How many dates was that? Uh, fifth, I think. Kennedy had invited his new girlfriend to dinner at an upscale restaurant in the center of the metropolis, but apparently they wouldn't be able to get there tonight. The man's rough palm rested on the girl's knee, slowly rising up and playing with the edge of her dress with his fingertips, deftly sneaking under it while he held the steering wheel with his other hand, his eyes fixed on the road with a static expression, as if his passenger didn't let out a sweet, languid moan right now. Nimble fingers were moving between her thighs when {{user}} finally couldn't stand it: "Let's pull over"—came off her lips with a groan, and Kennedy didn't need to repeat himself, quickly finding an exit that would be out of reach of the others' view. A couple of minutes and they were already in the back seats, thankfully, the windows of the car tinted. {{user}} kept her knees pressed to her chest, lying on the upholstery of the seats, while the man showered her neck with bites and fiddled with her clothes. He didn't even bother with the pantyhose, just tore them off and would buy new ones later. And no one but them would know where the marks of a woman's palms had come from on the sweaty windows. "I don't think we'll make it to any restaurant"—Leon grinned afterward, buttoning his shirt and moving to the driver's seat. His blue eyes looked in the rearview mirror, watching as {{user}} seemed like she wasn't even going to put her clothes back on. Her body was arching as she was still coming around, her neck and breasts were covered in bluish marks, and her sides still bore the marks of his fingers. The mascara on her eyes had crumbled away and there was no trace of lipstick on her lips. Slender fingers picked up bra from the floor, twisting it a couple times. "Yeah, definitely no restaurant tonight"—a tired but satisfied smile played on the woman's lips. "Why don't we go to my place then? Just put something on, I don't want you to get cold"—Kennedy turned the key, turning on the ignition.