Drive: Cougars, Cars and Kink, Book 1

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  A yawn tried to take over. She opened her mouth to let it out, but instead of a yawn, what came out was, “I want to suck you, Neil. Please, may I suck your cock?”

  God yes was the answer that came to mind, but he dredged up a few more necessary words. “I don’t know if I can be gentle right now. If my dick goes into your mouth now, I’ll be fucking it. Do you like that?”

  Her eyes went wide, but she nodded. “Been a long time since I deep-throated anyone. Way out of practice. But hell yeah.”

  He detangled himself from around her. He swore his skin sighed, reluctant to lose contact. “Head over the side of the bed if you can. Don’t hurt yourself,” he added. “That’s my job.” This had all happened so fast he had no idea if she had any injuries and he wanted to make sure this wouldn’t be a problem. She complied dreamily, though, her eyes glazed, her mouth open, ready for him.

  He could imagine himself sliding between those rosy lips, almost feel himself in her mouth, down her throat. He wasn’t going to last long, but in this case, that was fine. Some acts were meant to be fast, hard and brutal, because otherwise they’d be too much for both parties.

  With one last effort to make his brain work, he stood, grabbed the keys out of the pocket of his discarded jeans, and handed them to her. “Drop these if it’s too much. Hard to talk with your mouth full and that noise should get through to me no matter how far gone I am.”

  She nodded, then said, “It won’t be too much, but thanks for thinking of this.” Her voice was breathy and shook slightly. It might have been lust or nerves, but he’d bet his motorcycle that it was both.

  He positioned himself next to the bed, bent his knees because the foldout was too low for this game, but he wasn’t about to stop to find a better location, and fed his cock into her open mouth. She swirled her tongue around his head as he entered her, and he knew she tasted his pre-come. Damn, her mouth was hot, and she was eager, and when he pushed back past that welcoming, exploring tongue, she took him deep. “Touch me if you want,” he managed to say before his mind went completely south into his balls. “I like that.”

  Then he lost himself. He thrust, but Suzanne wasn’t exactly passive, swirling her tongue as best she could around the onslaught, applying enough suction that he remembered the ridiculous old phrase about being able to suck the chrome off a bumper. God, she was taking him so well, the angle opening her throat to permit him deeper access. One of her hands explored his balls, the touch a little tentative for his taste but hell, any touch felt good at this stage.

  He looked down. Her hair swept down onto the floor, a red waterfall. Her face was contorted by his dick, flushed almost as red as her hair. As he watched her, she gulped and swallowed hard. Her mouth and throat contracted. Her eyes were screwed shut, but a few tears escaped to trickle down her cheeks. She raised the keys and he froze, expecting her to drop them, tap out. Instead, she waved them like a tiny, rattly pom-pom as if signaling to him that everything was fine. She opened her eyes then, and tears or not, they were happy, though drunken-looking, glazed by desire.

  She winked.

  It took him half a second to process. He’d been face-fucking her hard enough to bring tears to her eyes and make her gag, but Suzanne Mayhew had just winked at him.

  From deep within his lust-addled brain, he dredged up words. “You sure?” He couldn’t remember why it was important to verify, couldn’t think that clearly, but instincts pushed him to get consent even more strongly than they urged him to keep thrusting into that avid mouth, keep feeling the back of her throat against his dick head.

  She rattled the keys again. As she did, she moved her head to take him deeper, back to where he’d been when he thought he might have gone too far. She was hot, wet, gripping bliss and hell, if she was okay with him letting loose, he would.

  His hips snapped. He pistoned into her mouth as if it was her cunt and she’d just begged him to fuck her hard. More half-choked tears and a messy sniffle that was sexy under the circumstances, but she didn’t stop, and the hand on his balls, oh good lord, moved to torment his sensitive taint.

  “I’m going to come,” he warned. “Come so hard right down your throat.” His own words added to his rising excitement, but nothing compared to how he felt when she tightened her mouth and somehow, magically, her throat.

  With a cry that hardly sounded human to his own ears, he exploded, draining himself into her mouth.

  Her eager mouth.

  She was taking his come like it was chocolate sauce or good booze, and that made him twitch and spurt again. He swore his balls were wringing themselves out, an orgasm so intense it verged on pain and he got, on a visceral level, that line submissives liked to ride where hurt and ecstasy blurred.

  Finally, he had to pull away, leaving a dribble of white fluid on Suzanne’s cheek. Her tongue darted out, tried to catch it. When she couldn’t quite reach, she swiped it with her finger, then sucked the finger deep into her mouth. Her eyes were still shut, her head still lolled off the bed, and though her cheeks were glazed with tears, he could see now that he wasn’t distracted where her other hand had gone.

  The keys rested on the bed next to her hip, and her other hand was between her legs, masturbating for all she was worth. “Don’t think I can come again,” she said, “but it feels good.”

  His dick was exhausted, but the part of his brain where the lust lived surged, trying desperately to rise to this nasty, gorgeous occasion. No, his body was done. Even his hands and tongue didn’t seem quite ready to respond to his commands. But sometimes you didn’t need your body to finish bringing someone off.

  “Suzanne, come!” he barked in his best Dom voice. “Come for me now. Show me how much you liked my dick fucking your throat.”

  She cried his name as she came.

  And tired as he was, that was enough to make his spent cock twitch again.

  Chapter Nine

  Evidently exhausted by a long day, stress and many orgasms, Suzanne drifted to sleep quickly. Neil stayed by her side until her breathing changed and she softened into slumber, but even though he’d been the one who’d been determined to get some sleep—and even though he’d also had a day of weird stress and plenty of sex—he found he couldn’t join her. He kept squirming, thinking at first the problem was the bed was wicked uncomfortable. He might not have noticed, though, if too many thoughts hadn’t raced through his head.

  Yeah, he was in full cop-mode, tired or not.

  The stalker-types were probably car thieves, he decided. Most logical explanation, at least, and the logical explanation was often the right one. They’d heard about the car somehow, came to case the situation, and when he’d intervened, decided to step up their efforts from just stealing the car from the yard to tracking Suzanne and looking for a good opportunity for a car-jacking. Which kind of made him feel like shit, thinking his attempt to help a lady in distress might have made things worse, but if they were car thieves, they were a fairly organized bunch and someone—one of the suburban departments if not Boston—must be looking for them. He eased out of the foldout torture device, tiptoed to the lounge chair, picked up his phone. If he was this awake, he might as well try to figure a few things out.

  A text had come in. For a half second he hoped it was one of his contacts coming back with an answer or two. No such luck. It was Suzanne’s safe-call friend popping back with a short, enthusiastic Woot!

  Then he blinked. Looked at the text again.

  From someone named Janice.

  Was it a coincidence he knew someone named Janice…and so did John, who’d told him about the car?

  At least this was easy detective work. Check the phone log for the number the text came from. Compare it to the one saved in his phone for Janice King.

  He suppressed a chuckle and an exclamation that might have woken Suzanne. Hot damn! Suzanne’s safe call was a friend of his, a Domme from the local kink
community.

  Janice was known for setting her friends up with people she thought might be fun playmates and maybe potential long-term partners. Usually she was direct but he could totally see her being sneaky about it if one of the friends in question was getting her feet wet after a long vanilla hiatus, and recently widowed to boot.

  Especially if the other party was him, because Janice had known him since he was a little twerp just old enough to go to munches and local events and she’d been the mentor who’d kept him from making too much of an ass of himself while he figured out how to use his dominant impulses for good. Suzanne was the type of woman Janice knew he went for, but he’d get a little twitchy if the seemingly perfect woman got thrown at him. And Janice, being no idiot, would know that.

  Hell, he should get twitchy now, with Janice and John ganging up on him like this. Instead he had to smile. It was the perfect setup for him because he’d asked a few friends to keep their eyes open for a project car. If there hadn’t been a spark between him and Suzanne, he’d have checked out the car and either made an offer on it or not, no harm, no foul, no awkward moment when you know a mutual friend was trying to set you up and the two of you were staring at each other thinking, no way, no how, not if you were the last living member of a gender I’m willing to fuck.

  He went back to Janice’s text, hit Reply, and typed in: This is Neil. You sneaky bitch, I love you. He thought for a minute and added a smiley face before he hit Send.

  Janice didn’t need to know the whole mess with car thieves and stalkers yet, though once they got it straightened out, they’d all need to go out for a drink—John and his wife too—and share the whole crazy story.

  However, she did need to know he was on to her little game and was getting a kick out of it. He was Boston PD. Give him a little credit.

  And speaking of Boston PD, now that he was done tweaking Janice, he had work to do.

  But two hours later, he was no closer to a clue into their situation (though he’d gotten a text back from Janice with nothing but an emoji of a face sticking its tongue out while grinning). He yawned and his skull felt like it was about to split.

  This would be easier on the computers at work, where he had access to more sources. Even if it wasn’t, he wasn’t going to do much good three-quarters asleep. He curled up next to Suzanne who grunted in her sleep and moved over to give him more room.

  The bed was hellish and he briefly regretted not using Sam’s bed. But he was way too tired to deal with it now, and Suzanne was fast asleep.

  Having her curled up next to him felt so natural it would have been scary if he had the brain space to be concerned about how fast he was falling for her. Luckily, he didn’t.

  A weird kind of bright side to having stumbled into a bizarre stalking situation was that it was hard to freak out about the stupid things when there was something serious to worry about.

  * * * * *

  Suzanne had no clear memories of the car ride back from the Cape to Neil’s house in Dorchester, and only a few impressions of the house. A two-family, older but well maintained. Not much in the way of décor, but she really only saw the downstairs bathroom while Neil stashed the Mustang somewhere in his garage and picked up his car, which to her surprise and delight was a metallic green Challenger. He laughed as he ushered her into the 70s muscle car’s bucket seat. “This was my grandfather’s. Being a car freak runs in the family. Hope you don’t mind if I leave my bike at your place a while longer. At this hour, I’m not about to wake my dad up and have him give me a ride to Bellwood.”

  “Ashamed of me?” Suzanne managed to joke.

  He snorted as he started the car. She liked the way its engine roared. “Hell no, but it’s four in the morning and now that he’s retired, Dad takes about an hour and a gallon of black coffee to find his glasses, let alone drive safely. But I do have to let him know the Mustang’s in the garage. He’s bound to go out there at some point.” He paused. “After my mom died, Dad got depressed. I know, duh, but this was a medical-problem depressed, not just sad. Once he retired, it reached the point he’d forget to eat and stuff. I’d inherited the duplex from my grandparents and I knew my tenant was leaving in a few months so I tried to convince Dad he’d be doing me a favor to sell the old house and move in.”

  “That was a nice thing to do.” She wasn’t sure what she said even made sense. She was mostly talking for noise as the car ate up the road, heading south toward her house.

  Her empty, lonely house.

  The house that the bad guys could find way too easily. But she had to go home because she had appointments with clients in Bellwood tomorrow and all her notes were there.

  Besides, Neil hadn’t offered to let her stay at his place and she wasn’t about to impose. They’d had a great time, but it was an impulsive fling made more intense by the sense of danger. She was fifteen years older than he was, for heaven’s sake. This wasn’t going to last.

  Still, she was going to enjoy the hell out of the fling and any other fun she could get out of this craziness.

  She cocked her head at Neil, tried to study his face. It wasn’t easy in the dim light, but he looked thoughtful.

  “It didn’t work at first. He’d said he didn’t want to be in my way or lose his independence. But when I told him I was working on Gramps’s Challenger and could use some help restoring it, he got excited. Started hanging out here all the time. When the tenant moved out, he asked if he could move in because he’d found a project car himself and he liked my garage set-up better.”

  This time Suzanne’s brain clicked into gear before she answered. “Okay, that’s awesome. Sweet, but in a real, non-sappy way. I think I like your dad.”

  Neil rested his hand on her thigh. “He’d like you. I mean, he has a weakness for sexy redheads so you’d get a lot of borderline creepy old-dude flirting but I think he’d just plain like you.” He squeezed. “And since you put up so well with a borderline creepy young guy flirting you should be able to handle him.”

  Suzanne yawned, stretched, put her hand on top of Neil’s. In all the excitement of the day, she hadn’t taken a really good look at his hands before—it was hard not to be distracted by what his hands could do, not to mention the rakish blue eyes, abs, ass, cock and the dirty, dirty mind—but for a second the dim interior of the car, previously illuminated by dashboard lights, was lit up by the blaring floodlights of a construction zone. She noticed the calluses, the faint stains. Yeah, he worked with his hands.

  Frank had had calluses too, but he was as likely to get a manicure as she was. And despite playing under the hoods of his cars, he made sure his hands didn’t reflect that hobby. Certainly no stains. Frank was the CEO of a company. Even if, at heart, he was an engineer who loved to tinker, he also liked to be elegant.

  Neil wasn’t elegant. “And thank God for that,” she muttered.

  Luckily, Neil was dealing with a construction-related merge and didn’t pay attention to her cryptic remark, so she wasn’t forced to explain the whole thing.

  Neil, in fact, fell silent. Maybe he thought she’d want to doze, or maybe he needed a little quiet. He seemed like a man who might spend a lot of time in relative silence, not much given to small talk unless it served a purpose. Flirting seemed to count as a purpose.

  She closed her eyes, tried to let the roaring purr of the engine hypnotize her to sleep. It didn’t work. She’d managed not to worry too much about the pursuers this evening. Hell, it was hard to worry about too much of anything, or even think in a straight line, while having the best sex in decades or lost in a post-orgasmic haze. But in this patch of weary yet sleepless quiet, she could think.

  Neil had said something about car thieves on the drive up from the Cape, and that made sense. She wanted it to make sense.

  But what if it wasn’t car thieves? The man who’d gotten out of the car and talked to them—almost threatened them—hadn’t felt
thuggish. Menacing in a controlled way, but not thuggish. Sure, her idea of car thieves and other low-level criminals was based on movies and cop shows, but wouldn’t they be younger and rougher around the edges? Maybe their guys were the ones who scouted out the cars and someone else got their hands dirty doing the actual theft. They were management. Criminal management, but management.

  Which would explain why the guy had reminded her of a slightly exotic Frank until he’d opened his mouth and turned into an asshole—and honestly, he still had a bit after that. She couldn’t imagine Frank ever being rude in a threatening way, but he could be single-minded in pursuit of his goals and come off like a jerk.

  And that thought led her to Frank and his secrets. Maybe they’d found the name and learned about the car from something Frank had posted online. She thought he’d been involved in a couple of automotive forums. Neil might even know what they were, and they must be bookmarked on Frank’s laptop. Someone could have pieced together his identity and decided to rob him. Were they social enough sites that someone might have posted that he’d died?

  She’d check out the laptop in the morning, and she’d ask Neil if he’d heard about criminals trolling online for people who died leaving behind valuables that might not be obvious to less clued-in survivors.

  That decision reached, she was able to relax. Only a few exits left, not much point in sleeping, but she could close her eyes and rest…

  Neil had to wake her up when they pulled into the driveway. “I’m going to take a look around. Can you open the doors from here?”

  She punched him sleepily. “I could if my phone still worked, but all I can do for you is raise the garage door.” She pressed the remote on her key ring and the door opened. “It’s hard to tell in the dark, but it looks like both of Frank’s other cars and my Prius are still there. That’s something. We’ll have to get in the old-fashioned way.”

  “No, I’ll do it the old-fashioned way. You stay here until I know it’s clear.”