Backseat Novels & Stories

All the contradictions. The backseat smells like leather and expensive cologne and sex. He's prepared for this—there's a black blanket spread across the seats, the windows are heavily tinted, and there's a small privacy screen between the front and back. He's thought of everything. He always does. I slide across the leather, and he follows, his body taking up space in a way that makes the backseat suddenly feel impossibly small. We're pressed together, breathing the same recycled air, and when he reaches for me, I let him.

Lucian had claimed the driver’s seat, naturally, and my father had taken the passenger side, looking both nostalgic and slightly anxious at the sight of the familiar roads below the mountains. The girls were squished into the back seat, each armed with a small bag of snacks, toys, and emergency coloring books. Cassian insisted on sitting sideways across two seats, ignoring the laws of physics entirely. Adrian had quietly claimed the last available seat, earbuds in, pretending he wasn’t already planning ways to embarrass his brother.

"See? She likes the name. Right, Poppy?" After a well-deserved bonding time with Poppy, Jackson finally looked around the inside of the car and immediately became obsessed with the back seats. Right at the back of the front seats, there were big screen compartments. The car had a black and white theme inside, and it had to be the best thing for Jackson. Right between the two backseats, there was also a glass compartment that had four crystal champagne glasses that Jackson obsessed about. "Oh my, this is the best," Jackson smiled widely, brushing the seats while he held Poppy with one hand. "A friendly announcement that only I ride this baby," he said, looking

“Blue truck. It should be parked behind the building.” It was there. An older maintenance truck with faded markings. Caius checked the front seats quickly, then nodded. We got in. He started the engine on the second try and drove out without headlights until we were clear of the yard. Only when we were back on a proper road did anyone speak again. I took the photograph out and looked at the writing on the back by the dim dashboard light. “The name the seat does not speak,” I said. “That’s the key.” Valen was in the passenger seat. He didn’t turn around. “Names the seat refuses to use are usually older than the seat itself. Or dangerous to it.”

The black car was already waiting at the private rear exit. Kane’s hand stayed at the back of my neck as he guided me into the back seat. The dual plugs shifted hard with every step; the moment I sat, the pressure drove deeper and forced a broken sound out of my throat. He slid in beside me, closed the door, and the vehicle pulled away without a word from the driver.

“Before we break something important like my spine or your ability to walk tomorrow, Backseat please.” Climbing over seats became a pure comedy. I hit my knee on the gear lever and almost knocked myself out on the back cushion. I laughed as I finally, dress bunched uselessly over the waist, sat on the seat, “This has to be the most unsexy car sex in the history of bad decisions,” I groaned.

“Not on the executive floor.” Marcus groans. “Of course there aren’t.” Adrian’s voice remains steady. “What happened next?” The detective scrolls forward. Another clip appears. The underground parking level. A black SUV pulls out of the building. Marcus frowns. “That’s Sebastian’s car.” The detective nods. “Yes.” Marcus leans closer. “…wait. There’s someone in the back seat.” My heart jumps. The footage is grainy. But there’s no mistake. Someone is sitting behind the driver.

"Ms. Claire, are you stranded?" "I... yes. I need to get to Leo's school, but I can't get a ride." "Get in." The voice came from the shadows of the back seat—deep, commanding, and impossible to argue with. I didn't hesitate. I reached for the front passenger door, but it was occupied by golf bags and leather briefcases. "In the back," Carter directed. I slid into the rear seat. A polished wood console with a small tea bar separated us, creating a comfortable but intimate boundary.

They all fell dead on the spot. "You're good." He complimented. He accelerated the car again, going at full speed. "I'm going to turn over so that you can throw this..." He pointed to the backseat. "Look under it and take it out." I did as I was asked. My eyes widened when I saw it. He hid a freaking bazooka under the backseat. Why the hell would he even keep this in this damn car? "For situations like this" he replied as if reading my mind. Did I just say that out loud? Maybe I did. Now was not really the time to care.

I throw my head back , my short black hair whips through the air – not as elegant as the models do on television , but just sexy enough to make bite his lip and groan at the sight. I lean back into soft fabric , my back arching. The back seat of his white Toyota Tazz , a place I have become very familiar with over the last 3 weeks – is scattered with clothes , shoes and , of course – cum.