I fucked my classmate in the university parking lot

It all started with a study session—or at least that’s what we told ourselves. Susan was my classmate, but more importantly, she was Carlos’ girlfriend. Carlos, my so-called friend, the guy who bragged about how loyal she was, how she’d never even look at another guy. Bullshit. Because the second we were alone in that empty parking lot after class, her fingers were already tracing the bulge in my jeans.

“We shouldn’t…” she whispered, biting her lip like some guilty angel.

I smirked. “Then why’re you still touching me?”

She pulled her hand back, but her eyes stayed locked on my crotch. “Because you’re trouble.”

“And you love trouble.”

That was all it took.

I pushed her against her SUV—some shiny new model her daddy probably bought her—and kissed her hard. She moaned into my mouth, her hips grinding against mine. No hesitation, no fake resistance. Just heat.

“Fuck, Jack…” she breathed when I pulled away.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I yanked down her leggings, no panties—of course—and spun her around, bending her over the hood. Her ass was perfect, round and begging to be marked. I slapped it once, hard, just to hear her gasp.

“You like that?” I growled.

“Shut up and put it in.”

I fumbled with the condom—first of many that night—and slid into her with one rough thrust. She cried out, nails scraping the paint of her precious car.

“Carlos never fucks you like this, does he?” I taunted, gripping her hips.

She whimpered, pushing back against me. “N-no…”

“Good.”

I pounded into her, the SUV rocking under us. Every slap of skin echoed in the empty lot. She came fast, shaking, but I wasn’t done.

I flipped her onto the backseat, legs over my shoulders, and fucked her deeper. Her thighs trembled, her moans turning into screams.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” she whined.

I grinned. “Then be quiet.”

She wasn’t.

Round two was her on top, riding me like she was trying to prove something. Round three? Against the window, fogging up the glass. By the time we finished, my condom stash was empty, her voice was hoarse, and her SUV smelled like sex and bad decisions.

Afterward, she acted all guilty, fixing her clothes like she hadn’t just begged for every inch. “This can’t happen again.”

I laughed. “Sure it can.”

Because I knew the truth—she’d be back. Girls like Susan always come back for more.