The rain hammered against the tinted windows of Abhi’s sleek black sedan, the rhythmic drumming the only sound in the car besides Prachi’s uneven breathing. She sat in the passenger seat, her fingers clutching the edge of her skirt, the fabric riding up just enough to tease the tops of her stockings. The meeting had run late—again—and now they were stuck in traffic, the neon glow of the city’s underbelly painting streaks across her flushed cheeks. She could feel Abhi’s gaze on her, heavy and deliberate, like a hand sliding up her thigh.
“You’re quiet,” Abhi murmured, his voice rough, the kind of tone that made her nipples tighten under her blouse. He didn’t look at her, his fingers tapping idly on the steering wheel, but the way his jaw clenched told her exactly where his mind was. Prachi swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. She *knew* what he wanted. Hell, she’d been fantasizing about it for weeks—ever since she’d caught him watching her bend over the copier, her pencil skirt hugging her ass like a second skin.
“Just thinking,” she lied, shifting in her seat. The leather creaked beneath her, the sound obscenely loud in the confined space. Her pussy was already damp, the lace of her thong sticking to her folds. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, her knees falling apart just enough to give him a glimpse of the dark fabric between her thighs. Abhi’s breath hitched. His hand left the wheel, fingers curling into a fist before he reached out, knuckles brushing against her inner thigh.
“About work?” he asked, though they both knew the answer.
Prachi laughed, a breathy, needy sound. “No.”
That was all it took. Abhi’s hand shot out, gripping the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. Their mouths crashed together, teeth clacking, tongues twisting in a desperate, wet dance. She moaned into him, her hands fumbling with his tie, yanking it loose. His shirt followed, buttons popping as she tore it open, her nails scraping down the hard planes of his chest. He groaned, his free hand sliding up her skirt, fingers hooking into the waistband of her thong and snapping it like it was nothing.
“Fuck, you’re *dripping*,” he growled against her lips, two fingers plunging inside her without warning. Prachi gasped, her back arching, her hips bucking against his hand. The car swerved slightly as Abhi adjusted his seat, reclining it just enough to give them room. His fingers worked her mercilessly, curling against her G-spot, his thumb circling her clit in tight, punishing circles. She was going to come just like this, fully dressed in the front seat of his car, like some filthy fantasy come to life.
“Not yet,” Abhi commanded, pulling his hand away. Prachi whimpered, her pussy clenching around nothing. Before she could protest, he was unbuckling his belt, freeing his cock. Thick, veiny, the head already glistening with precome. Her mouth watered. She didn’t wait for instruction—she leaned over, her lips wrapping around him, taking him deep until her nose pressed against his groin. His hands tangled in her hair, guiding her, fucking her mouth with shallow thrusts.
“That’s it, take it all,” he grunted, his hips lifting off the seat. Prachi hollowed her cheeks, her tongue swirling around the ridge of his crown. She could taste him, salty and musky, and it made her even wetter. Her hand snaked between her own legs, fingers rubbing furiously at her clit as she bobbed her head, her lips stretched obscenely around his girth.
Abhi didn’t let her finish. With a growl, he hauled her up, spinning her around so her back was to his chest. His hands were everywhere—ripping her blouse open, freeing her tits, pinching her nipples until she cried out. Then his mouth was on her, hot and wet, sucking one stiff peak between his lips, his teeth grazing just hard enough to make her squirm. Prachi arched into him, her ass grinding against his cock, the slick sounds of her arousal filling the car.
“You want this?” he demanded, his hand sliding down her stomach, his fingers parting her folds. “Tell me how bad you want my dick inside you.”
“I want it *now*,” she panted, her voice raw. “Fuck me, Abhi. Please.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he lifted her, turning her so she was straddling him, her skirt bunched around her waist. She sank onto him with a moan, her pussy stretching deliciously around his thickness. Abhi groaned, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her as she rode him, her tits bouncing with every bounce. The car windows were fogging up, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
“Harder,” Prachi begged, her nails digging into his shoulders. Abhi flipped her onto her back, the seat reclining further as he drove into her, his cock pistoning in and out of her soaked cunt. The car rocked with the force of his thrusts, the leather squeaking in protest. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper. Every slap of skin, every grunted curse, every desperate whimper pushed her closer to the edge.
“Come for me,” Abhi ordered, his voice a guttural growl. His hand snaked between them, his fingers finding her clit. Two rough circles, and she was gone, her back bowing off the seat as her orgasm crashed over her. Her pussy clenched around him, milking his cock, and with a final, brutal thrust, Abhi followed, his come pumping into her in hot, thick spurts.