The night was thick, humid, and the road seemed endless. Only the soft hum of the engine filled the silence. You sat in the passenger seat, head leaning against the window, eyes half-closed.

But you couldn’t relax. Not with him there. Not with the tension building every time your eyes met in the rearview mirror.

Jon drove with one hand, the other resting on the gearshift… or sliding, now and then, over your exposed thigh. His shirt clung to his chest, half unbuttoned, soaked with heat. And that damn scent — leather, smoke, and something purely him — was pulsing through your bloodstream like wildfire.

You crossed your legs, trying to ignore the heat rising beneath your skin.

He noticed.

“If you keep squirming like that, I’m gonna have to pull over.”

“Then pull over.”

He swerved onto the shoulder with precision. Headlights off. The buzz of cicadas outside. And inside? Nothing but breath and want.

He unbuckled slowly. Turned to face you with that look that said everything without saying a thing.

“Come here.”

You climbed onto his lap in one smooth motion, straddling him in the cramped space of the car. The cabin was too small for this — but limits were never your thing.

The kiss hit like fire — tongues, teeth, muffled moans. His hands mapped your back, your waist, your neck, like he was learning you all over again — or remembering something he never forgot.

The horn blared when your back slammed into the steering wheel. You both froze for a second… then broke into breathless laughter.

“Careful, rockstar…” you gasped. “They’ll think we’re killing each other in here.”

He bit your bottom lip with a wicked grin. “I am. Killing you with want.”

The windows were already fogged. Clothes were pushed aside, pulled down, torn off — there was no patience. Only intensity. The car rocked gently with the rhythm of your body over his. Every thrust was a note. Every moan, a chorus.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he groaned into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Tell me this body belongs to me.”

“I’m yours,” you panted, nails digging into his back. “All yours.”

And when you came undone together — tangled, shaking, breathless — it was like the hook of a song: wild, no return, like a river that doesn’t ask permission — it just takes.

Afterward, you stayed right there. Bodies pressed close. Skin hot. Hearts racing like the engine still trembling beneath you.

Jon ran his fingers through your hair, his breathing finally slowing.

“This is gonna become a song, isn’t it?” you asked.

He let out a low laugh, voice rough.

“It already is. I just need you to help me with the chorus.”