Page 11 of Grease & Grips (Friction Fiction #2)

“Thought you loved it,” I tease.

“I do love it. You ruined me, Mack. I’ve thought about that fat dick every day since I had it last.”

That’s what does it. I let go of last my thread of restraint.

I grab his hips so hard I know I’ll leave bruises. Let him feel this tomorrow. Let him carry me back with him again.

I fuck him like I’ve been meaning to for a goddamn year. Through the drag of my hips and the grip of my hands on his waist, I pound into him hoping he can feel the weight of every sleepless night and unanswered message and half-hearted hookup I didn’t go through just for this.

I hope he knows it was all worth waiting for.

I trail my mouth along his neck giving him heat and teeth and everything I never got to say.

“You have any idea,” I growl into his skin, “how long I waited for this?”

He moans, head falling forward, knuckles white as he claws at the tile wall.

“All I did,” I pant, slamming into him, “was think about you bent over for me.”

He whimpers something I can’t catch, but his body says it all. The way his hips move pushing back like he’s starving for it so I reach around and grip him, stroke him in rhythm, and he nearly collapses.

“You feel that?” I ask, voice breaking. “That’s everything I didn’t let myself feel until right now.”

I fuck into him until we’re both slick with sweat and breathing like we’ve been sprinting for hours. Until my name spills from his mouth like a prayer and I cum so hard it feels like something in me tears loose.

He cries out as he spills out in messy ropes splattering the tile in front of him. His whole body shakes with it, legs trembling, hands scrabbling for anything to hold onto.

With my chest to his back, I nuzzle into his nape damp with sweat. My arms lock around his waist desperate to be his anchor as we both struggle to catch our breath, and for a second, all I can do is hold him there, so perfect and full of me.

When I finally pull out, a line of my release follows. It trails down between his legs, sticky and hot, and before I can think better of it, I reach down and push it back in. My fingers slide deep, sealing it there.

“Take it with you,” I murmur, voice ragged. “You own every part of me anyway.”

We don’t say much while we clean up, still catching our breath. I wash my hands while Andrés leans on the counter behind me, a little unsteady. His lips are swollen and there’s a faint pink flush climbing up his chest that makes me want to kiss him all over again.

“What you said, Mack…” he starts, “About me owning…”

“This doesn’t have to be more than it is,” I cut him off without looking at him. “It was good seeing you, but… I’m happy having this here.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he nods, quiet but not cold. “It was good. Really good.”

He straightens up, running a hand through his hair. “Can I at least sit with you till the flight?”

“Of course,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “Was kinda hoping you would.”

We head back out like nothing happened, slipping into two empty seats near the gate. We talk a little. He asks about the shop. I ask about his job. There’s a lull where I think maybe that’s it, but then he leans over and pulls out his phone.

“What’s your seat number,” he asks.

“18C,” I tell him.

He hums. “Okay.”

The boarding area starts to buzz, the gate agent's voice crackling over the speaker as they announce pre-boarding. Whatever’s left of that bathroom scene is still burning low in my gut, humming under my skin like it hasn’t decided whether to settle or flare back up.

“Now boarding Group 1, first class passengers…”

Andrés stands.

I blink up at him. “You’re in first?”

He shrugs, but a little smile he’s not letting fully show. “Work paid for it.”

Of course they did.

“See you in New York,” he says, hoisting his carry-on onto his shoulder as he starts toward the jet bridge, glancing back only once. I give him a small nod, and then he’s gone, swallowed up by other passengers.

I stay in my chair, bag balanced on my lap, heart beating a little too fast for someone waiting to board a plane. The hard thump of my heart is doing it’s best to drown out the ache that’s still tied up in the shape of his mouth and the way my fingers pressed into his hips.

When they finally call my group, I stand slow. The warmth from before is fading, replaced by a very familiar stretch of emptiness. Every step down the jet bridge I carry him with me because somehow, against all reason, it still feels like something’s not quite over.

I keep telling myself not to look for him with every step down the narrow aisle. That he’s up in first class with a glass of something bubbly, already forgetting whatever that was between us. Still, I scan the rows as I pass, because hope’s a hard habit to break.

When I finally hit row 18, I freeze because there he is. Sitting in the seat right next to mine like it was always his.

“You traded?” I ask, stunned, sliding into the seat beside him. “Out of first class?!”

“I told the guy next to you I needed to sit beside my boyfriend,” he says, tone light but eyes watching mine.

My mouth opens. Closes. My heart does something I don’t have a name for.

“Guess I better be on my best behavior,” I mutter.

He leans over, close enough for only me to hear. “Too late for that.”

The rest of the passengers trickle in, a slow shuffle of bags and bodies. Overhead bins slam shut, one after the other. Seatbelts click. The doors seal.

The space around us suddenly feels too small. I grip the armrests so tight my knuckles pop. “I’ve never flown before.”

“Wait… never?”

The plane jerks back from the gate like and my whole body seizes. There’s this low rumble under the floor, growing louder, deeper, like a monster waking up below us.

“Seems like a lot of sounds for the plane to be making,” I mutter, eyes wide, voice climbing.

Andrés turns toward me, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh but also maybe a little concerned I might chew through the seatbelt.

“Mack—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off, shaking my head as if that’s gonna do anything. “People don’t belong in the sky, Andrés. That’s a bird thing. That’s a God thing.”

He reaches over and grabs my hand, fingers threading through mine. He squeezes as though he can hold me down with that one point of contact.

“You’re okay,” he says softly.

Well that’s a lie.

I’m absolutely not okay. My legs won’t stop bouncing, I’m sweating, and my stomach’s climbing up my throat. But through it all, his grip on my hand only tightens.

“I remember this thing from the movie Say Anything ,” Andrés says, eyes on the seat back in front of him, voice low and steady. Clearly he’s trying not to spook me.

The plane lurches and rattles as it crawls down the taxiway.

“You ever see it?” he asks.

I manage a head shake, jaw clenched, hands white-knuckling the armrests.

“Well, in it, Ione Skye plays Diane Court. Her character is super smart, super put-together, never done anything wrong in her whole life. But she’s never been on a plane before.

At the very end of the movie, she’s flying off to this new life, and she’s terrified so John Cusack…

Lloyd Dobler is his character… He’s her boyfriend.

He takes her hand and… he grounds her. He holds her steady and talks her through takeoff. ”

I turn to him, trying not to breathe like a dying lawn mower. His voice is measured in a way that makes me feel steadier, even if I’m still sweating through my shirt.

“He tells her about the ding. Do you know about the ding?”

I shake my head.

“Well… there’s this little ding you hear after takeoff. Lloyd tells her that when you hear it, it means you’re safe. That if anything bad’s gonna happen, it usually happens in the first five minutes. But if you can hold on through that, you’re gonna be okay.”

I pour all my focus into how his palm feels against mine.

“The beginning is the hardest part.”

The plane pauses at the end of the runway. I’m staring down at the way his thumb moves in lazy circles over my skin and I notice I don’t feel like I’m about to die. I feel… tethered.

The plane kicks into gear. A violent push forward.

I suck in a breath and squeeze. Andrés squeezes back. Thumb still moving. Still here.

We lift off, gravity peeling away in layers. My stomach flips, nerves turning into something electric. Something bright and hot and giddy.

We’re climbing. Higher and higher. My head’s pinned to the seat, but I manage to breathe. Slow and deep, in and out, finding something solid to anchor myself to and when the ding comes, I barely notice.

I’m too busy looking at him.

He doesn’t drop my hand. He stares back at me with that stupid perfect smile, all warm and sure and too damn bright for this dim little cabin.

A million things could go wrong. The landing. The distance. Even the goodbye. Everything could fall apart. But for all that might come undone, nothing could ruin this moment. Not when it feels this right.