She works off her pants and then the two of them clumsily roll over. It’s both funny and urgent, the two of them laughing and smiling and gasping and hurrying, their bodies too big for the cramped space of the backseat. He’s got his hand between her legs, and she’s squirming and trying to undo the button of his jeans, so he helps her, kicking off his sneakers, his jeans, his underwear, until both of them are naked. She gets a condom and gives it to him. He unwraps it, puts it on. He hesitates for a beat, staring into her eyes, but she puts her hands on his hips, pulls him into her.
He can’t stop himself from letting out something close to a whimper. Doesn’t understand how there can be anything better than this, even with the awkwardness of the backseat, with the air inside the car starting to chill in the November night. He keeps most of his weight on his arms, aware of how much bigger he is than her, but the sounds she makes are close enough to discomfort that he asks her if she’s okay.
“Yeah, this is good,” she says. “You?”
“Yeah.”
She has one of her legs down off the seat, the other wrapped up over his hip and across his ass. She kisses his neck, rocks her body with his.
He doesn’t know why it is that he stops, but he does. The warmth of her body under and around him is almost overwhelming.
She kisses him and then looks at him, her nose touching his. “Are you okay?”
“Deanne,” he says. It’s as if he is flying, the heat enough to make him feel like he’s about to touch the sun. His voice is quiet. Everything is quiet.
He says what he’s been thinking.
She says it back like all she’s ever done is wait for this moment.