They were leaving paradise.
The beach house stood behind them like a postcard already fading at the edges. The windows were shuttered, the kitchen scrubbed of empty wine bottles and snack wrappers. A breeze still rustled through the trees, bringing the smell of salt and grilled shrimp and sunscreen. But they were packed, loaded, ready to go.
Eliana stood last on the porch, tote bag slipping from her shoulder, suitcase bumping behind her in the sand.
The van was full.
Of course.
Inside, the air buzzed with leftover energy from the trip—warmth, laughter, too much sugar and not enough sleep.
"No space," Renee declared dramatically from the middle row, popping a Sour Patch Kid into her mouth. "She's gonna have to sit on someone."
Elias perked up from the back, where he was stretched across half the row with a neck pillow. "She can sit on me."
"She's not sitting on you," Renee cut in smoothly.
"Why not?"
"Because you're one good breath away from making a move and then we all have to live with the tension."
"God forbid," Elias said, fake offended. "I have self-control."
"You made out with a bartender for a free shot," Luca deadpanned from the front passenger seat.
"Okay, but that worked."
Eliana smiled despite herself, eyes skimming over the van's layout. Everyone had a spot. Everyone was settled. Except her.
Renee looked back, sunglasses perched like a crown. "Nicky," she called. "Be a sweetheart. Let El ride you again."
From the corner, Nicky shifted slightly. Hoodie pulled up. Eyes closed. "Sure," he mumbled.
Flat.
Sleepy.
Like it didn't matter.
Eliana hesitated cause of the ride back then but couldn't voice out that obviously. She thanked Nicky.
She wore soft cotton shorts and a loose tank. No skirt this time. No excuse to hide behind. She swallowed, quietly climbed in, passing knees and bags and snack wrappers. Then she turned and slowly lowered herself onto Nicky's lap.
Warm. Solid. Familiar.
He didn't move. "I'm gonna sleep, okay." He just grumbled then silence.
His hands stayed at his sides. His head stayed tilted against the window. Breathing slow. Deep.
Dead asleep.
Her weight settled on him like guilt.
But nothing happened.
No twitch.
No pressure.
No shame.
She exhaled.
She was okay.
The van rolled forward.
They were on the road.
"Okay, new game," Valeria announced from behind her sunglasses. "Worst dates you've ever been on. GO."
"Oh," Luca said instantly, "this one guy took me to a board game bar and tried to 'negotiate' my attraction on a whiteboard."
"That sounds like a TED Talk," Elias groaned. "Did he have a neckbeard?"
"Worse. A fedora."
Valeria gasped. "Not the incel starter pack!"
They all laughed.
Eliana leaned slightly to the side, trying to be comfortable without putting too much pressure on Nicky. He was so still. Deep asleep. She smiled faintly. He was always like this after trips—social battery: depleted.
"Okay, Eliana," Renee said, twisting around. "You're quiet. Spill your worst date."
Eliana blinked. "Uh… okay. One time a guy took me to a steakhouse, then told me women shouldn't eat red meat because it makes them 'less fertile.'"
Valeria howled.
Elias choked. "Did you slap him with a menu?"
"I said, 'great, I was hoping for infertility,' and then ordered the rarest thing on the menu."
"Queen behavior," Renee said, saluting her.
They kept chatting—loud, messy, teasing. The windows were cracked just enough to let in fresh air. Elias queued up a chaotic playlist that went from Beyoncé to System of a Down in five minutes. Renee opened another bag of candy and shared.
Time passed.
Luca fell asleep first, his head bumping lightly against the window.
Valeria took selfies of everyone. Posted them with captions like "Goodbye, slut island 💔."
Eventually, the energy died down.
The playlist played softly.
The light changed.
The sun was higher now, and the van was warm.
People stopped talking.
Dozing off.
Eliana's back was warm with sun. Her body heavy from a week of movement and wine and want. Her legs were folded neatly, her hands resting in her lap, trying not to lean back.
But her hips were pressed to his.
Her thighs bracketed his.
And at some point—she didn't even know when—it happened.
The shift.
The pressure.
Something firm between her thighs that hadn't been there before.
She froze.
Tried not to react.
Tried not to panic.
He was still asleep.
Still breathing slow. Even.
But now?
Now she felt it.
His cock.
Hard.
Thick.
Warming slowly against her. Pressed exactly between her legs.
She told herself it was a fluke. A dream boner. Normal biology. Heat. Sleep. Whatever.
But her thighs clenched anyway.
Because she felt everything.
The seam of her shorts shifted slightly against her panties. Her tank top rode up an inch. Her skin prickled with heat.
She didn't move.
Didn't lean back.
But every curve in the road? Every dip in the pavement? Bounced her. Shifted her. Nudged his cock against her in soft, torturous pulses.
The pressure grew.
A gentle, maddening grind with every vibration of the van.
Her breath was tight.
Her thighs squeezed shut again.
Just for a second.
She wasn't doing anything. Not really.
But her body didn't care.
It responded.
She was wet.
Slowly.
Shamefully.
And he still didn't move.
Still didn't speak.
Still dead to the world.
The van took a longer turn, a slow rise, and her hips rocked back slightly. Just a little. Barely.
But enough.
Enough to push his cock higher, right between her folds, through two thin layers of clothing.
Her lips parted.
She looked around.
Valeria was dozing.
Renee had sunglasses on, mouth open slightly, head tipped back.
Elias had one headphone in.
Luca was out cold.
No one saw.
No one knew.
And her body was screaming.
Her clit throbbed. Her panties were soaked.
The van jolted again.
Her thighs tensed.
Her chest rose.
And without moving—without meaning to—her body crossed a line.
The pleasure built fast.
Low.
Tight.
Hot.
She bit her lip, clenched the seat in front of her. Her hips didn't move. But her body reacted.
Every bump.
Every shift.
And then—*
A soft roll.
Perfect friction.
And it hit her.
Her climax bloomed like heat. Like lightning behind her eyes.
No sound. No moan.
Just breathless pressure.
A silent orgasm that washed over her in waves.
Her lashes fluttered.
Her body locked.
And she came.
On his lap.
In a van full of people.
Without anyone knowing.
Except her.
She slumped forward after.
Let her hair fall into her face.
Let her breath come back slow.
Her cheeks burned. Her hands trembled.
And Nicky?
Still asleep.
Still hard.
Still nothing.
When they pulled off the road an hour later to stretch, people groaned and yawned and stumbled out of the van.
"El," Nicky mumbled behind her, voice thick with sleep. "We're stopping?"
"Yeah," she whispered, not meeting his eyes.
She stood.
Her thighs a mess.
Her heart wrecked.
And he yawned.
Stretched.
Didn't say anything else.
Like nothing happened.
Because to him?
It didn't.
And that was the worst part.