This Won't Have A Name For A While

32. Tiger Tiger

By the time we made it out of the club, it had to be around 3am at least. Both of us were cackling with laughter about something only drunk people would find funny, stumbling about on the pavement. Everything felt like a warm buzz and I had to grasp onto John for support. That wasn’t helpful because he was absolutely pissed too. With the street swirling around us like storm clouds, we somehow managed to hail a taxi and collapse inside it. On top of each other. That was the breaking point of the sexual tension for me. All night we’d wanted each other - painfully so - and neither could take it anymore.

He pulled the door shut with his leg, muttered a vague address to the driver, then turned to his real concern. Me. With all the pent-up lust, he began to kiss me without holding back, if a little sloppy from the alcohol. Already, I was ready for him. Forget the taxi driver, we were doing it here and now. He might even make us more desperate and horny.

John sat up and pulled himself on top of me and already had his hands on my zip, yanking it undone. And breaking it. But I didn’t care, I wanted him.

Now.

Then within seconds I’d done the same to his trousers. His eyes went wider. I grinned and pulled him down close, seeking his lips again. He inched my dress up desperately, murmuring my name, and grasped my waist hard, holding me down against the seats of the taxi. It’s a good job they were leather, you could wipe that.

–“Please, John, hurry up,”– I pleaded with him.

–“Don’t worry Irene, I’m about to do it,”– he sounded strained as he drew level with my ear. The near contact sent me WILD.

–“Now”–.

Then to my sheer horror, from the front of the taxi came a condescending voice. It was our driver and he didn’t sound happy.

–“You two won’t be shagging in the back of my taxi, thank you.”–

–“Too late,”– John hissed at him.

Seconds later I felt him push in, hard. The reality of shagging here hit me; I seized the seat beneath me hard to stop the gasp escaping me. Even in my drunkened state he felt AMAZING. The thrill of doing this quickly and in front of the driver made it feel ten times better, too.

–“Hey, what did I just tell you?”– The driver shrieked, –“I can call the police on you for this!”–

–“Then do it, I dare you.”– John growled back.

The force of his voice turned me on immensely.

His anger and frustration showed in the thrusts he’d begun to do, which were hard and fast and felt so good. That time I let a screech escape, completely unable to stop it anymore. The hands which he’d been holding down my waist with travelled higher and toyed with my chest through the fabric. At that, I rose sharply from the seat, and it brought me so close to the end. John got that look in his eyes too. If it was possible, he went even harder and faster.

I tipped over the edge.

Without even realising, I dug my nails into the skin at his waist to help me ride it out. He swallowed the sounds I couldn’t help but make in a violent kiss, as not to anger the driver anymore. Soon we’d both reached the peak and we were trading passion-filled breaths, lip-to-lip. John’s grip on my shoulders was intense, but it was the only thing keeping me steady, because I was a shaking mess. Soon, the shivers began to subside. They were replaced by breathless gasps as we began to return to normality and both collapsed in a hot heap on the seat. The driver - who’d given up ages ago - turned the radio up with a huff.

Within minutes, I was out cold on John’s thigh, the sexual relief, lull of the engine, alcohol inside me and the motion of the car sending me straight off. The drive wasn’t that long. I was vaguely aware of us arriving at the villa later and getting out of the car, but as soon as we stumbled through the front door, I fell into bed and returned to unconsciousness again.