Me & Mine

39. Midnight in Paris

I glance at Max while he's driving us back into town. He looks handsome in his suit, his fiery red hair combed back and his wrists draped over the steering wheel. I gently trace my fingers over the necklace he gave me and notice him smirking at me from the corner of his eye. I smile and let myself fall back against the seat. "What?"

"You were checking me out," he says, a sly grin on his face. I roll my eyes.

"I can't help it, I have a thing for suits."

He cocks an eyebrow and places his free hand on my thigh, his fingers digging into my skin and sending shivers through my body. "I have a thing for dresses," he breathes, his voice low and hoarse. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and trace my teeth across my lip. Max hand creeps further up my thigh and I trace my fingers over his arm. My heart races and I close my eyes for a second.

"Can we take a quick stop at the lake?" I whisper and Max smirks. He takes his hand back and steers us towards the nearest exit to the lake. We take the exact same route we took on our first date, up the hill along gravelly roads, trees surrounding us and track marks in the grass. I smile and shake my head softly. "I knew this was a kissing spot," I tease and Max leans over to me. "It's not," he whispers, "it's our spot."

I smile and bite the inside of my cheek. "Are you just saying that to get into my pants?"

Max smirks and trails his hand up my thighs. "You're not even wearing pants, smartass," he whispers, his lips softly tickling my neck. I inhale deeply and feel his mouth on my skin, his teeth softly nibbling my earlobe, his lips caressing my neck. I groan softly as his fingers dig into my skin, my body gravitating towards his, my mind longing for more. He pauses and catches my eyes. His lips curl upward slightly and my breathing intensifies. God that boy was irresistible when he smirked that devilish half-grin.

He leans in closer and reaches behind me for the door handle. He pushes the door open and cool air hits my warm skin. "Backseat," he breathes, his voice low and husky, "now."

I oblige and rush over to the backseat, our bodies lumped together in the small space. He kisses me and grabs my hair, my skin, my dress. His fingers dig into my skin and he pulls me ever closer. I let him, my hands roam his body and ravage his hair, my hips move rhythmically along on the faint sounds of the car radio. We can barely move, my head bend under the car's roof and his limbs caught between car seats and steamy windows. Yet none of it matters, because the laughs we share and the inventive flexibility of our bodies makes more than up for it.

I let myself fall back in the seat and straighten my dress. My legs tingle and my hands shake, my lungs still desperately trying to catch up with my heartrate. And my mind – well, my mind is everywhere and nowhere at once, completely smitten and satisfied and within and without. I bite my lip and look over at Max. His chest is pounding and his head thrown back, his eyes closed and a smirk on his lips.

"We should get going," he says, his voice hoarse and low. I smile and keep staring at him.

"I don't want to go," I say softly, "not yet."

"Are you using sex to stall us going home?" He smirks and cocks an eyebrow. I shrug.

"I might," I pout, "do you mind?"

He shakes his head and leans over to kiss me. "Never," he says, pulling me closer to him, "you know I much rather spend the entire night here with you, than at some fancy dinner with some fancy people."

"Hey," I wriggle myself loose from his embrace and raise my eyebrows, "I'm fancy people. And this dinner is important to me. I want to make a good impression on your parents."