Chet tosses the blankets over his shoulder and climbs down the ladder, guiding me to follow him. Once I near the end of the ladder, he grips my hips and lowers me. He takes my hand and leads me inside the much warmer bus. The hum of electricity surrounds us, but Chet turns off most of the lights once we enter, leaving on only the soft-glowing lamp over his stove. We stare at one another a second, and my shivers return. I’m still cold in my clothing cooled by the night air, but his gaze on me causes my skin to heat.
“Take off your clothes, darlin’.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded by the directness, and don’t move.
“We aren’t talking anymore tonight,” he adds. In many ways, I’m relieved. I’m talked out. I don’t want to keep offering confessions of my past. I’ve let so much of it go, and it needs to stay where it belongs—behind me.
“You can strip, or I’ll strip you. What’s your choice?” That gleam in his eyes turns devilish but not devious.
My hands shake as I reach for the buttons on my coat and slowly unbutton them. He does the same with his leather jacket.
As I bend to unzip my boots, he mirrors my position to remove his own. Tugging them off, he exposes a sock with his big toe through the end. I’d laugh at the hole if I wasn’t so turned on by our matching striptease act and the building anticipation of being naked with him.
Next removed is my sweater. His thick fingers unbutton a few of the buttons on his flannel before he tugs it over his head by the back of the collar, revealing his broad chest and the mass of curls across it. My fingers twitch to run through that coarse hair. He eyes me, a brow arching, hinting at continuing our clothing-for-clothing disrobing.
Tit for tat.
Tits come next as I unclasp my bra, revealing my breasts, and his lips crook up in the corner. We stand facing each other, bare chest to bare chest, but we aren’t finished. I pop the button on my jeans and work them down my legs. Our eyes lock as he does the same with his pants. I need to sit in order to get the skinny fit over my ankles, so I collapse on the bench seat at his dining table. I watch him as he takes off his socks, and I do the same with mine.
A girlish giggle tickles my throat. I’ve never been so wound up watching a man take it all off.
“Best striptease ever,” he mutters as if reading my thoughts. Only one article of clothing remains on each of us. My skin pebbles, but his nearly naked body has me hot and bothered.
“One more piece, darlin’. Then sit on the edge of my bed.”
I’ve been naked before this man before, but this night feels different. I slip my fingers into the sides of my fancy lace panties.
“I love how you love pretty things.” He exhales before biting his lip as he watches my thong descend my legs. Once the thin fabric reaches my knees, I wiggle my legs to drop the lace further. I step out of the thin material and stand facing him as naked as one can be. My heart feels just as exposed. He’s going to ruin me.
“Bed,” he growls, leaving his boxer briefs on. I take the short steps backward until my thighs hit the top of his bed. The raised mattress is almost level with my backside, so I need to hike myself upward. Chet stalks toward me—a man on a mission. He clasps my knees, drops to his, and lowers his face between my thighs. Without preamble, he’s devouring me, tongue wild.
The sounds. The wetness. I grip the edge of the mattress as my body vibrates. I move to fall backward, but one strong hand catches me at the small of my back.
“Stay like this,” he demands. He hardly breaks his attention from his actions. The hand on my lower back remains in place, keeping me in a seated position, while his other hand joins his tongue. One finger forages forward, dipping into me before pulling out and a second joins the first. My knees spread wider, and if I thought I was exposed on the rooftop or standing bare before him, it’s nothing compared to what he’s doing to me right now.
And I’m loving every second of it.
Quickly, my body responds. My legs quiver. My feet dance beyond my control. I’m outside myself as both hands clutch at his hair, holding his head between my thighs. My mouth falls open as I come undone against his tongue. He’s relentless until I beg him to stop. I need a breather, but he doesn’t halt. He continues his feast, adding a second finger and nipping at me in a new way. The second release crashes into the first, and I cry out his name, unfamiliar with my own voice.
He abruptly pulls away from me and rubs his moistened lips against my inner thigh. Standing, he startles me, which is absurd, but I fall back on the bed.
His boxers slip down his hips, and he’s at my entrance.
“I have an IUD now,” I blurt, not knowing why I’m announcing it quite the way I am or why I’m so loud.
“Thank fuck,” he states. “You need to feel this. For once, you need it real and raw. You need to feel all of me inside you.” Without further ado, he slips into me, fast and hard. My feet kick at the walls on the edge of his bed. My fingers fist into the sheets under me. I feel all of him. The length. The depth. The fullness. I feel him down to my toes and at the ends of my hair. He’s filling my soul and my heart beats in a way that matches the rhythmic thrusts of him.
I’ve. Never. Felt. Anything. This. Incredible.
I don’t allow my thoughts to dip into my memories. The most important moment is now. Him. Me. Nothing will ever compare to this sensation. He moves, and the friction, the tension, the rush of skin against skin . . . I’m outside myself again.
He takes his time to work me. In and out. Back and forth. I’m upside down and turned around. He lifts my leg to rest my ankle at his shoulder and he nips at me there. I’m so grateful for yoga, but this isn’t what I’d ever had in mind with my classes. I’m open to him in a new way. He grunts and growls, words incomprehensible as his hand coasts down my shin.
My hips move. My pelvis thrusts. I place my free foot on the edge of the mattress for leverage and I let myself loose. I meet this man surge for surge. With his hands gripping my hips, squeezing hard, I’m certain there will be marks, and I want to wear them. I want the evidence he lost control over me like I continually lose control over him. He lifts me by said hips. My backside clearly off the bed, and then he stills within my depths. Every jolt, every pulse, every everything happens within me, and my heart hammers in my chest.
I’ll never be the same after this.
Him. Me. And this moment.
Chapter 22
Coffee Run
[Chet]
In the morning, a part of me has risen with the sunshine and cannot be denied. With Scotia’s backside pressing against my front, I want to hike her leg over my thigh, opening her up to my exploration. But I have a question first.
I perch up on an elbow and kiss her shoulder. “Explain the IUD to me,” I say, wondering when that happened.
“Well, after what happened at Winston Auto . . .” Her voice drifts, not needing to clarify further. “I went to the doctor. I just couldn’t bear that happening again and so publicly. The doctor recommended an IUD to help . . . you know . . . and I just thought you should know.” She rolls to bury her face in the pillow and mumbles something else.
My hand gently pulls at her shoulder, guiding her back to a position where I can hear her.
“So what exactly does this mean?” Last night, she didn’t stop me from doing what we did. For once, she didn’t ask for a condom, either.
“It means, although it’s typically a form of protection, which it still is, in my case, it’s also there for another purpose.”
The only word I needed to hear is protection. “You okay, darlin’? Should we have done what we did last night or waited?” I pause a second, pondering. “And when did you have this done?”
“At the beginning of the week.”
“That why you didn’t come to Harper House?”
“It was. I just wanted a day to rest after the procedure, but I’m okay. We can do . . . things.” Her eyes close, clearly embarrassed by the openness of this conversation. My hand strokes up and d
own her arm.
“You should have told me. I could have taken you to the appointment or something.”
Her face pinkens. “That wasn’t necessary, but you’re sweet.”
I lean forward, kissing her mouth as best I can in this position. Quickly, we gain momentum, and I’m fully ready to enter her. Rolling her back to her side, I skim my hand over her belly to tug our bodies flush and lower my fingers between her legs, finding her willing and ready for me. I hitch her leg over my thigh and wedge myself between her spread ones.
“Like this?” She gulps.
“Just like this, darlin’.” We remain on our sides—her back to my front—as I slide into her. Her breath hitches, so I keep it slow as the angle is different. She guides me into her body, fitting over me so well. I cup her shoulder and press her forward a bit, bending her a little while my other hand still works her pleasure point. My dick glides in and out of her.
“Chet,” she whispers, her voice catching on my name.
“Get there, darlin’. It’s gonna be quick for me.” I want to take my time with her, but my body is too revved up. With this new freedom to be bare, I’m coming out of my skin inside her. I want to chase this woman into morning ecstasy.
“I don’t know . . .” Her voice drifts, but she’s responding to me. Her leg slips off my thigh, tightening her hold on me, and I’m ready to blow. I hiss as her thighs clench. Her ass presses back, meeting me thrust for thrust. My fingers play her like a fiddle, working the strings in a racing tempo, urging her to get where I’m going.
I can’t hold out. I still, firing off into her. She just feels so good. Then she lets loose, and her release prolongs everything. Silvery stars flash before me as she milks me dry.
“Sweet Jesus,” I curse, leaning back a bit when she finishes. I’m still attached to her, and my hand rests on her hip. “Are you okay?”
I hate to ask. I don’t want to wonder if she enjoyed it like I did. She pulls free of me and twists to look at me over her shoulder.
“I’m good.” Not the rave review a man wants to hear, so I lift my head to face her better.
“Good morning, darlin’.”
A smile crosses her lips. “Mornin’, Chet.” She leans toward me, and we kiss again for a long minute. This is the way to start a day.
Once we slowly rise and dress, a funny feeling fills my belly. I can’t define it exactly, but it feels like dressing rewinds who we were in that bed.
Suddenly, I’m awkward. “I don’t have coffee here. Usually take it in the bar.” I nervously scratch under my chin.
“Are you open this early?” she asks, her expression showing her disapproval. My heart skips a beat. I don’t like the fact she might be judging me . . . or maybe I’m jumping to conclusions.
“Actually, no. But Todd and I hang out in there handling business. I work remotely on most days and take care of things from the empty space during the morning hours.”
She nods as though she understands. We stand in my kitchen area, as much as you can consider this section of my bus a kitchen, with its booth seats and galley strip of mini-sized appliances.
“You said you had something to tell me last night. Was that it?” I nod toward the bed, meaning this new freedom to be bare. I’m not complaining about this information after last night and this morning, but it doesn’t seem like news worth driving almost an hour to tell me.
“No.” She blushes a bit. “It’s going to sound silly now, but the other day when I went to have my nails done, I saw a woman in the salon with a little boy who looked just like Malik. They looked eerily similar to each other,” she adds for emphasis while I try to dismiss the fact she said, had her nails done.
How am I standing before another woman who can’t paint her own damn nails?
“Did you ask her about him?” I question as a pressure builds on my sternum. We still haven’t been any closer to getting Malik to open up or to find someone searching for him as a missing person.
“I didn’t. I was too stunned by the boy. I even thought it was Malik at first and called him such.” She finishes flipping her hair and tugs at her sweater. Her movements are fidgety.
“What happened?”
“He stared at me with eyes like Malik’s. I can’t shake the look he was giving me as if maybe . . . I don’t know . . . he knew Malik, once I mentioned him.”
Propped casually against the countertop with my hands cupping the edge and my ankles crossed, my gaze doesn’t stray from her. I’m hyper focused. “Do you think that’s true?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice drops as her eyes shift. This woman certainly has a soft spot for that kid.
“Did the woman speak to you? Did she call the boy by a name?”
“She didn’t.” Scotia tilts her head. “She was very careful not to call him by name. She reminded the boy he shouldn’t speak to strangers. She also said they were new to the area, renting a cabin in the woods.”
This has my full attention, and I don’t like the thoughts running through my head.
“Do you remember anything about the woman? What she looked like?” I’m afraid to ask.
“Her hair color was all wrong for her, and I doubt Tabatha did the dye job. She has a much better eye and would never have colored that woman’s hair in such a brassy blonde. The shade didn’t compliment her skin tone, especially as her face looked like it had some work done. Her skin was pulled too tight on her forehead. And those lips. Botox.”
I chuckle without humor because, for once, it might be beneficial Scotia is so observant of someone’s flaws. Good to see our chat about right and wrong, and judging others hasn’t changed her. But I can’t ignore Scotia’s descriptions. I don’t want to believe I might know who she describes. The coincidence would be uncanny.
“Blonde, you said?” I feel uneasy thinking what I’m thinking.
“Brassy blonde,” Scotia clarifies.
“Ah.” I nod once, my head filling.
After her explanation, we walk to the bar, and I offer her a coffee in a to-go cup. I worry the sendoff hints at a brush off, but she tells me her day is full anyway.
“So, I guess I’ll see you . . .” Her voice drifts as I stand beside her SUV, facing her. Her thumb plays with the lid on her coffee. This is the part where I’m not good. I’m a successful businessman. I run a home for boys. I have excellent friends, but I’m shit at women. Especially as I don’t have them spend the night in my bus, so I’m out of my league here. Without thought, I reach for the white strip in Scotia’s hair and twirl the strands around my finger, rippling down to the ends. She slowly grins at me, and I think she likes the new habit I’m forming.
I should ask her out on a date, but the thing is, I don’t date. I’m more a hang out guy. Hang out at the bar. Hang out in my bus. Hang out with the boys. I don’t do fancy dinners and movie nights. Chester Chesterfield hates putting on airs and pretending to be polished, which is one reason he does it so rarely. Big Poppy and Chet? We despise that kind of formality.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll see you . . . soon,” I respond, sounding noncommittal and lame even to me. Yet I don’t move from leaning against the driver door, preventing her from entering her SUV, and I start the hair-twirling thing once again.
“I’m hosting a pickle party on Sunday at Genie’s Country Western Bar in Green Valley. Are you familiar with the place?” She told me National Pickle Day is November fourteenth. I still want to know about her husband’s phallic phobia and how it equates to her profession, but I don’t ask this morning. “Maybe you and the boys would like to stop by. If you come earlier in the evening, the crowd will be more families.”
My eyes follow the trail of my finger spiraled in her hair.
“Okay, darlin’,” I say, and the smile on her face explodes into a brightness the likes of which I haven’t seen in a long time on a woman.
“Okay.” She places a hand on my chest and pats it twice. With her hand over my racing heart, I realize I’m in deep with this woman.
/> “Kiss me, Scotia.”
She glances around, noting the broad daylight. There’s only a bike or two in the lot. It’s early. And this is my territory. I’m not hiding out on my own property.
When she looks up at me, I cup her jaw and bring my mouth to hers, marking her for anyone to see.
I’m not fucking keeping her a secret.
No longer touching her skin or playing with her hair, I’m suddenly rethinking things. As I watch Scotia drive away after turning that kiss into a mini-make-out scene against the side of her car, I realize deep with Scotia might be too deep. I’ve opened up to her more than I have any other person in years, and I don’t know why she brings stuff out in me.
I stare into the empty opening of The Tail after her car disappeared and questioned again what the hell I am doing with this woman because she’s going to leave me. At some point, she’s going to wise up and be gone for good.
By the time I re-enter the bar, Todd is present, and I’ve grown grumpy. A knowing expression fills his face. He looks so much like his brother, Nathan, but Todd’s face is edgier while Nathan’s is more playfully mischievous. Todd worked hard to keep his brother out of trouble and felt he failed his younger sibling all those years ago. Of course, the world has been restored to rights as Nathan has returned, found the love of his life, and lives on the straight and narrow now.
“I should fire your ass for that move last night,” I bark at him, still a little befuddled by how Scotia left this morning.
“She didn’t rock your world last night?” Todd teases, arching a brow, and heat rushes my cheeks.
“I didn’t say that,” I mutter.
“But there’s trouble in pickle paradise?” he jokes, topping off my coffee as I take a seat at my normal table in the empty bar. I like the quiet of the place. I’ve never been good at sitting in an office, underneath fluorescent lights and the watchful eye of others. I guess you can take the man out of the service station, but you can’t take the service station out of the man. I need to be outside the norm. Thus, the tiny house bus and the oversized home on the hill filled with kids, none of whom are my own.
Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9) Page 20