by K. Webster
She nods and, in turtle speed, climbs into the back. Looking around, I assess the situation. The umbrella is sagging on one side and the metal prongs are bent inward from the weight. It hasn’t completely come through, which is a saving grace, because had it, we might be trapped in here. Kneeling, I button up my jacket with sluggish hands and then set to forcing the umbrella up and out of the car.
As I push, snow runs into the car on one side. With a grunt from the weight, I shove with all the energy I have left. The metal scrapes against the car as I drive it out of the vehicle. It takes a shit-ton of effort, but I finally manage to force the ruined umbrella out. Standing up, I poke my body out through the opening and see that it’s snowed a whole fucking lot while we slept.
Our car is completely buried.
Shit!
“It’s cold,” Caroline whimpers from the back seat.
I groan when I realize she’s still wearing those fucked-up leggings. She’ll never stay warm enough in them.
“Did you pack any jeans? What’s in your suitcase, baby?” Dropping back into the car, I stare at her in question. She needs more clothes on.
“There’s a pair of skinny jeans in my suitcase. I also brought some velour track pants. Mostly, I just packed leggings and tunics.”
I frown and wonder what the hell she packed for me. As if she already knows my next question, tears well in her eyes as she drops her gaze to her lap.
“I’m sorry, Bentley. I thought we would be at your mom’s. You have some slacks and dress shirts. I packed a couple of nice sweaters for you.”
“Fucking hell. This shit isn’t going to help us out here,” I snarl to myself.
When she bursts into tears, I realize she thinks I’m upset with her. Squatting, I peek into the back seat and reach for her hand.
“Care Bear, don’t cry. You didn’t know. We’ll make do. I’ll get your jeans and sweatpants so you can layer up.”
She doesn’t look up at me, so I tug her toward me. As she lifts her head with her lip nervously stuck between her teeth, I break.
We’re going to fucking die out here, and I can’t lose her.
Not now.
Not ever.
Seeing her so vulnerable and scared crushes my heart to bits. I’m scared as shit that I won’t be able to get us through this. Then what?
Our lives end in this stupid car?
Leaning forward, I kiss the tip of her cold nose. “Don’t give up on us, baby. I won’t lose you now after everything.”
That is the damn truth.
HOW COULD I have been so stupid? As I watch this brave man of mine climb out the window to hunt for clothes in the trunk, I can’t stop crying. If I hadn’t have been such a bitch, I would have packed him more comfortable clothes for his mom’s. He always relaxes while he’s there and reminds me a lot of the man I married. I knew he’d want to wear jeans and college football hoodies all week if I’d let him.
But I didn’t want to let him.
Instead, I packed him stuff he’d probably wear to the office. I did it to spite him. In fact, I was looking forward to seeing his expression when he opened his suitcase and discovered he had nothing to wear.
What sort of bitch am I?
Now, karma is having her last laugh, because we’re going to freeze.
As for me?
My clothes are even more of a joke. When Bentley started making millions, I traded my jeans and T-shirts for overly expensive clothing that should be worn to the mall—not the freaking forest. I didn’t pack any other shoes but a pair of ballet flats and the boots I’m wearing.
So stupid!
I can hear him cursing outside as he shovels snow away from the trunk. The urge to feel useful consumes me, and I remember that his cell phone was charging. Digging through some of the snow that dusts the dash, I discover that it’s still plugged in. I pop it free and mash the button. It still works and is fully charged, but unfortunately, it doesn’t have a signal.
When I see his picture app, I wonder what sort of pictures he has on here. I’ve never seen him take any in a long time unless he’s taking a screenshot of something he’s working on.
The folders are empty.
Neat.
So Harrison, the work-driven man and not the love-driven man I married.
I’m about to close the phone to save battery life when I see that he has some missed texts. I don’t want to snoop on him, but I feel the overwhelming urge to satisfy my curiosity. Once I open the text app, I notice Ginny texted him last night before the accident, but he was too busy on the phone with clients to read them.
Ginny: Here’s something to look at while you’re off playing house with your wife.
I open the picture and gape in horror. The stupid woman sent my husband a picture of her bare tits.
“Oh my God,” I murmur out as tears roll from my eyes.
Like I’m watching a train wreck, I can’t help but to scroll through and read the ones she sent last night.
Ginny: I was just joking. Do you not like my tits? You seem to enjoy them at work . . . or is that just wishful thinking on my part?
Ginny: James told me that you said you haven’t been laid in three months. I can take care of you. Your wife is a fool to let a body like yours go to waste.
Ginny: I’m sorry. I’ve been drinking but I can’t help it. I have wanted you for so long. Now that she is about to be out of the picture, I was hoping we could get together. Since the moment I saw you, I’ve wanted to wrap my lips around what I’m sure is a big cock. Don’t you want me to taste you, Ben?
Ginny: Okay, I get the hint. You always act different around her. She’s probably conned you into staying with her. I’ll always be waiting, so when you’re finally done with her, you know where to find me. Here’s a parting gift of what you could be pushing your dick into every day . . .
The stupid whore sent my husband a picture of her fingers in her pussy. Unfuckingreal!
I’m so angry that my body begins to thaw as rage floods my veins. How dare that skank attempt to steal him away from me? She’ll never have him.
I shove the phone into my inside pocket and zip it up. While I’m waiting on him, I rummage around until I find the chips and Coke. I want to scream at the unfairness of the world as I determine that my vegan diet will go right out the window with this “meal.”
Hearing the crunching overhead of snow under his weight, I look up and see Bentley climbing back on top of the car to come back inside. His rifle enters first, and then he hands me a box of bullets. His hands are full of clothing too, but he tosses them inside.
“If it comes down to it, I might have to hunt us dinner”—he smirks as he drops into the car—“but I don’t know if I can find a meatless rabbit for you.”
I know he’s joking, but it infuriates me. “Fuck you, Bentley,” I snap back.
He glares back at me. “You’re crying. What happened? I was just kidding.” Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves my pistachios. “See? I found these.”
I’m so angry with him because of stupid Ginny that I want to shove him far away from me, but the fact that he’s holding the nuts as if they’re some sort of peace offering has my ferocity cooling down a few degrees.
“I thought you weren’t sleeping with Ginny. Apparently, you eye her up all goddamned day at the office,” I bite out.
His eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I’m not interested in her at all.”
“Bullshit!” This time, I haul off and punch his shoulder. I’m about to do it again when he easily grabs my wrist with one hand.
“Cool the fuck down, Care! Where is all this coming from?” he demands.
The tears roll shamelessly down my cheeks, and I want to spit at him. “Don’t play stupid, Ben. I saw the texts. I saw her perky tits and the tight pussy I’m sure you’re eager to fuck into next week!”
His gun clatters behind him as he launches at me. I c
ry out when his icy, gloved hands slip around my head and he smashes his lips against mine. Our lips our so cold, but they quickly warm up against the other. And when I part them, my body betrays me and lets him kiss me harder. Everything in me fights to hate him for those texts Ginny sent, but there’s also a very primitive part of me that feels as if I’m winning against her. After all, his lips are on mine—not hers.
I squeak when his hands roughly unzip my coat. He tosses his gloves to the side and shoves two frigid palms up under my sweater. It sends frozen chills skittering up my spine, but my body also bucks in need against his touch. A needy gasp escapes me when his fingers slip up under my bra, and he thumbs my already-hardened-from-the-cold nipples, turning them into stone.
“I need to fuck you more than I need to survive,” he growls as he nips at my bottom lip.
A moan that could give a well-paid whore a run for her money rips through the car—my body aches from his words.
“I hate you,” I lie as he massages my tits.
“No, you don’t.” His tone is confident and sure.
I want to slap him.
When I go to push away, he slides an arm around my bare back and tugs me closer to him.
“You want her,” I accuse through his delicious assault on my mouth.
He breaks away for a moment to glare down at me with conviction. “I’ve never fucking wanted her. Ever. She wears low-cut shirts and short skirts—always flaunting her shit around me. But I see right through her. The woman has nothing on you, baby. You’re the one I want. I only have and only ever will love you.”
His words are the key to some hidden angry lock within me, and relief floods my system. I immediately begin to relax and let the flutters of excitement ripple through me. We haven’t been this hungry for one another since college. Yet now, all I can think about is him inside me. Bruising me. Stretching me. Claiming me.
“I need you,” I whimper finally. The words sound more like I’m begging.
I cry out when his hands rip away from me, and I half expect him to leave me here in a puddle of want. Instead, his chilled hand slides inside the front of my leggings and under my panties. And this time when his fingers touch my pussy, nothing stands between him. It’s exhilarating.
“Shit, you’re so goddamned wet for me, baby. We’re out in the middle of fucking nowhere and you want my dick inside you. I miss the way you feel, Care.”
He yanks his hand out so suddenly that I almost orgasm from the intensity of the hasty way his finger drags across my clit. Then his hands find the outside of my leggings at my crotch and he rips them along the seam.
“I just made it easier to access you,” he murmurs against my lips before sucking the bottom one into his mouth.
Mimicking his actions, I slip my hands under his coat and unzip his jeans. It takes some maneuvering, but I manage to pull his thick cock from the opening of his boxers through his open pants.
“Shit, your hands are so cold, but it feels so damn good,” he groans. His hips thrust against my hand, and I fist him harder.
“How are we going to do this?” I wonder aloud. It’s as if the universe is against us. I need him but have no way for him to get to me.
“Hold on,” he instructs firmly, as if I’m really going to go somewhere.
Reaching over, he finds the lever under the driver’s-side seat and pushes the seat flat and out of the way. Without another word, he climbs into the tight back seat, hauling me with him. There’s no good position, so he kneels on the broken window on the snow. Grabbing onto my hips, he brings me to him and leans my shoulders against the seat.
I straddle him the best I can, pushing my panties to the side as he guides his cock between my legs. Even though it’s freezing-ass cold, my body feels as if I could melt it all away. Right now, all that matters is having my husband take me. Now.
His grip on my hip is tight as he pushes me down over his thickness. He’s always been big, but my needy body easily accepts him.
“Bentley!” I cry out as he slams me all the way down his length.
“Care,” he rumbles out before he suckles on my neck.
My body takes over, and I thrust wildly on him. Every part of me aches and burns, begging me to stop and rest. But my heart resists as I make carnal love with my husband.
“God, you feel so damn good,” he praises as I bounce on him.
His hands are all over me—touching, needing, worshipping. It’s not enough. I need more of him. All of him. And soon. This will only satisfy me for a short while. The closeness between us—not just our bodies, but our souls—is like much-needed nourishment I’ve been craving for years.
The bite of his fingers as they dig into my ass sends me hurtling closer to the edge of sanity—my orgasm screaming for release.
“You’re mine, Caroline. Forever. I’m going to fuck you like this every day so neither of us will ever forget it. Your pussy will always drip for me. My dick will always smell of your sweet scent. Our bodies will always feel raw and used but constantly yearning for more.”
“Yes,” I promise aloud as my body tingles with pent-up excitement.
My release is close. He’s filling every bit of the inside of me, but it’s not enough. I still need more. When his thumb connects with my clit, I scream out in surprise. This was the more—what I needed to come unglued.
“God, I’m so close. I want to come inside you—to warm you from the inside out,” he coos.
His words are the last straw. I lose it, belting out his name over and over as my body shudders in ecstasy. I can barely keep my movements up so that he’ll come too, but then he grunts loudly and sinks his teeth into the flesh of my neck.
The pain.
The pleasure.
I feel so alive.
Heat explodes into me and my surroundings spin as we lose ourselves in the vortex of our lovemaking. My breaths become his as he captures my mouth and consumes me. Our kisses are apologies and vows wrapped up in love and promises. It’s perfect, and I’ll never desire anything more than I do having my husband like this.
“I love you so much, Caroline,” he finally says in a mere whisper as our bodies relax.
Any and all energy I had left is completely spent. I feel dizzy from lack of food and orgasm overload.
“I love you too, Bentley.”
As his dick softens inside me, his come trickles out, making a mess all over his jeans. The old me would have been horrified and embarrassed that we did this. The old me would have craved a shower to clean up. The old me would have worried about the fact that I haven’t taken my birth control yet this morning.
But the new me—the one who belongs completely to him—rejoices at the way the evidence of our lovemaking pours from me. The new me thinks that it’s beautiful and natural and perfect. The new me cares about nothing except for the man who’s wrapped himself not only around my body, but around my heart and soul, too.
The new me wants to do it again really soon.
THIS GIRL. THE one I’m still buried to the hilt in—she’s mine. Every precious inch of her. I just need to find a way to get us out of this mess so we can properly love each other. My heart craves to hold her naked body under the spray of a hot shower. To curl up against her flawless body in our warm bed. I want to make love to her any time I want.
This bullshit weather and the situation we’re in are messing up everything.
When she shivers, it reminds me that I need to get more layers on her.
“Hop up, pretty lady. We need to warm your skinny ass up.” I grin and peck her lips.
A kitten-like growl escapes her as she slides off me. The rest of my semen runs from her, wetting my dick. If I weren’t so damn eager to warm her up, I would be aroused. But we don’t have time for that—at least, not right now.
She tugs her panties back into position and crawls into the front seat to look for her clothes while I tuck myself back into my jeans. I locate my gloves and put them back on before shedding my coat so I can layer u
p with a couple of the dress shirts I found in my suitcase. As she struggles to get her skinny jeans on over her leggings, I bite back a chuckle. She’s so cute when she gets frustrated.
“I hate these damn pants,” she pouts as she tugs them on.
I smirk at her as I shrug my coat back on. “Baby, I promise, when we get back home, you never have to wear pants—or clothes for that matter—ever again. You can be my naked princess, always waiting.”
Her head slowly turns to look over at me. Instead of her beautiful smile, a frown plays at her lips. “I’m tired of waiting on you, Bentley.”
The words slice right through me. Of course she’s tired. I’ve insisted that she doesn’t have to work because I make enough for the two of us, I hate on her bitchy friends who are her only form of entertainment during the day, and then I make her wait for me to come home each evening—even when I spend long hours engrossed in my work.
What have I done to her?
She must feel like a fucking prisoner.
“Care? What do you like to do?”
She chews at her lip while she contemplates her answer. Her eyes dip down as she distracts herself with a pair of sweatpants. Waiting patiently, I watch her slide those over the jeans. But once she’s put her boots back on, I raise an eyebrow in question, letting her know I’m still expecting an answer.
“I sometimes go with Renée for pedicures. Um, I like to watch you when you watch the football games. I, uh, like talking to our housekeeper.”
My eyes widen at her. Who is this woman? When did she become some empty person without any desires or passions?
“So pedicures with the snob, me yelling at the television, and talking to the maid. I see,” I say, incredulous.
But I don’t see. I don’t understand at all.
“Where is Caroline? I think she’s lost in her head somewhere. Where’s the girl who once said she wanted to go to Paris for the summer and get lost in vintage bookstores? Where’s the girl who once told me she would write a love story one day? Where’s the girl who wanted to run off to the city to live free of the comforts of her past, who wanted to take life by the throat and claim it? Where’s the girl who wanted to learn photography because ‘the world has so many beautiful passing moments that are flying by us for nobody is capturing them, forever stamping proof of their existence into history’?”