenger seat. "Probably go home and work on my writing."

"For Lush or something else?" she asks, and I can hear the smile in her voice without even looking at her.

"Yeah. Lush."

"Cool. Maybe I'll inspire a character."

I laugh, shooting her a quick glance. "Maybe you already have."

We pull up to her apartment building, a shabby shithole that's seen better days. The rain's still coming down in sheets, turning the parking lot into a series of puddles.

"Well, thanks for the ride," she says. But she doesn't move to get out; instead, she turns in her seat to face me.

I turn toward her, expecting a handshake or something, maybe some final details about the trip. What I do not expect—what doesn't even register as a fucking possibility in my brain—is for her to reach over and place her hand directly on the bulge in my jeans.

My whole body goes rigid, shock and arousal shooting through me like a bolt of lightning. Her hand is firm, cupping me through the denim with ownership.

"Want to come inside?" she asks, her voice low and thick. "I've got some ideas for your road trip story that might be better explained... physically."

Holy shit. Is this happening? Is this actually happening?

"I—" My voice cracks like I'm a fuckin' teenager. I clear my throat and try again. "Yeah. Yes. Absolutely."

She grins, giving me a squeeze that makes my cock throb beneath her palm. "Good. I've been wanting to know if the guy who writes those hot scenes can actually deliver in person."

I can't think straight. All the blood has left my brain and rushed to my dick, which is now fully hard under her hand. This girl, who an hour ago was a stranger I was reluctantly agreeing to drive to some shithole, is now feeling me up in my car and inviting me to fuck her.

"Let's find out," I manage, my voice rough with want.

She gives me another squeeze, then pulls her hand away to grab her bag. The sudden absence of her touch is almost painful. "Park over there," she says, pointing to a spot near the stairs. "And try not to look too disappointed when you see my shitty apartment. Student housing isn't exactly the Ritz."

"Sage, right now I wouldn't care if you lived in a fuckin' cardboard box," I say, pulling into the spot she indicated.

She laughs, that bright sound that cuts through everything, including the drumming rain and the roaring of blood in my ears. "Good answer, Gabby Cross. Very good answer."

My cock throbs again at the sound of my username on her lips. I kill the engine, and we make a dash for the stairs, rain soaking us all over again. But this time, I don't mind the cold or the wet. Not when something much, much warmer is waiting just inside her apartment door.

Sage fumbles with her keys, hands shaking either from the cold or anticipation—probably both. She finally gets the door open, and we stumble inside, dripping all over her cheap, worn linoleum entryway. Her apartment is exactly what you'd expect from a broke college student—mismatched furniture, posters tacked to walls, dishes piled in the sink, the stale stink of weed and incense and beer. But I don't give a shit about that. All I care about is getting my hands on her, gettin' those wet clothes off her body, and gettin’ my hard cock in her tight pussy.

She doesn't waste time with a tour, just grabs my hand and pulls me down a short hallway to her bedroom. It's small, with a mattress on the floor and clothes and other shit all over the place. Textbooks are stacked in the corner like some kind of educational Jenga tower. A string of fairy lights strung around a cheap plastic Christmas tree that looks like it was snatched from a garbage can is the only illumination, casting a soft glow over everything.

"Sorry it's a mess," she says, not sounding sorry at all. She's already peeling off her wet shirt, revealing a simple black bra underneath.

"Don't care," I grunt, my eyes fixed on the way water droplets cling to her skin, tracing paths down her collarbone, between her breasts. My dick is so hard it hurts.

We strip quickly, dropping our wet clothes in soggy heaps on the floor. The room is chilly, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is Sage, now down to just a pair of light blue panties. Her body is fucking incredible—small, perky tits with nipples already hard from the cold, a flat stomach, hips that flare out just enough to give her that perfect hourglass shape, and scrawny legs that I’d love wrapped around me.

She sits on the edge of the mattress and looks up at me, her eyes running over my body, lingering on my hard, uncut cock, which is standing at full attention. I'm not huge, but I'm not small either, and the hungry look in her eyes tells me she likes what she sees.

"I want you to eat my pussy," she says, her voice low but confident. "Just like in your stories on Lush. The way you describe it... fuck, it makes me so wet just reading it." She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slides them down her legs, tossing them aside. "I want to know if you're as good in real life as you are on the page."

CHALLENGE FUCKING ACCEPTED!

She lies back on the mattress, spreading her legs, and I drop to my knees on the floor beside the bed. Her pussy is right there, pink and perfect and already glistening. She's neatly trimmed, just a small strip of dark hair above her slit. My mouth waters at the sight.

But I don't dive in right away. That's amateur hour shit. No, I'm gonna take my time, gonna make her beg for it, just like in my stories.

I start with her thighs, running my hands up and down their length, feeling her smooth skin. I lean down and place a soft kiss on her inner thigh, close to her knee. She sighs, her legs spreading wider.

"You're such a tease," she murmurs, propping herself up on her elbows to watch me.

"You've read my stories," I say, placing another kiss a little higher up her thigh. "You know how I operate."

I work my way up slowly, alternating between her thighs, getting closer and closer to her center but never quite reaching it. Her breathing gets heavier with each kiss, each touch. I can smell her wet pussy now, that musky, sweet scent that makes my cock throb.

When I finally get close enough to her pussy that she thinks I'm going to taste her, I switch to the other thigh, starting near her knee again. She groans in frustration.

"Gabby, come on," she whines.

"Patience," I murmur against her skin. "Good things come to those who wait."

I continue my teasing journey, tracing patterns on her skin with my tongue, occasionally nipping gently with my teeth. Her thighs are trembling now, and when I glance up, her head is thrown back, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing.

Finally, when I think she can't take it anymore, I move to her center. But even then, I don't give her what she wants right away. I blow gently on her pussy, watching her clit visibly throb in response. I run a finger along her outer lips, barely touching her.

"Please," she gasps. "Please, Gabby."

Hearing her beg for it is like a shot of pure lust straight to my dick. I lower my mouth to her pussy, but instead of going right for her clit, I start with broad, flat licks along her slit, from bottom to top, just barely grazing her clit at the end of each stroke.

She tastes fuckin' amazing—sweet and tangy and so goddamn wet. Her juices coat my tongue, my lips, my chin. I lap at her like a man dying of thirst, but still with that deliberate restraint, still not giving her the direct pressure she needs to come.

Her hips start bucking, trying to jam that clit right on my tongue, but I fight her moves, keeping the good shit just out of reach of what she's screaming for. Her hands find my hair, gripping tight, trying to guide me where she wants me.

"Gabby, fuck," she moans, her voice strained. "Stop teasing. Please."

I look up at her from between her thighs, her pussy lips spread open by my fingers, glistening with her arousal and my saliva. "Tell me exactly what you want," I say, my voice rough with desire.

"Suck my clit," she gasps. "Please, just... I need to come so bad."

I grin against her pussy, then finally, finally give her what she's begging for. I wrap my lips around her clit and suck gently, flicking my tongue over the sensitive bud. Her reaction is immediate and intense—her back arches off the mattress, a long, low moan tearing from her throat.

"Yes, fuck, like that," she pants, her hips grinding against my face.

I keep sucking, alternating between gentle and firm pressure, occasionally releasing her clit to lick firmly up and down her slit, gathering her juices. She's so fucking wet now, her arousal dripping down toward her ass. God, how I love this shit!

I slide a finger inside her, and she's tight and hot around it. I curl it upward, searching for that spot that'll drive her crazy, all while workin’ her clit with my tongue. When I find it, she practically convulses, her thighs clamping around my head.

"Oh god, right there," she moans. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

I add a second finger, fucking her slowly with them while maintaining the pressure on her clit. Her pussy clenches around my fingers, and I can tell she's getting close. Her breathing is ragged, her moans higher-pitched, her hips moving in an urgent rhythm against my face.

But I'm not ready for her to come yet. I ease off her clit, slowing the movement of my fingers inside her. She groans in frustration, her hands tightening in my hair, trying to force my mouth back where she wants it.

"Gabby, you fucker," she pants. "I was so close."

I chuckle against her inner thigh, placing a gentle kiss there. "I know you were, babe. That's the point."

Before she can protest further, I dive back in, this time focusing all my attention on her clit. I suck it firmly into my mouth, flicking my tongue rapidly over it while fucking her with my fingers. Her thighs begin to tremble, her pussy clenching rhythmically around my fingers.

She's right on the edge again, and this time, I don't back off. Instead, I increase the pressure, the speed, curling my fingers to hit that perfect spot inside her. Her back arches, her body tensing, and I know she's about to explode.

But not quite yet. I want to drive her absolutely wild first. I want her to remember this, to think about it every time she reads one of my stories.

I pull back just enough to say, "Not yet. Hold it," then dive back in, keeping her right on that edge, not letting her tip over into orgasm.

"I can't," she gasps, her voice breaking. "Gabby, please, I need to come."

I maintain the exquisite torture for another moment, her body writhing beneath me, her pussy dripping with need. Then, when I know she can't take it anymore, I give her exactly what she wants.

She's so close to the edge, her whole body vibrating with need, but I wanna make this even better. I wanna give her the kind of orgasm she'll be thinking about months from now, whenever she reads my stories on Lush. "Sit on my face," I tell her, my voice rough with desire. "I wanna feel your pussy grinding against my mouth while you come."

Sage's eyes, already heavy-lidded with lust, spark with excitement. "Yes," she breathes. "Fuck yes."

I lie back on the mattress, positioning myself so my head is in the middle. "Come here," I say, patting my chest. "Get on me."

She moves, but I stop her before she can swing her leg over. "No, other way. Face that direction." I point toward the wall. "I want you looking away from me."

She raises an eyebrow, but follows my instructions, turning around and carefully positioning herself over my face, her knees on either side of my head. From this angle, I have a perfect view of her ass and her cunt, both of ‘em wet and slick ‘cause she’s so damn horny.

"Lower," I command. "But don't put all your weight on me yet. Use your thighs."

She lowers herself slowly, her pussy just inches from my mouth now. I can smell her arousal, strong and intoxicating. My cock throbs, neglected but rock hard.

"Like this?" she asks, her voice breathy with anticipation.

"Perfect," I growl. "Now come down a little more... that's it."

Her pussy hovers just above my lips, so close I can feel the heat radiating from it. I reach up and grip her hips, guiding her down those final few centimeters until her pussy makes contact with my mouth.

The angle is fucking perfect. Her pussy is spread wide open, her clit easily accessible to my tongue, her weight balanced between her thighs and my mouth. I dive in, licking firmly from her opening up to her clit, tasting her even more directly than before.

"Oh my god," she moans, her thighs already starting to quiver. "Fuck, that's good."

I grip her ass with both hands, kneading the soft flesh, using it to guide her movements against my face. My tongue explores every inch of her pussy—circling her clit, dipping into her entrance, lapping at her swollen lips. Her taste fills my mouth, tangy and sweet, her scent surrounding me, drowning out everything else.

"Move your hips," I mutter against her pussy. "Find the rhythm that feels good."

She starts grinding slowly, tentatively at first, then with more confidence as she finds the angle that gives her the most pleasure. Her ass is rockin’ hard above me, her pussy sliding against my tongue, my lips, my chin. Every part of my face is coated in her. Man, I fucking love it!

"That's it," I encourage between licks. "Use my face. Take what you need."

She moans, louder now, her movements becoming more urgent. I focus on her clit, sucking it between my lips, flicking it rapidly with my tongue. Her thighs start to shake on either side of my head, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Gabby, I'm gonna... cum," she pants, grinding harder against my face. "Fuck, I'm so close."

I fuckin’ hit it harder, keeping my tongue firm and consistent on her clit while she works her hips. My hands move from her ass to her thighs, feeling the muscles tense as she gets closer to the edge. I slide one hand around to her stomach, feeling it contract with each wave of pleasure.

"Let it happen," I growl against her pussy. "Cum on my face, Sage, honey. Let me feel it."

Her movements become erratic, desperate, her thighs clamping around my head so hard I can barely hear anything except the blood rushing in my ears. I keep my mouth exactly where I know she needs it, my tongue moving in quick, firm circles around her clit.

And then it happens.

Her whole body goes rigid above me, a strangled cry tearing from her throat. Her pussy pulses against my mouth, a rush of wetness coating my lips, my chin. I can feel every throb, every contraction against my tongue as I continue licking her through it, drawing out her pleasure as long as possible.

"Oh god, oh fuck, oh my god," she chants, her voice breaking, her body shuddering violently above me. Her pussy is clenching rhythmically, spasming with each wave of her orgasm. I keep going, relentless, pushing her higher and higher.

Just when I think she can't take any more, another wave hits her, even more intense than the first. She screams, actually fucking screams, her back arching, her pussy grinding hard against my mouth. Her juices are everywhere, dripping down my chin, soaking the mattress beneath us.

It's like a goddamn earthquake, the way she's shaking, trembling, convulsing above me. Her thighs quiver uncontrollably, her stomach muscles contracting visibly with each pulse of pleasure. I love seeing chicks cum this hard, and knowing I'm the cause of it sends a surge of pure masculine pride through me.

Finally, when her body can't take any more, she collapses forward, catching herself on her hands, her ass still hovering above my face. She's panting like she just ran a marathon, little aftershocks still rippling through her.

"Holy fuck," she gasps, her voice raw. "Holy fucking fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I give her pussy one final, gentle lick, making her whole body jerk. She whimpers, then carefully dismounts, rolling onto her back beside me on the mattress. Her chest is heaving, her skin flushed pink all the way down to her breasts, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the soft light of the fairy lights.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand, though there's no point—I'm absolutely soaked with her arousal. It's all over me, on my cheeks, down my neck. And I’m so fuckin’ turned on.

"So," I say, my voice rough, "did I live up to my writing?"

She turns her head to look at me, her eyes still glazed with pleasure, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across her face. "Fuck no," she says, and for a second, my ego takes a hit. But then she goes on, "You're way better in person. Your stories don't do you justice."

I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. "High praise, considering you said I was one of your favorites."

"Mmm," she hums, her eyes drifting closed. "Definitely my favorite now. That was... fuck, I don't even have words, and I'm an education major. We're supposed to be good with words."

I laugh, rolling onto my side to cuddle up beside her. My cock is still hard as a fucking rock, pressing against her thigh, but I'm savoring this moment—the look of complete satisfaction on her face, the way her body is still occasionally shuddering with aftershocks.

She opens her eyes, glances down at my erection, then back up to my face. "Don't worry," she says with a wicked grin. "I'm gonna take care of that. Just give me a minute to remember how to move my legs."

I laugh again, running a hand up her thigh, over her stomach, to cup one of her breasts. Her nipple hardens against my palm.

"Take your time," I say, leaning in to kiss her neck. "We've got all morning."

And suddenly, I'm really fucking glad I agreed to give her a ride to..., where was that?