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Her fingers sat above the seek button on her car radio, ready to switch stations as soon as a commercial hit. She sat on one of a number of variety stations that she frequented and switched between when commercials or bad numbers came, her favorite indie rock one had been declining in quality of late but was still her go to. But lately, if she hit the seek button just so she could tap into the town over’s Classic Rock station.
Marianne couldn’t stop fucking thinking about him.
Bog King. Owner of the oldest truck, bluest eyes, best music collection and softest lips Marianne had ever known.
He wasn’t what any one might call classically handsome, not by a long shot. He was tall, and a gangly kind of thin, and didn’t seem to know how to find clothes that fit him right. He couldn’t have been much above thirty, but hadn’t aged too well; under rough stubble his face was sallow, and the lines around his eyes prominent.
But there was something in those eyes, bright and alive in a way she couldn’t name, that had captivated her. Something about catching him in that private, uninhibited, moment, about sharing that moment with him, that had left her wanting to get to know him…
Things got a bit out of control after that.
His station was halfway through Bad Company’s If You Need Somebody and absently, almost on instinct, Marianne was singing along. “If I could make you understand, what you’re doing to me.”
Marianne couldn’t stop thinking about fucking him.
She flushed at her own thoughts, but damn it all, she couldn’t help it. It was surreal to think about in hindsight, but she had been so ready, so willing to surrender to whatever strange magic had gripped them both that evening. The feel of his warm soft mouth sparking a desire she hadn’t dared acknowledge, the iconic rock ballads around them filling her with abandon, the two of them – strangers for all that they were more alike than could have ever been expected – alone and away from what might have been considered societally acceptable-
God, if it hadn’t been for her sister’s phone call, she might very well have let the man take her; it had been so long since she had felt so wanted and longer still since she had wanted someone else so fiercely. It was probably a good thing Dawn had called; it wasn’t like they’d had a condom on them.
But… in stop-and-go traffic that was more stop than go, she allowed herself a moment to close her eyes.
“Oh, if I could tell you now, the way you make me feel.”
He was silhouetted over her, the fading evening light seeming to take him into shadow quicker than their surroundings. His truck smelt like the memory of cigarette smoke and worn leather. He smelt like wood smoke and petrichor. Her name was growled low in her ear, the truck creaked and groaned in time with their rhythmic movement and her skin was so exquisitely hot under his hands.
The car behind her honked. Traffic was moving again. Marianne’s eyes flew open and she blushed a fiery red as she surged her car forward.
Okay, this was getting just plain ridiculous. It had been a week since they had spent that evening together. A week and he hadn’t called her, although she knew for a fact that he had her number. Maybe he was doing the smart thing and putting that night down as momentary insanity – this wasn’t something either of them had any experience in, after all. Marianne wished she could do the same, but it had been a week, and her fantasies about him were only getting stronger.
It wasn’t like she couldn’t call him, she thought, disgusted by her own inability to take the move she wanted him to so badly. It wasn’t like she didn’t have his number. It wasn’t like Dawn wasn’t pushing her at him any chance she got. Yes, her sister was fucking thrilled that Marianne had what she so maturely called a crush.
She tapped away the end of If You Need Somebody, in the same state of sexual frustration being sung about. She barely heard her phone buzz under the sounds of it. Stuck again at another light, Marianne dug out her phone and very nearly dropped it, knowing the number better than someone who had never called it should.
“I need you, I want you, I gotta tell you.”
Got a gig at a local bar here tomorrow night. Can send you the address if your still interested.
Marianne managed not to crash her car after that, although she couldn’t remember much of the rest of her commute. She managed to patiently wait the next thirty-six hours… well, impatiently wait if she was honest.
But, patiently or impatiently, the hours did pass until suddenly she was a town away, in front of a bar called Primrose, which did not suit its name in the slightest. It was small, dimly lit, old and ill-kept – but it was as crowded as any up-and-coming sports bar Marianne had ever seen back home. Whatever else the Primrose was, it was well loved. A worn sign was propped up outside its door proclaiming “Live Music Tonight”. She smiled.
At least she was appropriately dressed. She would never admit to the amount of time she put into figuring out what to wear; it wasn’t as if she didn’t know bar-dress-code what with how many times she and Dawn had girl’s nights out. The dress was simple black cotton, knee-length, with slits up to the hip on either side. The words “Trouble Maker” was in white print over her chest. It suited her.
The place was even more crowded than it looked and it took her longer than expected to find a place to sit where she could actually see the stage. She never hated being 5’1” so much in her life.
She had come late and missed the introduction and possibly the first song or two. Therefore, she had no time to mentally and physically prepare herself and all at once there he was. Bog King. Center of this tiny, smoky stage, a guitar slung over his shoulder, growling out a particularly gravelly rendition of U2’s Desire, and Marianne felt a chill run up her spine and blood heat up her face as she got her first good look at the man who had consumed her thoughts.
He was taller than she had remembered, but then of course, she had never seen him standing. The leather bomber jacket he wore did him no favors and failed entirely in hiding that he had the girth of a toothpick and the shoulder to waist ratio of a Dorito. His five o’clock shadow had grown a little into true stubble and Marianne wanted nothing more than to touch it.
But it was his voice that had Marianne melting into her seat as she watched him. Bog had a voice like velvet after a couple of cigarettes. It was warm and rough and sensual and Marianne couldn’t forget how it had sounded moaning her name.
People around her were singing along, but his voice rang clear above everyone else and so Marianne felt no qualm joining in.
Impossible in the crowded, sing-along that was the bar, but it seemed as soon as Marianne added her voice in Bog’s eyes fell on her. There was a second longer of a pause than necessary before he began the next verse. Marianne wanted to laugh – it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known she would be there, she had told him she was coming. Under that amusement was a fair share of wonder; seeing her still threw him, made him catch his breath. He was happy to see her.
As if reading her mind, a smile curved at his mouth, effectively derailing her thoughts completely. It entered his voice, sounding almost smug, like the bastard knew what he was doing to her. He sang the remaining chorus then shifted, dropping his guitar so he could bring his hands around another mic attached to the same stand. Marianne realized what it held just as he began the harmonica solo that concluded Desire. His eyes never left her.
Heat pooled in her gut. Oh, Jesus.
And, honestly, watching a man play harmonica probably wasn’t supposed to induce fantasies of him going down on her, but here she was. Her cheeks were burning and she bit her lip, squirming a little in her seat.
God, she’d thought she was hot for the man before.
Bog wrapped up Desire, moved into Santana’s Black Magic Woman, Stevie Ray Vaughn’s Pride and Joy, Foreigner’s Urgent, and an older Bad Company piece - Can’t Get Enough. Soon enough she could tell patrons were picking up on the fact that the tall man was very focused on one short woman in the audience. More wolf-whistles concluded every song, Marianne got playfully nudged a number of times, and – however unwavering his voice remained – a blush was visible on his face in the dim light.
The set encored with Meat Loaf’s All Revved Up to a very rousing applause. Bog looked proud and embarrassed simultaneously, and after a moment said something indefinable to the band’s bass player – a man perhaps half a head shorter than Bog himself but built like a linebacker. The man nodded, trying not to smile, and Bog hopped off the tiny stage to the high table where she sat. A couple people laughed, but they didn’t interrupt his course and in minutes he was in front of her while the rest of his band packed up without him.
“Hey,” she said. In her ears, she sounded winded, breathless.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was rougher, hoarse from all his singing. His blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim light and he gave her a crooked, almost bashful, smile. Marianne chastised her past self for trying to rationalize that ‘he wasn’t even that attractive’: he could knock a girl dead with a smile like that.
They didn’t seem to know how to proceed from there and Marianne wanted to laugh at how music seemed to embolden both of them. It was half the reason she had kept the stereo going when they’d made out a week ago (the other half was making out to Meat Loaf was just plain hot). “Nice set list,” she said at last. Music was a safe topic, after all.
“Ah- thanks. I- I suppose ye inspired it.”
There was a beat where they both realized the implications of that and Marianne felt her face grow very warm. He turned even redder than she was sure she was and quickly tried to make a save. “I mean- Ah wasn’t thinkin’ about- it was- because yer- that is- ye an’ I have the same uh- taste in- well, y- you know…”
Marianne had to laugh at his stumbling, even if her heart was positively racing. It was odd that it was this comment of all things that solidified the one thing she had still wondered; he did want her. He really did.
Marianne knew she was an attractive enough woman. A bit petite maybe, shorter than average with modest curves, but still a nice figure, clear skin, thick dark hair and some very nice eyes if she did say so herself. It wasn’t her appearance that usually drove men away, but her attitude. She was bitter and harsh and spoke her mind, never toning down her opinions for anyone. Men didn’t like girls who knew more about classic rock, and hot rods, and politics than they did. Men didn’t like a girl who didn’t smile on command.
And Bog had gotten all of that, all of her strangeness and her wildness. And Bog wanted her.
And really, there was no other way to respond to that.
She grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket and yanked him down to her, silently blessing the high stool she sat on for alleviating some of their height difference. Bog stiffened for an instant before kissing her back, his hands settling on her forearms, steadying her while she leaned into him.
From the stage, the sounds of packing up ceased long enough for someone to play the chorus of Do You Think I’m Sexy, to rousing laughter from everyone around them.
Bog pulled away from her, panting a little. Still holding her eyes with his, he lifted a hand from her waist and casually put his middle finger up in the direction of the stage. The bar laughter only increased, which Marianne joined.
He shook his head, but a smirk rose to his face. “Ye wanna get out of here?” He asked softly.
“Hell yes,” She said, but hesitated. “Don’t you need to get your stuff?”
“Brutus is handlin it.” He glanced back at the stage, as though to make sure that was actually what was happening. His shoulders tensed, just barely, but she caught on to his protective attitude towards his things.
She laughed softly. “You know, I won’t be offended if your gear ranks a teensy-bit higher than me on your priority list.”
She had meant it as a joke, but Bog looked genuinely startled and as his blue eyes searched her face Marianne realized the unspoken, deeper implication; Marianne was entirely too used to people not putting her first. She tried to keep her smile. It didn’t bug her when her dad was too caught up with work, it didn’t matter that her sister complained about her hovering all the time. Marianne was better off on her own anyways, or so she told herself.
But it was hard to say any of that when Bog was looking at her with such aching… understanding in his eyes, the like of which she’d never seen. The rough pads of his fingertips trailed down her arms, slow and feather light, making her shiver. “C’mon, Tough Girl. Let me get yer tab.”
She was as grateful to him for moving on, as she was… excited that they were leaving together. Oh god, oh god this was really happening. “Chivalrous as that is, it’s unnecessary; I didn’t get anything.”
“Nothin?”
“I was a little preoccupied,” she informed him dryly. He blushed, and she knew she was, too. God, they were like children about this. Really, really horny children. She hopped down from the stool, and was reintroduced to their full height difference. The man had to be over 6’5”. Scratch her earlier statement: Now, she had never hated being 5’1” more in her life. “Did you bring your truck?” She asked, just to say something.
He took her jacket from the table, folding it under his arm. “No, Ah brought my four-door sedan.” Marianne shot him a look and he laughed. “Aye, I brought the truck, why?”
“Oh you know,” she said airily. “Memories.”
He spluttered a little, going even redder, and Marianne grinned. “Marianne Acker,” he growled. “Yer a bloody tease.”
“Says the man who just played an entire set about wanting to get in my pants,” she returned, as they left the bar together. She turned to him to collect her jacket, although she didn’t put it on – for all that the mid-spring evenings were still cool, Marianne felt like her skin was on fire. She grinned up at his red face. “Face it, we’re both equally terrible at this whole seduction thing.”
Bog shook his head, in something like bewilderment and awe, and then his long fingers were tilting her chin up and her lips captured in a swift, warm kiss. Though short – probably so he didn’t sprain anything from leaning down that far – it still stole all breath and wit from her.
“Ah well, I can’t speak for yer attempts,” he murmured. “They’re workin, aren’t they?” When she said nothing he laughed, soft and a little breathless. “Come on,” he said again. “Where d’ye want me to take you?”
The unintentional double entendre shook her from her stupor and she snorted softly before answering honestly. “Wherever you want.”
Wherever that was, they didn’t make it there. Which should have probably been expected.
Bog’s singing still rang in her ears, she could still taste him on her lips, and the truck’s bench seat meant there was no brief distance between them, to allow some of the desire in her to cool down, settle into something less… alarming. And, if the way he sat, straight and tense, was any indication, he felt the same almost burning need in him, too. This was the first time they were alone all night.
So Marianne wasn’t really surprised when he pulled off the county highway. They were near his field (so she called it in her head – she assumed he or someone he knew owned it) and hell maybe they were on that land, and that’s why he didn’t have any qualm in putting the car in park, right there on a mostly gravel road. Or maybe, like her, he just didn’t care.
Marianne wasn’t exactly sure what happened next. It was very much a blur of motion and hands and she didn’t even remember taking off her seatbelt, but suddenly there they were, both of them semi-sitting-semi-kneeling on the leather upholstery, their kisses clumsy and messy as they tried to get into some sort of position. Marianne pressed insistently into him until Bog fell back against the driver’s door, now more reclining One of his long legs managed to fit on the seat – thought she was half sitting on it – the other bending so his foot rested on the floor on the passenger’s side.
The most amazing part of this feat was that they had somehow kept kissing through all of it. Soft moans and sighs and muffled curses, her hands slipping under his jacket, his finding the slit in her dress and sliding up her thigh. She had the fleeting image of how uncoordinated they looked, but touching him and being touched in that moment felt too good for her to care.
“You okay?” She finally murmured, settling more comfortably in his lap – her dress riding up shamelessly – sliding her fingers through his hair.
Bog’s laugh was a low reverberation in his chest. “Ah’m fine. Ah’ll probably lose feelin in my legs before this is over but there’re worse ways t’go.”
She laughed quietly and traced her fingers over his lips. “I didn’t just mean- like, I’m not going to fast or- or anything, am I? I know I can be kind of bossy and demanding and if you don’t wan-“
She was cut off as Bog captured her lips in a deep, slow kiss, raising a hand to cradle the back of her head. With every warm stroke of his tongue, Marianne forgot her concerns, their cramped setting, that he was still all but a stranger – his tongue brushed the roof of her mouth and for a moment she couldn’t remember her name.
“Ah havenae been able to stop thinkin’ about ye, Marianne,” he growled, moving to kiss along her jaw, up to her ear. She shivered. “Ah- Ah wanted to call ye sooner but Ah dinnae think ye- that’d ye could possibly want-“
His words, breathed hot in her ear though they were, were enough to shake her pleasurable haze and she took his face in both her hands and pulled back to look at him. “Do you honestly have no idea how incredibly sexy you are, Bog King?”
Bog’s resulting expression of bafflement answered that question well enough. She shook her head, and kissed him, just a peck. “Then I’ll just have to show you.”
He searched her face, but either her earnestness or her desire must have shown because he relaxed again, a smirk beginning to turn the corner of his mouth. “Nae goin to stop ye,” he said and kissed her again. A moment later he pulled back, or did as far as he could with his head and shoulders pressed against the door. “But jus’ t’be certain- are- ye sure ye don’t want to move this somewhere more- comfortable?”
His eyes were half-lidded, smoldering, and Marianne knew he would be happy to take her there but was asking for her sake, thinking she might prefer something a little more… tasteful. She kissed him and quickly put the notion out of his head. “I’m comfortable. I’m very comfortable. Are you comfortable?”
Bog nudged her hips with his, and her breath caught at hard line of his erection, even through his jeans. “Relatively,” he said, his voice very dry.
She laughed. “Ohhh, I can work with this,” she murmured, rolling her hips, making him jolt against her.
“Ye-Ye sure ye’ve never- done this- before?” His sarcasm slightly hindered by the fact that he was all but gasping. One hand settled on her hip, keeping a steady rhythm between them, the other slipped back under the slit in her skirt and grabbed her ass. Marianne bit back a moan.
“I’ve- mmph – only been with- with – aah! – one guy, and trust me, I didn’t get to eat in his truck much- much less – ohh fuuck.”
Bog exhaled something like a laugh into the crook of her neck. “Got a thing for men with trucks, Tough Girl?”
“Men,” she agreed, beginning to pull his jacket off in earnest. He lifted his hands from her to make it easier. “A man he was not.”
“So Ah’ve gathered,” he said, swatting her hands away and sitting up enough to pull his jacket out from under him and toss it aside. His shirt followed suit and all at once Marianne had complete access to his bare torso. She went still, her eyes taking in broad shoulders and lean but well-muscled chest and arms. In the poor light she could still make short, dark chest hair, a liberal amount of freckles, and tattoos. Two half sleeves of dark, vine-like tattoos twisted over the corded muscle of his forearms. She swallowed hard, biting her lip, before dragging her eyes up to his.
He was so still that she wasn’t entirely sure he was breathing, his lips pressed into a thin, tense line. This was new for both of them, she reminded herself, for all that it was increasingly difficult for her to understand why a man like him wasn’t a fucking heartbreaker.
Trembling a little, Marianne reached to run her hand down the line of his cheekbone – familiar territory – and brushing her thumb back over his lips. Her fingers then slid down his neck, over his collarbone and traced the patterns on his arms. Bog held still, save a few shaky, shuddering breaths. She heard him curse softly as she dragged her nails down his chest, and then he shifted, placing his hand over hers so it was pressed at his heart – thumping as rapid and erratic as her own pulse.
“What’re ye thinkin?” Bog asked, his voice as hoarse as it had been after his concert.
She stared for a moment at his large hand so completely covering hers, feeling the rough calloused texture of his palm and remembering long, clever fingers sliding up her shirt.
Marianne took a deep breath. “I’m thinking,” she said. “That I’m very overdressed right now.”
It was his turn to gulp, but he sat up straighter almost immediately. His eyes burned as he looked over her dress as if expecting it to tell him how to undress her. She almost laughed, wiggling closer to him again to make the whole arrangement easier.
“Over my head,” she informed him. “There’s no zipper or anything.”
Bog’s hands settled where the slit on both sides began, just at her hips, and grasped the fabric there. “Thank god for small mercies,” he said, and pulled the dress up over her head in one smooth motion. Marianne gasped before she could help herself as the cool air raised goose bumps on suddenly naked flesh. She’d had no way to know where this night would lead, but she’d chosen her undergarments with a sense of… cautious optimism. Her bra and panties were a matching deep purple with a black lacy overlay, not lingerie by any stretch, but a confidence boost all the same.
She had only a moment to dwell on any of that before the way Bog was looking at her stole all thought from her mind.
Bog King was nothing if not expressive, Marianne had picked that up very shortly into their acquaintanceship. Every emotion he ever had was written clear on his sharp features, and she had gotten to see a number of them in their time together. But he had never looked at her like- like he couldn’t believe she was real. Marianne knew she was attractive enough to garner male attention but no one had ever looked at her like that.
She hoped the darkness hid her blush, as she fought the urge to ring her hands. “Bog-?”
Her voice seemed to wake him up. “Yer beautiful,” he whispered. Marianne had no idea what was in her face in that moment, but whatever it was it caused Bog to shake his head, a slow, wondering smile coming to his face. “Let me show you.”
She could feel herself trembling as Bog drew her close to him, her skin flushed and hot where it brushed his. He took his time; his fingers trailed down her back, up her sides, over the thin fabric that remained between them. He let his palm gently knead one breast and she shuddered, her eyes fluttering closed, her heart stuttering against her ribs. She’d never been touched like this, such a paradox of tender attentiveness and fierce, desperate desire. But she needed more. She needed him everywhere.
She whimpered and wriggled a little so she could pull back far enough to reach behind her and unclasp her bra. She tossed it aside with abandon and dove back to kiss him hard. He gave a strangled moan at the sudden contact of her soft skin against his chest, making her almost smile against his mouth. Marianne arched up against him, grinding her hips against his and biting at his lip.
“Fuckin- hell, Mari-anne-“ Bog growled, his voice thick. He broke this kiss to drop his head against her shoulder, dragging his mouth along her collarbone and grinding his hips in a rhythm that felt almost instinctual for them both. One hand grabbed her ass again, while the other came up between them to stroke her breast.
He dragged his index finger over her hardened nipple and she jolted, gasping something that began as his name. His thumb and index nails were longer – serving as a guitar pick – and their sharp, almost ragged caress was driving her mad. “Bo- B- oh godd,” she whined. She’d been wet since he’d sang to her, if she was honest, but now, now she could feel herself throbbing with lust and need. “Bog, please-“
She honestly didn’t know what she was begging him to do – everything, everything, she wanted him so badly it hurt, she needed him – but he seemed to. He shifted, moving back so he sat up more, settling her so that she straddled his lap, and leaned her back. Then, with his other hand at her back, steading her, he let his fingers trail down her sternum, her stomach, before-
Marianne cried out, her hips bucking against his hand as Bog let his palm rub deliciously hard against her burning core. He ground his hand against her over her slick panties and then moved to slide beneath them. “Oh god, oh- oh god- BOG!” She threw her head back, moaning. This was- oh god, her fantasies had nothing on this exquisite torture, on his rough, calloused skin delving into her desperately aching heat.
“D’ye like tha’?” He asked, curling and flexing his fingers, letting them stroke and caress every sensitive inch, drawing out her pleasure while she writhed and gasped. She had no idea if his words were genuine inquiry or teasing, and could only respond by jerking her hips and shuddering.
“Tell me,” he breathed.
Okay. Teasing her, then.
She had an instant of amused indignation at that, when the rough edge of his nail dragged against her clit. Pleasure coursed through her like lightening. “YES. OH, FUCK- OH BOG YES- YESS.”
Bog laughed, low and deep and wicked and god help her, the man was so fucking sexy. She could barely believe this was happening. That he wanted her so much, that he was so intent on her pleasure. His thumb dragged against her clit again, before worrying at it in small hard circles. Marianne could feel herself nearing her peak, heat and pleasure coiling in her like a spring until she could barely breathe, until her whole world was just the two of them, was just his touch, his body, him-
Something gave way and stars exploded behind her eyes, her mind going blank. She distantly heard herself cry out loudly, and there were words in there and probably his name, and then she was moving. Bog fell back against the driver’s door and took her with him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, panting into his neck as she rode out the final spasms of her orgasm.
He rubbed her back soothingly, as she remembered how to breathe properly. “Tha’s it, Mari,” he murmured into her hair. “Yer alright. Yer alright.”
Marianne rested against him, feeling both their heartbeats, and letting a different, dreamy kind of warmth take hold of her. She couldn’t believe- she had never felt anything like that- he was- oh god he was-
She lifted her head and covered his mouth with hers, needing him to feel how grateful she was. “You’re incredible,” she whispered against his mouth. “You’re so incredible.” Bog said nothing, just cradled her head and deepened the kiss into something slow and smoldering. This man, Marianne managed to think in blissed out state, he kissed her like they had all the time in the world. It was intoxicating and unbelievable. How on earth had she gotten so lucky? Things like this didn’t happen to her, men like Bog King didn’t happen to her.
Her head was swimming when he broke the kiss, her eyes half-lidded. He took in all of her as she panted softly, her body rising and falling, still trembling a little, and she could see the desire that darkened his blue eyes. Hungry to give him even a taste of what he had given her, Marianne raked her nails down his chest, intent on the waistband of his jeans. He went still the instant she reached her destination, before shuddering.
“Marianne-“ he croaked, his hips jerking a little at her touch.
Getting him out of his pants in this setting was just not going to happen, but they’d make do. Marianne took her time unzipping his jeans, and got her hands swatted again when she made an attempt at sliding them down his hips. She made a face at Bog, who gave a hoarse little laugh before performing the act of undressing – as much as possible – for her.
It wasn’t a glamorous process; he knocked his head on the roof twice. The second of which actually sounded like it hurt. “Sorry,” Marianne said, wincing. In the meantime she had decided to be productive and had managed to get one leg out of her panties and declared that good enough.
“Nae yer fault,” Bog told her, reaching for her.
She was pulled back into his lap, inhaling sharply at the sudden contact of her overheated flesh pressed against his- oh god. She had gotten a sense of him through his jeans and their near constant friction, but now… he was so much bigger than she could have imagined, so hot and- god help her, she wanted him, all of him.
Bog was trembling, and she could feel the same desire she felt rolling off of him in a heat that was almost visible. She cupped his face with her hands and kissed him, rocking her hips against him in a slow, deliberate motion. The sound he made was close to a whimper and he responded by grabbing at her hips and grinding up against her until she broke the kiss to cry out his name.
“B-Bog- Bog, wait- wait. I-“ He pulled back, stilling. Looking him in the eye was near fatal when it came to marshaling her thoughts but she still managed to gasp out. “We need- I- my jacket pocket- I have- a- a condom.”
Bog blinked before giving her a sharp, wicked smirk. “Ye really knew what ye were doin’ – comin’ out tonight.”
It was both impressive and embarrassing that Marianne still managed to feel flustered in that moment. Her brain was in too much of a haze for her to come up with a witty response but Bog was sympathetic, kissing her temple. “Ah daen’t think Ah have to tell you tha’ Ah’m nae complainin’, Tough Girl,” he said, his voice rough and his accent husky, and she felt the ache in between her legs burning again. “Ah want ye so bad.”
“I want you, Bog,” she said, her voice hoarse and earnest and desperate. “I need you.”
He kissed her, the gesture almost comforting, before he pulled her back far enough to grab her jacket from where they had discarded it. In a far smoother process, he had readied himself for her and settled back, reclining and gathering her close. “Ye sure about this?” He asked her softly.
She touched her fingers to his lips. “Yes, Bog,” she said. “I want this.”
And he believed her.
His fingers grasped her hips as he steadied her over him, keeping his gaze locked with hers. There was a moment’s pause and then he slowly slid into her. Marianne trembled and bit her lip, trying not to whimper at the unfamiliar sensation. Bog let her take him in a fraction before pulling back, and this time she did whine. “Bog- d-don’t- don’t stop I-“
Her protest guttered out as he rolled his hips, entering her a little deeper before slowing sliding back again and beginning again. Her resulting moan was more desire than turmoil with the next entrance, and he made a gruff, pleasurable little sound through clenched teeth.
With each thrust, she took a little more of him in, and with each thrust she got more accustomed to the feeling of his hard thick erection pulling at her nerves. Once she was taking as much of his length as she could, Bog began to experiment with the speed and force in which he rocked his hips with hers, listening to every sound she made, until they found a steady rhythm, until she could feel pleasure flooding her body with heat.
She dug her nails into his back, throwing her head back. “BO-G- GUH. OH YES YESS MORE. OH GOD M-MORE YESSS”
He dragged his mouth over the exposed line of her throat, lavishing it in hungry, open-mouthed kisses. “God. Ahh god Mari- nngh – Marianne,” he panted, his breathing hard and erratic. She could feel his thrusts growing more erratic, too, and knew she wasn’t the only one nearing her climax.
His fingers were digging into her hips, and one hand dipped between her legs, where they came together, rubbing at her sensitive clit. And it was too much.
Marianne clenched around him, inhaling as though to scream, but she couldn’t make a sound. She gasped, shuddering soundless and close to a sob as it felt like she was glowing from within, like the rest of the world had whited out. She felt Bog jolt, his hips slamming against and, over the ringing that filled her ears, heard his own harsh cry as he reached his orgasm seconds after hers.
Her head fell against his chest, suddenly to heavy to keep up on her own. All of her felt that way, heavy and warm, bone-deep satisfaction filling her up completely. Distantly she heard Bog’s head thump as it fell back against the door, as he gathered her in his arms and held her to him.
For what felt like an insurmountable period of time, they simply lay there, semi-reclining in his rusty old truck, no sound except their slowly steadying breaths. From the corner of her eye, Marianne caught sight of the car’s radio and had the brief, mad idea to turn it on. A giggle escaped her before she could help it.
“Wha’ is it?” Bog asked hoarsely, looking down at her in dazed confusion.
Marianne pecked his lips, and smiled. “Nothing,” she said, aware her voice was practically gone, too. “I’m just- happy.”
Bog blinked a few times before breaking into an adorably dopey grin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she breathed, kissing him again. Breaking it, she lay her head back against his chest. “Bog?”
“Mmmm?”
“We’re not sleepin’ here, right?”
He laughed. “Nae unless ye want to.”
She smiled, her eyes closing. “I don’t- but I mean it’s late and we’re both exhausted and I think maybe it’d be easier if I… maybe slept at your place?” Bog stiffened a little under her and Marianne’s overheated skin still flushed. “I just mean I don’t have work but if you-“
Bog’s fingers came to rest under her chin, tilting her head up so he could kiss her softly. “Yer more than welcome, if that’s what ye want.”
She relaxed, falling back against him again. “It is,” she breathed, thinking about how it might feel to wake up next to him, to find out how he slept, what his home smelt like, to spend more time with this man who, in the space of two encounters had made Marianne happier, and happier for who she was, than she ever had been. Being with him, in any capacity.
It was exactly want she wanted.