Sweet

by Tammara Webber

  I shook my head. “N-no. Staying would have been… inadvisable.”

  He chuckled, opening the car door and kissing me again. “Get in. No seat belt.”

  I nodded and obeyed as he circled to his side, glancing around the lot. No one was near us, but the lot was far from deserted. The dusking sky caused streetlights pop on, but they cast a feeble amount of illumination. Oh my God, was I considering DOING IT in his CAR? That was disturbing and uncharacteristic and illegal and—and—so hot.

  His door slammed shut and he lowered the windows partway. He shoved his seat back as far as it would go and reached for me, pulling me astride his lap. He kissed me, hands pushing under the back of my shirt and unhooking my bra. Lifting the hem just above my breast, he nudged one loose cup aside and took the nipple deep in his warm mouth, sucking and humming.

  My head fell back and all I could hear was my own low moan and the pounding acceleration of my heartbeat. I pressed against his erection instinctively, squeezing my thighs on his hips and grinding against him, and he gripped me closer. His hand on the bare skin of my back was so hot he could have left a rosy handprint between my shoulder blades.

  Releasing my nipple, he filled one hand with my breast and pulled my mouth back to his with the other. Our kisses were hungry and the humidity-heightened temperature in the confined space spiked. His lips moved down my throat and he murmured softly, “Goddamn, beautiful girl. Can I make you come for me like this?” Placing soft, sucking kisses at the base of my throat, he moved his hips, thrusting upward as though he were already inside me.

  Damn. These. Shorts!

  I gasped, clutching my thighs tighter. “I… I can’t…”

  “Spread too wide without me inside you?”

  I nodded, biting my lip.

  “Turn,” he said, lifting and rotating me to sit on his lap facing out. In the last row of the lot, the TA faced nothing but a rickety fence, tall weeds poking through the warped, splintered slats.

  I laid my head back against his shoulder—missing his mouth on my throat, my lips, my breast—and I wanted to wail, How is this better? Then he unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts and thrust his hand right down the front of them.

  “Ah, that’s it,” he murmured. “Right. There. One? Or two?”

  I writhed and groaned, shutting my eyes to our surroundings and yielding control to his intoxicating words and searching fingers.

  He chuckled. “Two it is.”

  “Oh… God.” I panted.

  He licked and kissed my neck at the pulse point just under my ear, his left hand cupping my right breast, pinching the nipple gently as if linking an erogenous connect-the-dots triangle.

  “That’s my girl.” The vibrations of his voice rumbled through me, a grounding bass to the orchestral maneuvers of his hands and mouth. His thumb circled and pressed as his fingers thrust deep, curving and caressing. “I wanna watch you come, baby. That’s all I’ve dreamed about since the last time I was inside you—kissing you again, touching this sweet little body again, all warm and tight and wanting me to lay you down and fuck you deep and hard.”

  I jolted and came apart, clapping one hand over my mouth to keep the people in the restaurant across the lot from hearing me. And possibly people on the beach, Lord help me.

  chapter

  Twenty-six

  Boyce

  One hand covering her mouth and the other gripping my forearm like locking pliers, she was a mind-blowing sight. I shocked the hell out of her, but she loved it because she trusted me, and every time I touched her I felt that surrender. This girl was all brainy respectability on the surface and blazing-hot daredevil underneath. I knew this. I’d known it for a long time. I was just too fucking stupid to comprehend what it meant—that she needed a man like me.

  I couldn’t get enough of her, and I knew deep in my gut that I never would. I wanted to take her home and love her all night long, but I had to get my mother and her ignorant dickhole of a boyfriend out of my goddamned trailer first.

  I heard voices nearby—a group of folks who’d just finished supper, lazily weaving through the lot toward their car. I zipped and buttoned Pearl’s shorts, pulled her shirt into place, and turned her on my lap like we were just sitting there kissing. A little naughty, but nothing like what we’d been up to two minutes ago. She was still trembling from that release, her head on my shoulder, her curvy little ass pressed against the raring-to-go length of my dick—sorry, buddy, not tonight—and her feet in the passenger seat, toenails painted blue as the deepest part of the gulf.

  When the approaching voices broke through her awareness, she stiffened, glancing over her shoulder out the open window.

  I tightened my arms around her and kissed her forehead. “No worries. We’re just two people sitting in a car having a right friendly conversation. They won’t pay us any mind.”

  She relaxed, laughing softly, and tucked her head beneath my chin as if she was listening for my heartbeat, which was likely going lickety-split under her ear. “So about your gift…”

  “Mmm-hmm?”

  “I’ll need you Saturday morning through Sunday afternoon.” She paused.

  “All right.” What in hell?

  “Okay. Good.” Her fingers tickled back and forth over the forearm she’d just been hanging on to for dear life not five minutes prior, as if she was gentling me. As if any moment I might rear back and tell her no. “I’ll pick you up around eleven. Dress like you are now, and pack a change of clothes for Sunday plus whatever you’d bring for an overnight trip. You don’t need to do anything else.”

  I wasn’t exactly experienced in overnight trips. Accidental overnights in somebody’s bed—yeah. Those involved condoms, re-wearing whatever I’d shucked off around two a.m., and hoping the girl had mouthwash in her medicine cabinet or at least gum in her purse. If I was planning on an overnight with Pearl, I’d bring clean clothes, a toothbrush, and condoms. Damn straight, condoms. Please God tell me I’m gonna need condoms.

  “Where are we going?” I’d never been so curious in my life—and that was saying a lot, because I was born curious.

  She leaned her head back on my arm, black eyes gleaming in the darkness and lips curved into a playful grin. “That’s a surprise, Boyce Wynn.” A welcome gust of wind off the gulf blew through the car, lifting one long curl across her face. It stuck on her lower lip and she reached to pull it away and I was knocked sideways by how much I loved her. She must have seen the realization cross my face, because her hand slowed. Her smile faded. “What?”

  I smoothed one finger between her brows. “I have a surprise of my own is all. I’ll tell you this weekend.”

  “No fair.”

  I kissed her with every possessive, damn the torpedoes desire surging through me, my tongue sweeping through her mouth and caressing her shy little tongue, encouraging it to come out and play. When it darted out to tease my upper lip, I drew the tip into my mouth and gave it a soft, leisurely suck before allowing it to retreat back into her mouth. When I pulled back, she blinked up at me, winded and dazed.

  “I never swore to play fair, sweetheart,” I murmured.

  • • • • • • • • • •

  Dr. Frank called me Friday to tell me that he, his accountant, Barney Amos, and my mother had met and reached an agreement for a cash purchase of the property and everything on it. “We’ll meet Monday afternoon to sign the papers and hand her a cashier’s check. She’s agreed that she and Riley will vacate the premises as soon as they have the check in hand.” What he thought of Mom’s boyfriend was plain, just in the way he spit that douchenozzle’s name. Like it left a rotten taste in his mouth.

  I knew the feeling. “I’d feel better if she was getting the money without him, but I guess that’s her business.”

  “It is. I agree that he’s a piece of work, but it’s her decision what she puts up with—unless you’ve seen his ill-treatment turn physical.”

  Riley must’ve felt small, sitting there with a doctor, a la
wyer, and an accountant—like he was the butt end of that joke. All it lacked was a bar and a punch line. When men like him felt small, they got meaner. He’d probably been all spit and swagger in front of them—lording over her.

  “If I’d seen any evidence of that, he wouldn’t have been at that meeting because he’d be in the hospital. If he smacks her around, they’ve both hidden it damn well from me.”

  “Damn shame when a woman puts up with that kind of treatment. I’ve seen it time and again in my line of work, but I’ll never understand it.” He heaved a sigh, switching gears. “So. Are you sure about purchasing Wynn’s? I’m prepared to have you work for me instead, if you’ve had second thoughts about taking on that loan. Now’s the time to speak up.”

  “No, sir. Truth is, I think abiding this hardship to get that garage has been a good thing, in a way. Instead of feeling that the place was dumped on me like a ton of bricks, I not only chose this, I’m gonna earn it. Thank you for offering me the ability to do that. I want Wynn’s to be mine. I’m sure.”

  “All right then. Give me a couple weeks or so to get everything filed and clear, and we’ll proceed with your loan from there.”

  • • • • • • • • • •

  I’d insisted that Pearl text me when she left her house so I could walk directly out the door without her coming up to knock. Half an hour ago—when I started packing—I’d realized I had no luggage. In the back of my closet, behind the box of photos I’d gleaned from Dad’s room, I unearthed my high school backpack. Luckily, I’d barely used it in high school, so it wasn’t in the nasty shape it should have been. I was a grown man—going on an overnight trip who knows where—stuffing my shit in a backpack. Jesus.

  I hitched it over my shoulder and said, “Back tomorrow,” to Mom and Riley, who were sitting on the sofa, smoking. It wasn’t yet noon, so they weren’t roused enough to respond before I jerked the door shut behind me.

  Pearl pulled up and popped the trunk on her little car. I tossed my backpack next to her leather duffle, which had some kind of initialed design all over it and probably cost more than a new set of tires.

  “Have I ever driven you anywhere?” she asked when I folded myself into the passenger seat and slid it back so my knees weren’t under my chin. She was a sight with her hair pulled into a ponytail, big dark sunglasses, and a little sundress showing off her smooth bronze legs and shoulders.

  I slid my aviators on. “Nope.”

  “Well, settle in. We’ve got a three-and-a-half-hour drive—after we get off the ferry, which currently has a forty-five-minute line, according to the website.”

  Three point five hours… “Houston?”

  She sighed. “Wow—yes. Bonus points for speed. I knew you’d figure it out once I got on 59, but sheesh. We aren’t even to the first stoplight.”

  “Bonus points, eh? What exactly do these points go toward?” I asked. “I might want to rack up a few more before we reach our destination.”

  Sitting ramrod straight, her full pink lips pursed tight, she slid me a sidelong look over the top of her sunglasses and then scrutinized the road ahead like we were battling rush hour traffic. “Maybe you won’t need any points tonight.”

  Whatever smartass retort I might have prepared went up in flames.

  It’d been years since I’d gone farther out of town than Corpus. The long stretches of highway with nothing for miles in every direction but grass and crops and cows felt cosmic—as if there was nothing beyond any of it but more of the same, forever. And then we’d go through a town so small that if you blinked you’d miss it, or I’d spy a big decrepit barn set back from the road—roof half caved in, paint peeling—and I’d think, Somebody used to keep livestock in there and now they’re all gone. Did they move? Die? Did they live a good life, out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?

  We stopped for gas and barbeque in Wharton.

  “Still not going to tell me what we’re doing in Houston?”

  She took a huge bite of her turkey sandwich, a bit of barbeque sauce running down the side of her hand. “Uhn-uhnn.” She licked the sauce off her hand—her pink tongue darting out to catch it before it got far—and I contemplated my potato salad like I was trying to figure out the recipe. Goddamn.

  I took a bite of my sandwich. Took a sip of iced tea. “There’s a game at Minute Maid Park tonight.” I grinned. “Pirates are in town for a four-game series.”

  She scowled. “Dammit, Boyce!”

  I lowered my sandwich. “Are you serious? We’re going to a baseball game?” I couldn’t stop my voice’s inflection from climbing sky-high right at the end.

  Her scowl melted and her words went soft. “Yeah. That was the surprise.”

  I shook my head. “What’s that thing Mrs. Thompson used to say when one of her kids startled her, bringing unauthorized critters in the house… Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!”

  Pearl chuckled. “I didn’t think actual people said that.”

  “Oh hell yeah—when Randy dragged a baby possum into the kitchen one time, she blurted it right out. That thing like to gave her a coronary on the spot.”

  “Oh… my… God.” She laughed until she snorted.

  “I’m serious! I’m surprised—so bonus points for that. Not that you’ll need ’em.” I winked. “I aim to show you my sincere appreciation any damn way you want it.”

  She swallowed. “Just to remind you…” She leaned closer so the couple at the next table wouldn’t hear. “It’s broad daylight outside, and the parking lot is really small and crowded.”

  “Guess you’ll have to wait, then.”

  “Guess you will, too,” she said, all wide-eyed innocence, sucking down the last of her iced tea through a straw I was suddenly very jealous of.

  Pearl

  Boyce was like a kid at Christmas—though as soon as I had that thought I couldn’t bear to think what his Christmases must have been like.

  When I pulled up to the valet at the Magnolia, he mumbled, “Holy shit,” before he got out. I handed the valet the keys and Boyce grabbed the bags from the trunk. “S’ok, I got ’em,” he told the impeccably uniformed porter who attempted to carry them to the front desk. He stood silently as I checked us in and didn’t speak another word until I opened the door to the room. “Holy. Shit,” he repeated, making no move to enter.

  I walked in, heading for the window, and he followed. “Thomas and Mama always stay at the Magnolia whenever they’re in Houston. I’m using their points for the room. This building is almost a hundred years old, and Minute Maid Park is”—I opened the drapes wide—“right there.”

  He came to stand next to me and we stared at the park.

  “They let you do that? Use their points to stay with me this weekend?” He was still holding both bags, as if he might bolt right back out of the room with them.

  I took them from him and set them aside. “They didn’t want me staying at some seedy motel in the middle of Houston.” I took his hands and leaned to put my chin on his chest. He stared down at me. “So… have you noticed the bed?” I asked. “The one right there behind me?”

  His gaze flicked over my shoulder to look at it. “It’s big.”

  I bit my lip at that straightforward observation and the way his eyes darted around the plush room. I wondered if he’d ever slept in a king-sized bed. Or seen one. He reminded me of Mama in New York on my parents’ honeymoon—a bit overawed.

  Distraction—that’s what he needed. “We’ve got an hour until dinner reservations at an awesome steakhouse between here and the ballpark. Just don’t wrinkle me.”

  His arms slid around my waist, dragging my hands behind my back, and that dark red brow angled up. “How do you propose I keep from doing that? Especially when I aim to toss you right in the middle of that bed in a couple seconds to build your appetite for round two later tonight.”

  I turned to hide my smug smile and pulled my heavy ponytail aside, and he slid the zipper down my back at an agonizingly slow pac
e. “I did say we only had an hour, right?”

  He sped it to the bottom and spun me around to pull the dress down my arms. “I aim to please, ma’am.”

  “I believe you.” I leaned up to kiss his scruffy chin. “So do I.”

  • • • • • • • • • •

  Over dinner, Boyce told me what Thomas was doing for him. I was so stunned and grateful and happy I started crying.

  The waiter hovered politely out of earshot and Boyce leaned closer. “Why are you crying?”

  “I just… You were going to leave town, and now you’re not, and… I don’t know. Because I’m happy?”

  He shook his head. “So because you’re happy, you’re crying?”

  I laughed once and patted my napkin under both eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Women do understand why men get confused over these kinda responses, right?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “We give you all the clues. You just have to read them.”

  He angled a brow. “That right there is a trap.”

  • • • • • • • • • •

  When I came out of the bathroom, Boyce had switched off all the lights but one. He sat in the middle of the bed in boxers and a gray tee, watching me cross the room. “Thank you for tonight,” he said. “Nobody’s ever done something like this for me.”

  I shook my humidity-defeated hair loose from the elastic and slid the band onto my wrist. Boyce’s green eyes flared. I might lament my hair’s irrepressible nature, but he liked it. He liked the glasses I was wearing too. Liked removing them, as if they were one more item of my clothing he was confiscating. I pulled at a coil of hair and twisted it around my finger, and his mouth tightened.

  “I’m glad you had fun,” I said. “Sorry they lost, though. At least it was just one point.”