Love Happens

by Claudia Burgoa

  I giggled as I dragged the zipper down. “You’re worse than me. I only did it twice.”

  “I had a lot of material to work with after Saturday night. Oh fuck,” he breathed as I slid my hand inside his boxer briefs. “You shouldn’t even say that stuff to me while I’m driving, let alone touch my dick that way.”

  “Why not?” I freed his growing erection from his pants and swirled my fingers over the tip. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

  “It feels too good.”

  I stilled my hand. “Want me to stop?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled as we turned onto the highway. “Fuck no. Tell me about what you did. It will be a good exercise in control for me.”

  “Well, once was in the shower.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” I continued teasing the head of his cock, my touch light and playful. “And I wasn’t planning on doing it because it was in the morning before work, but then I remembered you in my shower, and I pictured your body with water streaming down your arms and chest and torso. I imagined getting my hands on your wet skin, and you getting your hands on mine, and before I knew it, I had my hand between my legs.”

  Levi took another deep, deep breath.

  “I thought about watching your cock get hard, how hot that would be. I pictured it getting bigger and thicker, imagined how it would feel in my fist, in my mouth, sliding inside me.”

  He reached over and ran his hand up the inside of my thigh. “God, I wish you’d worn a skirt. I want to feel your pussy right now so fucking badly.”

  “I’m wet, just like I was in the shower.” My voice was breathy and soft. His dick was hot and hard in my hand. “I told myself I didn’t have time to fool around, but I couldn’t stop.”

  “Fucking hell.” Leaning toward me slightly, he undid the button and zipper on my jeans. “I don’t care who sees. I have to touch you.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, I’d probably have zipped up my pants and crossed my legs. I was somewhat daring in bed, but public sex was not my thing. But fuck—it was my birthday.

  And Levi was no ordinary man.

  Plus, we sat up sort of high in the SUV, the windows were slightly tinted, and this stretch of highway wasn’t that crowded at two thirty in the afternoon. So instead of demurring, I slid them down a little, surprising myself—and shocking the hell out of Levi.

  “Oh God. Oh Jesus.” He moaned as he slipped his fingers between my legs and found me warm and wet, exactly like I’d said. “Keep talking.”

  I put my hand down his jeans again. “I started to fantasize that my fingers were the tip of your cock, and you wanted to get me off just like that—rubbing the tip against me.”

  As I talked, he used his fingertips on me like I’d done in the shower, probably not with as much artistry as he’d have liked but with my jeans only at my knees and his hand at an angle, he didn’t have a lot of room for finesse. Then there was the whole driving on the highway thing.

  Still.

  I felt the orgasm building and tried to move my hips to give him better access. If there was any lingering trepidation about being on the road, it vanished with the climb. “I kept saying no, you should stop, I’ll be late for work, but you just kept rubbing me harder and faster. You told me you wouldn’t stop until I came, and that even if you had to keep me there in the shower all day, you wouldn’t care.”

  “Fuck no, I wouldn’t.”

  “And it was so good, so good …” It was so good I couldn’t even talk anymore. I wrapped my hand around his cock and squeezed, my breath coming in sharp, quick pants, my hips thrusting against his fingers. “Levi, yes, yes, yes …”

  I moaned hard as my clit throbbed against his fingers, completely oblivious to our surroundings. When I finally opened my eyes and grabbed his wrist, stopping him from touching my sensitive nerves, I gasped. “Oh, God. We’re in the car.”

  “Yes, we are. And that was the best fucking thing that’s ever happened in my car. Ever.”

  I looked around and didn’t see any gawkers or hear any sirens, so I figured we were good … and I could keep going. Taking my hand off him only long enough to pull up my jeans, I angled my body toward his and resumed talking.

  “Want to hear about the second time?”

  “Uh. Yeah.” He flexed both hands on the wheel. “But I’m so fucking hard right now, I’m afraid of coming all over my clothes. So you have to be gentle.”

  I smiled. “Didn’t you pack other clothes?”

  “Not another dress shirt.”

  “I won’t mind if you wear the same thing twice,” I whispered, sliding my hand up and down his hot, thick shaft. “And I won’t tell anyone why.”

  He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. OK, you can talk, but I am not allowed to come.”

  “If you say so,” I said, starting with light, sweeping strokes that made him groan. A few beads of liquid desire wet my fingertips.

  “Fuck, fuck. What are you doing to me?”

  “I’ll tell you exactly.” Tucking one leg beneath myself, I gave him some slow, steady pulls. “The second time I got myself off this week, I was in bed. And I was thinking about being on top of you. How hard you were. I could feel it between my legs, and I wanted it inside me.” I circled the tip of his dick with my thumb and fingers and dragged my hand down gradually. “I slid down your cock nice and easy, just like that. You had me so wet. I was aching for you to fill me.”

  Levi’s jaw was clenched tight. “I can see you,” he said with quiet intensity. “So fucking hot.”

  “I took you in so deep it hurt—it always hurts a little—but I love it. I love the way my body hugs yours so tight, every inch of you.” Squeezing a little tighter, I moved my hand up and down his shaft, wishing I could get my mouth on him too. Actually, I wished I could straddle him and finish what we’d started that night, but I didn’t think that would be too safe in a moving car on US-131. The hand job would have to do.

  For now, anyway.

  “And I missed you there so much I had to get my vibrator out.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mmhm. I was nice and wet just from thinking about you, so I put it inside me and pretended it was you.”

  “Wait, wait. Did you ride it like you rode me? I need the whole picture.”

  I smiled. He was such a man, wanting the complete visual. “I did. It was a little tricky, but I got on my knees and put it between my legs, then I lowered myself onto it like I did when you were there. Right in the middle of my bed.”

  “Did it feel good?” he asked between pants.

  “It wasn’t even close to the real thing, but yes, it did.” I picked up the pace and pressure with my hand. “I remembered the way you felt as I slid up and down your cock, so hot and hard and wet with my pussy.”

  “Oh, God,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re totally gonna do this, aren’t you?”

  “Want me to stop, love? I will. We can save your nice shirt. Or,” I suggested, jerking him even harder, “you can come all over it. Drench it, like I wanted you to drench me, like I drenched my toy. I came so hard thinking about fucking your cock, riding it and yelling your name, I—”

  “Fuck!” Levi’s dick throbbed in my hand, and he exploded all over his dark blue shirt—and I mean exploded, thick streams shooting as high as his shoulder.

  It was a serious thing, an orgasm, but I felt like laughing the second he stopped desecrating his poor dress shirt. Oh God. Look at him.

  Breathing hard, Levi looked down to check the damage. “Wow. That’s, ah …”

  “Impressive.” I took my hand off him and bit my lip. “Got any napkins in here?”

  He glanced at me. “Are you laughing at me?”

  I tried to keep a straight face. Tried like eighty percent hard, maybe even ninety. “No.”

  “Christ, you’re as bad a liar as I am.” He grimaced but he was half-laughing too. “Check the glovebox. I might have something in there.”
>
  I opened the glovebox. Maps. A sunglasses case. A plastic dinosaur. “Nope. No napkins.”

  “Fuuuuuck.” Levi looked down at his shirt, and his dismayed expression was so funny to me, I completely dissolved into giggles.

  “Thanks a lot,” he said wryly. “This is all your fault, you know. Here I am taking you out on a nice, classy outing, courting you properly, and you caused a big mess. Are you even the least bit sorry?”

  “No. Oh my God, that shirt …” I put my hands over my stomach, which hurt from laughter. “It’s everywhere. It was like dynamite or something.”

  “It was all you.”

  “Um, I’m not sure I want the blame for that splatter-painted shirt.”

  He gave me a menacing look. “Looking for birthday spankings early, little girl?”

  I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

  He smiled and kept his focus on the road.

  Levi

  The look on her face when I threatened to spank her was hilarious—part scared, part intrigued, part wondering if I was teasing her.

  I wasn’t. I had plans for tonight.

  But fucking hell. What was I going to wear? I had a couple extra tshirts in my bag, which would actually be fine for food and drinks at the Journeyman Distillery, but she didn’t know that.

  I decided to play with her a little. “I need a new shirt. We’ll have to find somewhere to buy one.”

  “Seriously? Let me look in my bag. Maybe I have some tissues.” She scooped up her purse from the floor and set it in her lap.

  “Tissues? I need a Shop-Vac for this shirt. Fuck tissues.”

  “Oh, come on. Here.” She took a girly little packet of Kleenex from her bag and pulled one out, fluffing it up. “Let me try.”

  “I can do it.” I reached for the tissue, but she held it away from me.

  “I’ll do it. It was my fault, like you said.”

  She bit her lip like she was concentrating hard, but swiping at the jizz on my shirt with one piece of Kleenex was like trying to soak up Lake Michigan with a cotton ball.

  “Maybe I need two,” she said, and her expression was so adorably serious, I wanted to fucking pull over just to make out with her. Tell her I loved her face. Tell her how goddamn happy I was right now, ruined shirt and all. When had I last fooled around like this with a woman?

  “Forget it, babe. I’ll buy a new shirt. It’s fine. I’m sure the place we’re going isn’t that dressy.”

  “Oh. OK.” She took a couple more swipes at my shirt with a clean tissue but eventually gave up. “I feel bad now.”

  “No, don’t feel bad. Are you kidding me?” I took her hand and kissed the back of it, held it in my lap. “That was awesome.”

  A few miles down the road, I saw what I was looking for—a sign for a gas station that catered to truckers and road trippers. “I’m gonna get gas.”

  I exited the highway and pulled into the station. Before getting out of the car, I ditched the blue shirt and tossed it into the back seat, glad I was wearing an undershirt with no holes or pit stains. I had plenty of those, but since I’d been seeing Jillian I’d actually invested in some new ones. She wore such beautiful underwear, I figured the least I could do was wear tshirts without yellow underarms. Look at that, less of a caveman already. Mom would call her a good influence.

  I liked that.

  After pumping gas, I poked my head into the car, willing myself to keep a straight face. “I’m gonna run into the store and see if they have a shirt. Want anything?”

  “No.” She cocked her head, pressing her lips together. “You’re going to look for a shirt at the gas station? Don’t you want to look for a nicer store?” She looked over her shoulders, like maybe there was a Nordstrom hiding behind the Quick Save BP.

  “No. It’s fine. I’m sure there’s something in there.”

  Five minutes later, I came out wearing a light blue t-shirt that said MOTHER TRUCKER on it. Jillian stared as I got in the car. “That’s the shirt you bought for tonight?”

  “Yeah. Like it? It’s badass, right? I was tempted by the one that said ‘My Girl Is Dirtier Than My Truck’ but I thought that might not be nice enough for where we’re going.”

  “Um, it’s fun.” She chewed her lip all the way back to the highway. “Is … is the place where we’re going really nice? I feel bad about your dress shirt.”

  “I guess you’ll find out.” I couldn’t even meet her worried eyes. I could tell she thought maybe I really was a caveman and I was going to wear a shirt that said MOTHER TRUCKER into a fancy restaurant, but I loved the look on her face too much to tell her the truth.

  I loved everything about her.

  She saw the sign before we actually arrived. I knew right when she figured it out because she gasped, clapped her hands, and stomped her feet. “Journeyman!”

  I grinned. “You guessed it.”

  “I love it! I’m excited!” She slapped my shoulder. “You should have told me!”

  “I like surprises. And I don’t get to give them much.”

  We pulled into the parking lot a few minutes after six, and Jillian was bouncing up and down in the front seat like—well, like a birthday girl. I think she was glad when I threw my jacket on over my new t-shirt, although she was too nice to say so.

  We went into the distillery and took the tour, admiring the former factory’s nineteenth century maple floors, the brass, stainless steel and oak equipment, and the passion and precision with which the makers created their product. Later we sat at the concrete bar tasting whiskey and marveling that the original owner of the factory, who’d made his fortune manufacturing featherbone corsets, had been a prohibitionist. We raised our glasses.

  “To EK Warren, misguided fool,” I said. “Although I think you’d look good in a corset.”

  She laughed and we tipped back the shots. “Ah, that’s good,” she said. “I like that sign over there—I’d rather be someone’s shot of whiskey than everyone’s cup of tea.”

  I looked where she was pointing. “I like that too.” Dropping a kiss on her shoulder, I added, “You’re my shot of whiskey, cup of tea, slice of pie and scoop of ice cream.”

  She gave me a coy smile. “I thought you didn’t eat ice cream.”

  I whispered in her ear. “I do when it’s yours.”

  The expression on her face was better than a million dollars. Making her happy felt so fucking good.

  We shared the crisp pork belly appetizer, a plate of roasted vegetables, and the whiskey barbecue chicken, and we drank a little more whiskey than we probably should have. Every time she looked at my shirt, she burst out laughing, and I threatened to wear it the first time I met her parents—or better yet, buy the one about the dirty girl.

  “I am dirty,” she whispered as we wandered through the parking lot, hand in hand. “I can’t believe I did that in the car. I’ve never done that before.”

  “Good.” I walked her to the passenger side of my car and backed her into it. “A car virgin. I like it.” I kissed her, finally. It felt like I’d been waiting all day.

  “A car virgin,” she said, her hands running up my chest inside my jacket. “But not a closet virgin.”

  “Nope.” I kissed my way down her neck. “I took care of that when I had the chance.”

  “Did you ever do it in a closet with anyone else?”

  I picked my head up and tried to think.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I was not a well-behaved or responsible person for many years, Jillian. If you want the real answer, I have to think.”

  She shook her head. “OK, forget it. I liked what you were doing before better.”

  “Me too.” I put my lips and tongue on her throat again, tasting her sweetness—vanilla tonight. And something flowery. Lavender? “You smell so fucking good. I have to get my mouth on all of you.”

  “No argument here. Where are we staying tonight?”

  “A bed and breakfast. It’s not far.”

  “A bed and b
reakfast!” She took my face in her hands and kissed me. “You’re so mother trucking romantic, I can’t stand it. Let’s go.”

  We pulled up at the bed and breakfast, a big nineteenth century Victorian home that was called A Night to Remember.

  Jillian giggled at the sign hanging out front. “I like the name.”

  “That’s why I chose it.”

  She got out of the car and admired the house while I went to the back and unloaded our bags. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “When do you think it was built?”

  I studied it for a moment. It was dark, but I could make out the lines and materials well enough. “Probably the eighteen seventies.” My knowledge of historical architecture wasn’t all that comprehensive, but because of the area where I lived and worked, I did have some familiarity with different Victorian styles. This one was French-inspired, with a mansard roof and shutters on the windows, its bricks painted a light yellow.

  “I love it.” She threw her arms around me. “This is so nice, Levi. No one’s ever given me such a great birthday surprise.”

  I kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go in.”

  The owners of the house, Bob and Jenny, a couple in retirement age with matching pear-shaped bodies and welcoming smiles, greeted us at the door as if they’d been waiting for us. It was my first inclination that this might not be quite as private as I’d like. Here we were entering this lovely old home, the owners graciously giving us a tour, inviting us to sit on the antique furniture, sip cordials in the parlor, or drink tea off grandmother’s china, and all I could think of was taking Jillian upstairs and spanking ass her before fucking her senseless.

  Clearly I hadn’t thought this all the way through.

  We were shown our room, which was large with high ceilings, a fireplace, and an antique queen-size bed. Jillian spun around, a huge smile on her face, and I was happy I’d chosen this place. Hope you have earplugs, Bob and Jenny. Or you’re gonna be up all night.

  I locked the bedroom door after they left and took off my jacket and the trucker t-shirt. Jillian took her bag, went into our private bathroom, and came out five minutes later wearing the sexiest fucking lingerie I’d ever seen. It was dark red and strappy and lacy and sheer and rendered me completely speechless.