by Tracy Ellen
A minute later, Luke was back in the truck and we were on our way south down I-35 towards Owatonna.
“Who was the guy you were talking to inside the gas station?”
“Just a guy needing directions,” Luke replied vaguely, and then he turned down the volume of the radio even more. “Look, we got sidetracked back at the apartment, but I haven’t forgotten anything you told me earlier tonight.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, rather taken aback he’d brought up the subject. It was my experience men would rather have a tooth pulled, sans Novocain, versus voluntarily discussing female problems. “So what do you think?”
“I think they’re adults and can make their own decisions. Try not to worry or get involved.”
Choking on my swig of water, I threw the bottle top at him. “Good try, Drake. Now, all joking aside, what do you really think?”
Luke intercepted the cap mid-air. I was impressed when he tossed it into the well of the console drink holder without looking or swerving the truck an iota.
“What do I really think?” He lifted a shoulder, but kept his eyes on the road. “Truthfully, I don’t give a damn about Max Byrd and Jazy’s sex life or anybody else’s, but ours. You and your protégé,” a smile tugged at his mouth at the word, “will both reap benefits from your association. Anna and Reggie are stressed, but they’ll be okay in the long run. I’m with you in wishing Stella and Eric George weren’t getting hitched and becoming parents at such a young age, although Eric George is a nice kid. Married or not, NanaBel will never stay gone too long from all of you. Tre J is too smart to go to prison, and Jazy belongs in prison, so either way works out there.” Even in the dark cab, his look was pointed. “If you refuse to tell me what’s going on and you end up in prison, don’t waste your phone call on me or expect me to wait.” I huffed at that, but Luke continued without pause, “I don’t know Kenna, but I know addicts. A person can do nothing for them unless they’re open to accepting help. My employees are my business, so forget about your cousin, unless you want to tell me what’s going on there?” His questioning brow taunted me. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
Luke wasn’t kidding when he said he hadn’t forgotten. I remembered to close my mouth.
I regretted my impulse to share my inner concerns with Luke. Not out of lack of trust, but to prevent his worry that I could be in trouble, but not allowing his help. From his years in the service, Luke was used to, quite literally, saving the lives of others. Even though I was used to taking care of me, our relationship had progressed to the point where I wouldn’t hold back from Luke for that reason any longer. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell Luke about Jazy and Tre J stealing abused horses or the ex-cousin possibly having proof of their crimes, I had been sworn to secrecy. I was not one of those women who swore to keep your secret, but then told their boyfriend of the moment everything. As if being part of a couple meant you also shared one brain and one mouth. That was not my concept of being a good friend or keeping a secret.
I thought over the answers of Luke’s almost perfect recital, agreeing with most of his conclusions--except about his employee. That was one person I would love to forget about forever, but couldn’t afford to turn my back on for a millisecond.
“Did you forget James Byrd?”
Luke sent me another dark glance across the cab. “No, I did not.”
“Oh?” I raised my brows at his brusque tone, my heart suddenly thudding faster.
“Be friends with anyone you like,” he responded flatly, “but I’ll be very disappointed if you ask other men questions about their sex life.”
“Oh.” I hated when he used that disappointed line. In my defense, I explained, “Well, it wasn’t like I meant to question strange men off the streets. Why would you be disappointed if I ask men friends some questions?”
Luke’s fingers started to drum on the steering wheel, but he looked down at those digits like they were aliens and curled his hand into a fist. “Why don’t you give me an example of a question you’d ask?”
“Umm…” Avoiding looking at his still hand, I scrambled for a question. “I’d ask them to name their top three sexual fantasies.” I nodded, and then amended, “Their deep down fantasies.”
I got a sharp, appraising look, and then his eyes were back on the road, but his laugh was short. “Anabel, men won’t talk to you about their sex fantasies. Not their real fantasies. Most people won’t even admit they have fantasies, much less discuss them out loud with the opposite sex.”
“Huh.” I thought over what he said and pointed out reasonably, “But you and I have always talked about sex and our real fantasies.”
“I’ve always wanted to fuck you. Of course I’ll talk about sex with you.” There was a quick glimpse of his wicked grin. “But can you imagine if Stella or Anna came up and point-blank asked me to describe my deep down sexual fantasies? Or one of my women friends you don’t know?” His fingers kept a tally while he said, “You can question your sisters, girlfriends, and probably your gay friends and get some honest answers, but heterosexual men?” He laughed again. “Trust me; straight dudes talk sex only if they want to get in your pants. Otherwise, they’ll be embarrassed as hell you asked and not tell you a thing.”
I was silent, busy in my head listing the casual male friends that I knew for a fact didn’t like-like me.
In the past, some of those guy friends have talked about their sexual exploits. They’ve named names and made offhand comments. I mean, what girl wants to be told some other woman they know has areolas the size of saucers or has a cottage cheese ass that Kemp’s would be happy to package and sell?
Not me, that’s for sure.
Yet, against my will, big mouth guys have told me those unpleasant details and many, many more.
However, try as I might, it was impossible to imagine any of my male friends being anything but freaked out if I asked direct questions on sexual subjects that interested me such as blowjob techniques and the proper use of cock rings or Ben Wa balls. Then I thought of James Byrd. He was the one man I was certain would give me straight answers, but it was tainted intel since he wanted in my pants.
As for other women asking Luke sex questions…
‘Damn!’
At my continued silence, Luke repeated with a note of quiet finality, “Trust me on this one, Anabel.” His eyes lingered over me and his deep voice was soft in the night. “Besides, you can ask me anything. I promise to answer all your questions.”
That was the problem. Luke knew everything and had done everything. He was a sex god. I was a newbie in comparison, and sometimes it felt like a bumbling newbie at that. Not from anything Luke had ever done or said. It was my own internal competitive nature driving my quest for knowledge.
Some people may be innately more sensual than others, but nobody was born knowing sexual techniques that will blow their partner’s socks off. Having an intense attraction and being emotionally connected to Luke heightened the lovemaking pleasure factor into something incredibly magnificent, but wouldn’t those mountainous highs erode into smaller and smaller hills if I didn’t continuously improve my bedroom techniques? All said and done, bumbling was still bumbling.
If the sex act was anything like the other subjects or sports I’ve mastered in my life, it will take hours and hours of dedicated practice for me to become a skilled expert. I was willing to put in the practice time.
I thought in exasperation, ‘Geez, but didn’t logic dictate a girl has to have some way of finding out just what exactly the techniques are she's supposed to master? How can I prioritize them into a list to improve my performance if I don’t know what the heck to practice?’
When it’s a physical sport, I usually took lessons first to learn the basics and listened carefully to the instructors. Take yoga, for example, and the simple downward facing dog pose. A mere inch to the left or right in the placement of hands and feet was the difference between struggling to hold the pose and effortlessly sticking my butt in the ai
r all day.
When I researched a subject, I first went directly to the best source of information and worked my way from there. That source could be an expert in the field, books, or online browsing.
Where sex was concerned, the opposite sex is both the best instructor and the best source for data gathering. It was beyond frustrating men were so emotionally sensitive they couldn’t handle direct questioning without getting a stiffy or shying away like damn little crybabies.
I sighed deeply and faced Luke. “Thank you for that, and I do love your open candor.” Lovemaking was a subject I preferred not incurring Luke’s disappointment, so I shared a little of my thought process. “You see, I hoped to get some advice first hand from other real men, and not from the internet where my searches always end up on torture pages that are absolutely terrifying,” I shuddered at the ghastly image forever embedded in my brain of that poor woman roasting like a suckling pig on a spit over an open fire, “so I could surprise you with some fun sexy stuff.”
Luke’s stare was long enough he had to swerve the truck a little back into our lane. “Anabel, trust me on this, too. You constantly surprise me. Have you ever considered how hot it is when you ask me questions about sex?”
“It is?”
“Fuck yeah.” He put his hand on my thigh and his voice was so low I had to move closer to hear. “You’re this provocatively confident woman, yet I’m the man who gets to do these sexual things with you, to you, a lot of them for your first time. When I’m not fucking you, I’m thinking of ways I want to fuck you. I dream of fucking you.” He looked over and arched a brow, his voice dangerously quiet when he challenged, “Is that hot enough for you, Anabel?”
Eyes wide, I nodded quickly.
‘Oh my God, jump that fine ass right now! And bite him, bite him hard,’ the sex kitten voice screamed.
‘If she doesn’t, I will,’ the accountant voice squealed hysterically.
‘Control! This is a pivotal moment,’ the mean mommy voice barked out.
‘What she said, plus a truck going seventy is no place to be jumping around and biting,’ the detective voice calmly agreed.
Luke’s amazing fucking confession went a long way towards easing my dismay at the evidence he was well aware I had experienced so many firsts with him. It was also clear by Torquemada’s tone that I wasn’t alone when it came to resenting being emotionally out of control over another human, regardless of how wonderfully tormenting it was to be so lustfully in love.
So, I lightened the mood.
“Do you mean it’s kind of super-erotic like I’m this innocent, blushing girl that willingly obeys anything her big, strong sex god wants her to do?”
“Exactly right,” the tension left Luke’s shoulders, and his voice was smooth as melted dark chocolate while his hand glided higher up my thigh, “except you’ve never been a blushing innocent, thank God, and don’t have a willingly submissive bone in your body.”
“True story, although I do wish your bone was in my body right now.” I sighed again, wistfully. “But I guess we don’t want to roll our truck.”
Luke’s hand tightened briefly, but then resumed its tantalizing glide and I smiled a little in the dark cab.
He rubbed a long finger up and down the seam between my legs. He was pressing right there when he stopped to ask huskily, “Do you know the number one reason why I agreed to be your boyfriend when you begged me in my barn?”
“Honestly, I’ve always wondered how I pulled that off.”
I was an innocent, almost-virgin who didn’t know any differently, so it wasn’t my fault when my thighs spread further apart in pursuit of his malingering finger.
“Since I live out on a farm now, I’m spending a lot of time driving in my truck.” Luke’s finger traced over me lightly before gliding up to unsnap my jeans with one hand. Next, he leaned over and unsnapped my seat belt. His grin was wide. “And you happened to have the perfect stubby little legs to take advantage of all this free time. So put them to good use, Sweetheart, and straddle me. Don’t worry, I won’t roll the…our truck.”
I responded haughtily, “Listen, Mr. Insatiable, I prefer my perfectly proportioned petite legs to be described as elegantly slender.”
But I did as he asked, although it was a leisurely strip show of lifting and wriggling to slowly slide the jeans and panties down over my butt and thighs.
“I bet you do,” Luke laughed, but his glance was hot on my bare legs when I faced him on my knees on my seat while playing with the zipper of my short hoodie. He pointed down to his lap. “Now, enough talking. Be a good girlfriend and get over here to please your man.”
I pressed my thighs together when my cha-cha tightened in response to his soft command and there was a bit of a plaintive note in my voice when I asked, “Why do I practically come when you order me around?”
Luke’s answer to that question was a slow, arrogant smile as he undid his jeans.
“Oh, hello there,” I replied admiringly while carefully navigating the console. Raising my eyes to Luke’s, I matched his wide grin. “Okay, I guess that would be my first answer why, too.”
Going seventy miles per hour down I-35 with my moans buried high in Luke’s neck and his penis buried high inside my mons was another intoxicating first.
‘Geez Louise, what an ignoramus I am. Once again, Luke is right. No guy friend can give me the answers I want better than him. He’s my wiki-man, for sure.’ I swiveled my hips and rode him faster. ‘I guess my boyfriend is stuck with my inexperience, my inseam, and my internet acumen, God save him.’
Chapter IV
“Love is a Battlefield” by Pat Benatar
Tuesday 12/18
6:05 AM
Mumbling that it was my party and I’d cry if I want to, I pushed away a fragment of a bad dream featuring my ex-cousin. In it, she had a Bessie the Cow face and a long, gray tongue. Swimming blearily to consciousness, I realized it wasn’t such a bad dream after all.
I blinked at the much prettier lupine face staring back at me from the pillow bunched up next to mine. “Hey there,” he smoothed a hunk of hair off my face, “I’m going home to see John and Daniel before they leave for Chicago this morning. Want to join me and then have a workout in the barn?”
“Mmm, can’t.” Stretching, I groaned in pain and burrowed my head deeper under the covers.
“The no work rule for the birthday girl includes workouts?” Even with my head under a pillow, I heard the amusement in his voice.
“That, too, but I literally can’t move.” I was embarrassingly stiff and sore from all the extracurricular activity of the last couple of nights after my dry spell of no Luke Drake for a week. That last go around in our truck was resplendent, but I think I ruptured something important.
‘Moderation in all things…’ the mean mommy voice quoted piously.
“Moderate this.” I barely managed to twirl my middle finger.
“What?” Luke laughed.
“Oh, crap--not you.”
He teased, “Are you under the blankets talking on the phone to the voices in your head again?”
“No phone this time,” I mumbled sheepishly, slowly pushing up on one elbow and changing the subject to one equally as mortifying. “Sorry I missed out on our ninja mission last night.”
He moved a muscled shoulder in unconcern, but his eyes were gleaming.
After the rapture in the truck, I must have passed out. I don’t remember anything until Luke was carrying me up to my room. I woke up long enough to thank Luke for taking off my remaining clothes before falling deeply asleep again. I bet Luke didn’t have to do that on missions with John Smith.
Cheeks burning, I covered my eyes with a hand and groaned again. “Is one of the Ogelbachen brothers dead yet?”
“He was alive when I saw him last at the poker game a couple of hours ago.”
I dropped my hand at that news. “Well, crap again.”
Luke sat up a little and crossed his arms behind his head. �
��Yeah, there’s a reason you call them morons.”
“Yes, but…” my voice trailed off. I was somewhat surprised at the dismay I felt at the confirmation one of the morons was not long for this world. I didn’t like the Ogelbachen brothers, but dead seemed such an extreme response.
I groggily regarded the virile, bare-chested man in all his bronzed glory reclining against my fluffy white pillows, itching to get the day started after two hours of sleep.
He raised a brow at my stare.
“Are you regretting I asked you to come with me last night and told you my business?” Luke asked the question evenly, but there was something lurking in the back of his eyes that made me aware my answer was important.
“Oh no, we’re partners, so don’t worry about that,” I assured him immediately, and then tapped my lip in consideration before admitting truthfully, if against my will, “but we may need to nix the sex part of our missions. It seems to adversely affect my ability to stay conscious.” I absently stroked his arm and frowned in thought. “Hey, I know. Maybe we could just tease each other, but not go all the way until after the mission is completed? It seems like it’s the vigorous intercourse that’s the culprit, not when you touch me…”
While I was speaking, Luke had slowly slid down the bed to lie flat on his back next to me, pulling my covers off with him until they pooled at my hips. He raised his brows in mock surprise when I tapered off talking to watch him move.
My entire body trembled from contact with the frigid winter morning air seeping through the barely cracked open window. It chilled the room to a perfect temperature for sleeping under a down comforter, but played hell on a naked torso.