Seven people, five seats. And somehow, you ended up perched on Alex's lap.

You hated him, or at least, that's what you told yourself every time he smirked like he knew something you didn't. Now, your back was pressed against his chest, your thighs between his. It was too tight, too warm, and too intimate.

Then, the car lurched forward. Your body fell against him hard.

He inhaled sharply, his breath ghosting over your ear. You felt it before you heard it, a low, guttural sound, barely a moan, buried in the space between your neck and his mouth. His hands flexed on your hips. You stayed silent, frozen. But you felt it. All of him.

The air between them changed. Every bump in the road became a whisper against your skin. Every sharp turn made you press back into him. Every shift of your weight made him grip you tighter.

He wasn't talking. Neither was you. But you both knew.

You felt his breath on your neck again unsteady, hot, and wanting. You didn't move, couldn't. But your hand slid lower, resting on his thigh, like it had a mind of it's own.

He groaned again, this time loud enough for you to hear. Just you and you bit your lip to keep quiet, pulse racing, pretending like nothing was happening while everything was.