Becky kept her eyes on the road, hands firm on the wheel, her blonde braid resting against the bare skin of her back like a thick golden rope. Sunlight streamed through the windshield, catching on the curve of her shoulder and the side of her breast as she drove. The leather seat creaked faintly beneath her with every small shift of her hips.
I started working through my clothes in the passenger seat. Jeans first, the denim dragged roughly over my thighs, catching slightly on damp skin. She reached up without a word and angled the rearview mirror away from me, giving me the courtesy of not watching.
Then she pulled over abruptly onto the shoulder, tires crunching on loose gravel.
"What?" I asked, one leg already in my pants.
"You were struggling," she said, turning to look at me fully. Her bare breasts shifted with the movement, nipples still tight from the AC.
"You're talking like you're fully dressed," I said, yanking the jeans up over my hips.
