“Does Angela have a lot of Thursday night parties?” I ask just to keep the conversation going. If I made a Venn diagram with one circle representing this woman I’ve never met and the other circle being how much I care about her, the only thing filling the overlapping area would be exactly what Mia has told her friend about me. Finding that out might be interesting. But I’m probably better off not knowing.
“It was a home sale thing,” Mia explains, reaching for the water bottle in my cup holder. “Like Tupperware?”
Uh. What? I shoot her a look. “You went to a Tupperware party?”
Unscrewing the bottle cap, she says, “No, it was a Secrets party.”
“Which is?”
She tips her head back, her throat working as she swallows several mouthfuls of water. When she’s done, she holds the opened bottle out to me and replies, “Sex toys.”
What the…? I freeze in the middle of accepting the bottle from her. Alternating between watching the road and gaping at her, I ask, “Seriously? That’s a thing?”
She waves the bottle at me, and I grab it from her. As I gulp down some water, it occurs to me that this sharing drinks thing is new. I guess that’s expected to be okay when you’re swapping other body fluids on a regular basis?
“It was actually a lot of fun,” she says as I hand the bottle back to her. “Food, drinks, and games. Their slogan is ‘The Ultimate Girls’ Night In.’”
Wow. The things women do. I let out a disbelieving laugh. “So you go to this party, and there’s a lady there who sells you sex toys?”
“She had other stuff, too.” Putting the water back in the cup holder, Mia unbuckles her seat belt and starts shrugging out of her jacket. “Like creams and lubes, beauty products, and lingerie. But, yeah.”
My mind. It’s boggled. “And you actually bought something?”
“It’s kind of expected. If I wasn’t interested in buying, I wouldn’t have gone.” Tossing her jacket into the backseat, she tugs the seat belt back down, snapping it into the buckle.
I give her another look. She gives me a shit-eating grin, her pretty green eyes crinkling mischievously.
Feeling compelled by some involuntary curiosity, I ask, “What did you buy?”
“Well.” She stretches the word out just as she’s doing the same to her long, slim legs. “Picking stuff out of the catalog felt like too much work, so I just went with what she had in stock with her. Something called a Survival Kit. I didn’t look too closely at what was in it.”
Typical Mia. Oh, of course she’ll buy some sex toys. Doesn’t matter what kind. She’ll find a use for it regardless.
Jesus.
And then I’m lost. It’s like my brain short-circuits, and all I can do is picture Mia using those toys to get herself off. The mental images won’t stop. It’s like click, click, click—a high-speed series of snapshots of her masturbating, all of them dirty and sexy and such a goddamn turn-on. My dick springs to life, starts growing hard.
“What?” Her voice is part chuckle, part challenge, so I guess my thoughts are showing on my face.
I shake my head slowly. Give a small cough. No way am I sharing what’s on my mind, so I say, “Could you imagine if guys had parties like that? Women would think it was disgusting.”
She lets out a snort-laugh. “Gender inequality is a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but women complain about it a lot more.” As I come up on an old, beat-up Toyota Camry going way too slow, I signal to move into the left lane so I can pass it. Driving with an erection is kind of uncomfortable, and I’m resisting the urge to reach down and tug on my shorts.
“Oh, give me a break.” Mia doesn’t sound amused anymore. “Tell you what: if you want to host a party for your buddies, I’m more than happy to get Rachel the Secrets lady’s contact info from Angela for you.”
Rolling my eyes, I let that go without comment. My thoughts refuse to be redirected, though. I’m picturing a group of women gathered in a living room, nice-smelling women, dressed up and made-up, because their appearance is just as much about impressing each other as it is for men, right? I see brightly painted nails wrapped around colorful cocktails. And a lot of giggling as they pass around the goods. Most of it phallic-shaped and battery-powered.
Jesus Christ.
“You played games?” I ask because I’m a fucking idiot and just can’t help myself. “Like what?”
She’s silent for a moment, and I sneak a peek at her. Her head is tilted back against the headrest, and she’s squinting into the air, like she’s conjuring memories.
“First we introduced ourselves by saying our names,” she starts, “and how old we were when we lost our virginity…”
I shift in my seat. Glance at the speedometer, making sure my distraction’s not giving me a lead foot.
“Then a little later we all made a list of the different locations where we’ve had sex, and the person with the longest list won this little tube of flavored lube.”
Yup. That’s it. It’s not safe for me to stay in the fast lane anymore. I signal and turn back into the right lane, setting cruise control while I’m at a good distance from the car in front of us. There are dark clouds up ahead, looming over the hills in the distance. Looks like we’re going to run into some nasty weather soon.
“Did you win?” I ask, trying to sound casual, disinterested. Probably failing.
“Didn’t even come close. I think I was the second youngest guest, so it wasn’t really fair, though.”
I swallow hard. Stare at her longer than I should while in control of this little bullet of a car. Telling her with my eyes that it would be my privilege to help her make her list longer. Was a car on there? It should be. Not this one, though. Something roomier. Parked someplace private.
Leaning on the headrest and watching me, the playfulness gone from her expression, she says, “At the end of the night we did this game where we were all supposed to anonymously write down our dirtiest fantasy on a piece of paper, and then Rachel read them aloud, and we all had to guess whose fantasy it was.”
I hesitate. My mouth feels dry. There’s a pulsing in my groin that’s absolutely impossible to ignore. “What did you write on yours?”
With half an eye on the road, I see her flash a tiny smile, looking almost embarrassed as she answers, “Double penetration.”
Say what? Air whooshes from my lungs. She’s messing with me, right? “As in a threesome?” I ask incredulously.
Heaving a big sigh, she puts her elbow on the ledge by her window and rests her head in her hand, staring out the windshield. “See, that’s the part I don’t know about. Two guys at once kind of seems like too much work. I’m not the best at multitasking.”
What the hell? I just blink and say nothing, focused on keeping the car on the road. She sounds one hundred percent serious.
“Maybe if they were both just focused on getting me off,” she muses. “I wouldn’t want two Ds in my P, though. Maybe if I’d had kids I could handle that, but now, no way.”
Pressure builds inside my head. I still have a hard-on. Even though the scene she’s describing is not appealing to me. Not even a little bit. In fact, it’s kind of pissing me off.
She continues with, “Plus it’d be kind of weird. I think I’d be worried that they’d start enjoying it a little too much, if you know what I mean.”
I look sideways. She’s watching me with raised eyebrows, but I keep my mouth shut. Yeah, I do know what she means. And she’s given this whole thing a lot of thought, apparently.
“Oh,” she says, pointing a finger at me, “and I definitely wouldn’t want to be giving one guy head while the other one’s fucking me. For the same reason I don’t like doing a sixty-nine.”
Okay, enough. “I don’t think this is an appropriate topic of conversation for the car.”
I glance at her long enough to catch her giving a shrug as she says, “You’re the one who asked.”
She’s got me there. We drive in silence for
a while. Raindrops start splattering the windshield as we catch up to those storm clouds, picking up in frequency until they’re drumming and pounding on the glass. I turn the wipers on high.
From the corner of my eye I see Mia scoot her seat back, kick off her shoes, and raise her white-sock-clad feet up to rest on the dash, crossed at the ankles. I’m so glad she’s able to make herself comfortable.
Meanwhile I’m sitting here with an iron grip on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, driving on the freeway toward her parents’ house in an epic downpour, and all I can think about is Mia getting screwed by two guys at the same time. Neither one of them being me. Goddamn her.
Then I mentally replay the last thing she said, and before I can stop myself, the question is coming out of my mouth. “What’s wrong with a sixty-nine?”
“I told you,” she says nonchalantly. “I’m not great at multitasking.”
Okay. That’s fine. She can just sit on my face then.
And there’s another mental image that makes me twitchy.
“Besides,” she goes on. “A blow job is an art form. It takes skill and concentration.”
I take my eyes off the road long enough to toss a doubtful look her way. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“And how would you know?” she challenges teasingly.
“Dicks just aren’t that complicated. I know because I’ve got one.”
She lets out a laugh that sounds breathless and sexy. Bracing a hand on the emergency brake, she leans closer to me, so close her arm is up against mine. Her voice sounds husky as she says, “I guess you just haven’t been with the right women then, Jay.”
My pulse starts pounding. What the hell is she doing? I get that she’s flirting, but right here and right now? What’s her endgame?
“Yeah,” I fire back at her, “guess I should’ve been hooking up with art majors.”
“Nah,” she responds with another throaty laugh. “Just girls who know what to do and aren’t afraid to.”
I frown in her direction just as she reaches over and puts her hand on my thigh.
Aw, shit. I tense up, my back going ramrod straight. “Mia…”
Tugging on her seat belt to loosen it, she shifts even closer. With her breasts pressed into my arm and her teeth grazing my earlobe, she murmurs, “You want an art lesson?”
Is she seriously doing this to me? My brain is sounding all kinds of alarms while my dick is happy dancing. Somehow sanity prevails and I manage to grind out, “Not while I’m driving seventy-five miles an hour on the freeway. In pouring rain.”
“Pull over then.” She sucks my earlobe into her mouth, and her hand slides up my thigh, up and up until she meets resistance.
My breath hisses out. “We’re on the freeway.”
“I’m pretty sure this qualifies as an emergency.” Her words sound like a seductive song in my ear, and I smell the faintly floral scent of her shampoo, which sparks memories of her naked in the shower. And me in there with her.
Without further ado, she grabs my crotch. Pushes down firmly but gently with the ball of her hand. A groan escapes me. Shit, that feels good. I should tell her to stop. There’s no way I’m telling her to stop. This would be one hell of a way to die, and right now it almost seems worth it.
But just almost. So with a sharp turn of the wheel, I steer the car onto the shoulder. Slam the brake too hard, and when we start skidding on the slick asphalt, I ease up and let us slowly coast to a halt instead, at the bottom of a slope in the middle of a long and gentle curve. The wipers are going too fast now that we’re stopped, scraping back and forth on the windshield with a squeaky, rubbery whine.
My heart is thumping, my breaths coming out in harsh, panting gulps. Mia moves away to unsnap her seat belt, next doing the same to mine. Goddamn. I’m staring at her as she leans over and undoes the belt on my shorts. Button and zipper follow in one, two, three seconds. Drawing my underwear out of the way, she wraps her hand around the base of my cock, and then she takes it into her mouth.
A choked moan comes out from deep in my chest. Holy mother of— Is this actually happening? I look down for visual confirmation. One hand supporting herself on the emergency brake, she’s bent over my lap, and all I see is her mass of brown hair fallen down to hide her face. Her mouth is so damn hot and so damn wet, and she slowly slides it down my length, her tongue stroking the sensitive underside.
Muted music plays through the speakers, a hoarse voice crying out unintelligible lyrics above the muddy, dissonant sounds of electric instruments. Rain whips the windows all around us, and the rubbery grating of the wipers swinging swiftly back and forth is the loudest noise in here, next to my rasping breaths.
Running her mouth up and down my erection, Mia reaches in to cup my balls. I’m panting, gasping. Through the windshield I can see cars shooting past us. Feeling like my hand is operating independently, I reach up and twist the lever to turn off the wipers. Immediately rivulets of water cover all the windows, and we’re hidden from the outside. And I can relax just a little bit.
Resting with her right arm above my knees, Mia tilts her head back and releases me, pushing her hair away from her face. While locking her gaze onto mine, she touches the head of my dick with the tip of her tongue. Swirls it around, tasting and teasing. Her eyes are dancing, sparking with a dark fire and something else—something that seems almost like possessiveness.
Holy hell. She’s enjoying it. Loving it. And she wants me to see it, that she’s not doing this because she feels she has to or as a favor or to score points. She’s doing it because she wants to. It’s stupefyingly amazing, so arousing that any minute now I’m going to crack and burst.
Closing her eyes, she plunges down again, drawing me all the way into her slippery mouth. As my cock hits the back of her throat, my breath rushes out with a groan. Arching up into her, I bury my hand in her thick hair, curling the smooth strands around my fingers as her head slowly bobs.
She takes her time, using her mouth, tongue, lips, hand, and even her teeth—carefully, leisurely. Over and over she pushes me close to the edge, pulling back at the last moment, driving me crazy. Just as I’m about to lose it and start begging, her movements change.
Grasping me tightly, she starts rubbing in a twisting motion, her mouth following along each time she dips down. No more teasing. She sucks faster, clenches my shaft with firm confidence, her other hand tugging gently on my balls, and just like that, I lose control. The pressure boils over. She slows down and eases her grip as I’m coming, coming so fucking hard, first with tingly, shooting sparks, and then with a hot surge deep into her mouth.
She stays there while my brain goes numb and that sense of utter and complete release is coursing through me, that feeling of everything being right with the world. Then she lets go and pushes herself up so she has one hand braced on the emergency brake and the other on my thigh. My eyes still blurred with hazy euphoria, I see her watching me with a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. And I notice her throat working as she swallows.
Holy shit. What the hell did she just do to me? If that was art, she’s Picasso. It’s like the ground has shifted below me, my perspective now skewed. I’ll never be the same. I have a new definition of ecstasy, and Mia’s mouth on my dick is going to haunt my dreams. Forever.
Inching up so that we’re face-to-face, she tilts her head and presses her lips against mine, nudging with her tongue until I open my mouth and let her inside. I put my hands on the curve of her hips, pull her close as we kiss slowly and thoroughly.
She breaks it off and pulls back far enough that her face comes into focus—the pale-green eyes, the long and straight nose, and the wide and full lips, swollen a deep dark pink.
Her voice a strong, provocative whisper, she says, “That’s what you taste like.”
Hearing my own words echoed back at me brings me back to the first time I saw her naked, the first time I had my face between her thighs, the first time I heard her high-pitched whimpers w
hile my fingers stroked inside her.
And I’m gutted by the realization that I want her more now, more than ever. She really is like an addiction. She’s in my veins. Wild, uninhibited, carefree Mia. They almost gush out of me, the words that are ballooning up from my chest and into my mind, where they take on a recognizable shape.
A recognizable and terrifying shape. I catch only a glimpse of the feeling before I push it away, bury it deep.
And because I need to make sure it stays there, I grip her by the upper arms and grind out, “You’re a fucking menace.”
She jerks back, her eyebrows knitting. “Are you actually mad at me?”
“No.” The admission escapes before I can pull it back. Then I amend it with, “Maybe a little bit.”
She tugs on her arms, and as I let her go, she shoves herself back into her own seat. Where she sits and stares at me, her eyes big and naked. “I’m sorry. I guess. It won’t happen again.”
“Okay, that’s not what I—” Heaving an aggressive sigh, I start putting my clothes to right again. “If a cop happened to drive by and decided to stop and check on us, we could’ve been arrested. Do you understand?”
I give her a hard look as I slide the end of my belt into the loop and let my shirt fall down over it.
Her gaze flashes with annoyance and obstinacy. “Why didn’t you stop me then?”
My breath rushes out with a humorless laugh. “You made it kind of difficult to think clearly.”
The irritation leaves her expression, replaced by smugness. “Told you it’s an art form.”
Yeah, and she’s a freaking master artist. I have to look away from her. Because I’m not sure if I stand a chance of getting through to her, and it’s making me want to punch something.
“You know,” I say, reaching up to flip on the windshield wipers again, “you’ve never been arrested, so take it from me. It’s not a joke.”
In fact, it’s terrifying, confusing, and humiliating. You have no idea what’s going to happen to you, how long you’ll be locked up, or if you just made the one stupid choice that’s going to ruin the rest of your life. I can still remember how I couldn’t stop shaking, can still smell the rank bodies in the crowded holding cell and the mix of disinfectant and shit and piss from the toilet in our midst. Can feel the pain of my bladder about to burst because there was no way I was going to relieve myself in front of that audience. Can taste the “food” on my breakfast tray.
Bend Page 14