Erotic Fiction: Drive

Tilly loved hands.

Strong hands, slender hands, hands with bony knuckles and a sprinkling of hair, hands with thick fingers that could break her in two. It was a man’s hands she noticed first. Not his ring finger, (that was a secondary concern), but his hands.

Steering wheel and plack thigh high

“Drive” by Happy Come Lucky

Would those hands satisfy her if she ended up in bed with the bank teller, the grocery clerk, the guy sipping scotch at the bar? Would they stroke up her spine and hold her hips tight, fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise? Would his fingers slide between her legs, not probing but suggesting, coaxing, so that she spread her thighs without meaning to?

That’s what she wanted. Hands that mapped her skin and made her feel alive. A man could have the face of an angel with a pretty mouth to match, but if looking at his hands didn’t make her wet, there was just no fucking point.

Adam had very good hands.

They were clever and quick – strong but not coarse, with long, square-tipped fingers and knuckles that were slightly too broad, but oh god, the way they filled her….

She was thinking about his hands when she dressed that night – short little scrap of a skirt, and black thigh highs with a wide, decorative band instead of plain elastic. She could almost feel his fingertips brushing over the pretty, latticed tops as she slid them up her legs and settled them in place. She skipped the panties altogether. She loved being bare. She felt plump and slick. She felt like an invitation.

Tilly got in her tiny car, the one Adam had deemed reliable when she’d bought it the previous year. She was short on time. His flight wouldn’t arrive forΒ  an hour, but the drive always took longer than it should. Besides, if she stayed home, she’d end up touching herself and Adam had told her, expressly, that he wanted to make her come as soon as he got back. She knew what that meant. She thought of his hands. She pulled out of the driveway as if her presence at the airport would bring him home sooner.

She knew how it would go. There would be sweet kisses at the baggage claim that made old people smile, and tons ofΒ I missed you‘s and I love you‘s, which were words she didn’t take for granted. Not ever. Not one bit. But they weren’t the words she needed to hear. They weren’t the words that made her ache.

Tilly, baby…can you drive while you come?

Yes, Adam. You know I can.

Tilly flushed and shifted in her seat. They’d been doing this for so long that her body had a conditioned response. Slowly, she parted her legs, heart hammering as she evaluated the road. Nearly empty. Safe.Β  She imagined him reaching over from the passenger seat with his long, wide-knuckled hand as she drew her finger shyly up her leg, toying with the tops of her stockings as she did.

Adam’s fingers would curl over the edge of her hem and draw her skirt up before they slid slid between her thighs, not probing but coaxing, just the way she liked. She would part her legs without meaning to, careful to keep her foot steady on the gas, while he dipped his fingers into her sticky heat.

Tilly’s legs parted and she tilted her hips, inviting her own fingers in. She hesitated. Then she dragged a finger over her labia, rubbing lightly as she did, before gently circling her clit. She sighed, watching the road carefully as her hand went to work in place of his.

Her skirt slid up further, pooling in her lap as she arched her hips again, trying to press against anything – the steering wheel, the safety belt – anything that might resist and press back.

Tilly’s breathing quickened as the car sped forward. Automatically, she tapped the brakes as her finger traced circles over her frustrated clit. She made a little sound, an unhappy little groan, as the orgasm began to simmer just beneath her skin. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to come. But she couldn’t. That wouldn’t be fair, and even if it were she wanted his fingers to finish the job. She wanted to suck them clean when he was done.

Tilly moaned again, testing, edging, pushing herself. She was pushing herself hard. The little car shot forward as she danced along the edge. She was on the verge of coming when she snatched her hand away, slamming on the brakes as a deer leapt into the empty road.

“Fuck me,” she murmured. “That was close.”

The orgasm receded, but only just as the animal bounded away. Gingerly, Tilly shifted gears and edged back into the lane. The seat beneath her was sticky and she ached – the climax was still there, patiently waiting, coating her thighs. Waiting for Adam to come. She rolled down the window, relieved when the cold winter air hit her too hot skin. It really had been close.

For a moment, her fingers traced over her stocking tops, soothing herself as she did.Β  Then she double-checked the road before easing back into the lane. She was anxious to get to the airport. The sooner she got to the airport, the sooner they could come home.

Want to hear me read it? Click on HERE for the audio version.

And lastly, thank you to Happy Come Lucky, whose image inspired this story.


  1. Hands are good. Such lovely things can happen with hands. πŸ˜‰ This is beautifully evocative, filled with longing and anticipation of a sweet release after a slow-burning-to-steaming-hot buildup.

    1. Woo hoo! That’s what I like to hear! And in return, I can honestly say that I just re-read “The Commute” after listening to Rose Caraway’s interview and all I’ve got to say is damn, lady. Damn. That is some hot stuff.

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