Steve Harrington slammed the door of his BMW harder than he meant to, the keys jangling in his fist as he scanned the empty parking lot behind the closed Family Video. It was past midnight, the kind of dead quiet that made every breath feel loud. You were already waiting by the car, leaning against the trunk with that look in your eyes that said you didn’t give a fuck about the late hour or the risk of getting caught.
“Get in,” he muttered, voice low and rough, already yanking the back door open. No slow build, no sweet words. Just need.
You climbed in first, and Steve followed, the leather seats creaking under your weight. The second the door shut, his hands were on you—rough, impatient, shoving your shirt up and over your head without ceremony. “Been thinking about this all shift,” he growled, mouth crashing against your neck, teeth scraping skin. “Thinking about bending you over and fucking you stupid.”
His fingers worked fast, unbuttoning your jeans and yanking them down your thighs along with your underwear. Cool air hit your bare skin, but Steve’s palm was hot as he cupped your ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. He freed his cock in seconds, thick and already leaking, stroking it once with a tight fist before hauling you onto his lap.
“Ride me,” he ordered, gripping your hips. “Now.”
You sank down on him in one slick motion, taking every inch. Steve groaned deep in his chest, head tipping back against the seat. “Fuck, that’s it. So goddamn tight.” He didn’t wait for you to adjust. His hips bucked up hard, driving into you with quick, filthy thrusts that made the whole car rock. Skin slapped skin, wet and obscene, the smell of sex already thick in the small space.
He reached between you, thumb circling your clit in rough circles that matched the pace. “You like that? Like getting fucked in the back of my car like a little slut?” The words were dirty, direct, punctuated by another sharp thrust that punched a moan out of you. His free hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing hard, just holding, owning the moment.
You bounced on him, chasing the friction, and Steve met every drop with an upward snap of his hips. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his hair falling into his eyes as he watched where you were joined—his cock disappearing inside you again and again. “Look at that greedy pussy taking it all,” he rasped. “Faster.”
The pace turned brutal. Steve’s grip tightened, guiding you up and down like he couldn’t get deep enough. Every thrust hit that spot that made your vision blur, and he knew it, angling just right, smirking when your walls fluttered around him. “Gonna come for me? Do it. Soak my cock.”
You clenched hard, orgasm ripping through you sudden and sharp. Steve didn’t slow down. He fucked you straight through it, grunting, chasing his own release with short, savage strokes until he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, filthy curse, pulsing hot inside you.
For a minute the only sounds were ragged breathing and the tick of the cooling engine. Steve didn’t pull out right away. He stayed buried, hands sliding up your back in lazy strokes now, the raw edge softening just enough to pull you down against his chest.
“Round two at my place,” he said against your ear, already half-hard again inside you. “I’m not done with you yet.”
