Southern Girl Series: Bohemain Girl, Neighbor Girl & Intern Girl

by Cates, Georgia

  “I’m actually having a lot of fun picking this stuff out even if none of it is for me.”

  “You don’t need to be buying something to wear while you’re getting busy with Chad Morris?”

  Brooke frowns. “We aren’t getting busy. Yet.”

  “You need something for when you do.”

  “Maybe. But this shopping trip is about you.”

  Dillyn’s arms are full. “Let’s leave this stuff with the clerk up front while we finish looking around. We need to check out the battery-operated products next.”

  “I have the real thing. I don’t think I need one of those.”

  “Trust me. Every woman needs what I’m going to show you to go along with the real thing.”

  Bullets. Lubes. Cock rings. A half-dozen things I can’t identify. Brooke and Dillyn have made sure I have everything—and more—that I need for sexy time with Porter.

  He’s probably going to think I’ve turned into some kind of nympho when he sees all of this.

  I arrive at Porter’s condo at five and let myself in. I still can’t believe he left me a key.

  I need to find out how much time I have until Porter comes home. I don’t want him walking in and spoiling any of the surprises I have for him.

  Frankie: I’m back. Should I still expect you around 6:00?

  Porter: Probably closer to 6:30. I made Oliver come to the brewery and help me move your stuff into my office.

  Frankie: How did you explain that one?

  Porter: We’ll talk about it when I get home. See you soon.

  Oh wow. I hope my moving into Porter’s office isn’t going to be a problem. His rationale is legit but that doesn’t mean people won’t talk and try to make something out of it.

  I carry the sacks of goodies to the bedroom and spread each piece of lingerie on the bed so I can see them all at once. Last night’s attire was black so I think I should go with something different tonight. Something bright and fun.

  I start from scratch getting ready for tonight. Shower. Makeup. Hair. The works.

  I choose the hot-pink peekaboo bra-and-garter panty set with matching G-string and lace top thigh-highs. The outfit is adorable with ruffled trim along the bra and garter but the shoes are the icing on the cake. Silver fuck-me pumps.

  Last night’s outfit was porno-worthy. Tonight’s is naughty too but with a fun, flirty edge.

  And I think the music should reflect that.

  Frankie: Can you text when you’re on your way up? I want to be prepared when you get here.

  Porter: Prepared for?

  Frankie: Your surprise.

  Porter: I love the fuck out of your surprises. Leaving the brewery now.

  That means he’ll be here in fifteen minutes.

  I’m dressed. I smell great. Hair and makeup are perfect.

  I’m ready.

  Porter: On my way up. Can’t wait to see what this is all about.

  Frankie: You’ll find me in the bedroom.

  Music Bluetoothing from my phone to Porter’s receiver—successful. “Red Light Special” by TLC is the first song up from the playlist when I hit play. Perfect.

  I’m stretched across the bed, lying on my side, in what seems like a sexy pose. I hope I don’t look stupid.

  I hear the door open and close, and my heart takes off in a gallop to race the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

  Porter is all smiles when he stops in the doorway and looks at me and the sexy-time accessories on the bed. “Damn. What all did you get into today?”

  “I did a little shopping at the adult store in Tuscaloosa.”

  He picks up the blindfold lying next to me. “For you or me?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “I love that answer.”

  He comes toward me, and I move to sit on the side. He stands between my legs and places his fingers beneath my chin, lifting my face. “Frankie… I just don’t even know how to tell you how much I love all of this. Or how much I’m enjoying every little thing you’re doing. You blow my mind.”

  “Good.” I reach for the fly of his jeans. “And now I’m going to blow something else.”

  13

  Porter Beckman

  Frankie and me.

  We fuck. We sleep. We wake. We fuck again. This time, from behind. I don’t hate anything about this routine that she and I are falling into.

  It’s twelve o’clock and we’re still in bed. I’m sweaty and my chest and stomach are sticky against her back. But I don’t move. I enjoy being like this with her—postcoital and unmoving with my softening cock still inside her. “I could get used to doing this with you.”

  She laces her fingers through mine. “You could, huh?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  “I think I could get used to it too. Except I’m sure my parents would begin to wonder where I was sleeping every night.”

  “It’s bad when you have all the freedom you want while you’re away at college, and then you come back home to Mommy and Daddy.”

  “It wasn’t that bad until I started sneaking around with you. Now it sucks donkey dick.”

  I chuckle and my cock slides out of her. “That’s one I’ve not heard in a while.”

  She rolls toward me. “You know what else sucks donkey dick? I got all of those great lingerie pieces to wear for you and totally forgot I’ll be getting my period tomorrow.”

  Periods… and planning around them. Not something I’ve ever had to deal with on a regular basis.

  “Getting your period is better than not getting it.”

  “I know but we just started having all of this fun and it’s like wah-wah.”

  “It won’t last forever.”

  “It’ll last through Thursday. That feels like forever.”

  “You are aware that sex isn’t the only thing we can do for fun?”

  “I know, but it’s new to me, and I sure was enjoying it.”

  “How about I take you riding in the Porsche today?”

  Her eyes widen. “Ooh. That sounds like fun. Does it go fast?”

  “It’s a Porsche. What do you think?”

  “I think I’ve never ridden in a Porsche, so I only know what I’ve heard.”

  I smack her ass and squeeze it. “Let’s get up and shower. As much as I love being in bed together, I’d like to do other things with you today.”

  We move to the shower, and I turn on the water while she grabs the towels and washcloths.

  “Do you want to go out for lunch, or would you like me to cook for you?”

  “You cook?”

  “I’m not a chef, but I do pretty good.”

  Damn, I love a woman who can cook.

  We step into the shower and I can’t resist touching her skin as the water runs over it. “I haven’t been to the grocery store in a while. I’m not sure there’s anything in the kitchen.”

  “Maybe we pick up some groceries and I’ll cook dinner for you?”

  I’ve never had a woman who would cook for me. “I would love that.”

  “What are you craving?”

  I don’t even need time to think about it. “My favorite meal is when my mom cooks breakfast for dinner. Biscuits and gravy and scrambled eggs and bacon. Do you know how to cook that?”

  “Breakfast for dinner happens to be my specialty. We had that at least twice a week when I was growing up.”

  “Do you know how to make homemade buttermilk biscuits?”

  “Are there any other kind?”

  Man, this is my kind of girl.

  She’s lathering the shampoo in her hair and her tits are bouncing up and down. They’re soft and real. Not stiff-feeling implants. And I love watching them jiggle naturally.

  “I haven’t had homemade biscuits and gravy like my mom’s in a long time. I will kiss the hell out of you if you cook that for me.”

  “I’m guessing you’ll kiss the hell out of me anyway.”

  “This is true.”

  “I don’t know if mine will be like
your mom’s, but I think my biscuits are tasty.”

  “Thinking about my mom’s food is a reminder that I should get down there and see her.”

  “How far is Mobile from here?”

  “I can make it in under four hours if I don't stop.” It’s a shame I don’t make the trip more often.

  “When is her next chemo?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You should go see her this coming weekend.”

  “Even though it means we’ll miss one of our weekends together? We don’t have that many before you leave.”

  “Of course I’ll miss being with you, but you need to go see your mom. It’ll make her happy.”

  I love that Frankie is thinking of my mother’s happiness. I’ve never been with a woman who took an interest in my family.

  We swap places and I stand under the water to wash my hair and body. My eyes are closed as I shampoo but I feel Frankie’s hands gliding over my chest. “We’ll make up for our missed weekend during our trip to Austin. That’s only a couple weeks away.”

  “I can’t wait to have you all to myself for four days. Completely worry-free about being seen together. We can hold hands in public. Hug. Touch. Even kiss if we want.”

  “It’ll be nice. But we’ll need to be careful that we don’t get too used to it and slip up when we get back.”

  I’ve never had to sneak around with anyone. I’m not a fan of it. “I’m an adult. You’re an adult. Would it be so bad if people knew?”

  “We are adults, and seeing each other might be completely fine with everyone in our lives, but there’s a 50 percent chance it won’t go over well with some. And I’d be very sad if my parents didn’t go along with it.”

  “You’re right. I’d rather spend the next two months enjoying each other without catching hell about it.”

  One month of her internship is already behind us. I don’t know where the time has gone.

  Only two more months until Frankie leaves. These next sixty days are going to fly. I already feel it. And there’s nothing I can do to slow it.

  All I can do is enjoy her while she’s mine.

  * * *

  “Oh, Porter. It’s beautiful.” Frankie glides her hand down the sleek hood.

  It’s hard to believe the transformation this car has undergone in the short time I’ve owned her. “She hasn’t always been this stunning. Sophia was one ugly duckling the first time I saw her.”

  Frankie giggles. “I believe she and I share that in common, which makes me like her even more. Who is she named after?”

  “Sophia Loren.”

  “Phew… I was afraid you were going to say your ex-girlfriend.”

  “I’m smarter than that.”

  I open the passenger door for her and she glides into the smooth black leather seat. “Feels like I’m sliding into a time warp.”

  “You sort of are.”

  I get in and start the engine. That hum still gives me a thrill every time I hear it. “She barely ran when I got her.”

  “Sounds like someone abused Sophia.” Frankie slides her hand over the dashboard. “But you’ve done a great job restoring her.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What year did you say it was?”

  “Nineteen sixty-three.”

  Frankie takes her phone from her purse. “We need era music for our ride. Let’s see what the top songs from 1963 were.”

  Her thumbs tap lightning fast on her phone’s screen. “Oh, this is perfect. You’re going to love it.”

  She holds up her phone between us, and I immediately recognize “You’re the Devil in Disguise” by Elvis Presley when she begins singing along. And I’ll be damned if she doesn’t know every word. “You know sixties music too?”

  “I know all eras of music.” She leans over and holds a pretend microphone while singing the chorus.

  “You look like you’ve done that a time or two.”

  “We have no shame when it comes to singing and dancing in my house.”

  “I can see that.”

  We’re cruising down the interstate when song number two begins. “Here’s another one you should know.”

  “I do.” I give her a sidelong glance.

  “Name it.”

  “‘You Really Got a Hold on Me’ by the Beatles.”

  “Sing it with me.”

  “I don’t sing, Frankie.” Never have. It’s not something we did in my house.

  “You do when you’re with me in this time-warp car.”

  She holds her pretend microphone to my mouth and belts out the lyrics. I give in and softly croon some of the words I know. The smile on Frankie’s face spreads ear to ear, and I see that it’s worth feeling like a fool just to see how happy it makes her.

  “Good job, magic mouth.”

  Frankie relaxes in her seat and we cruise—and hold hands—while listening to sixties songs.

  “I’ve never driven a woman around in my Porsche.”

  “Why not?”

  “I haven’t dated anyone since I bought her. I wouldn’t let just anyone ride in Sophia.”

  “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”

  “We aren’t not dating.”

  “Having sex doesn’t mean you’re dating. Eating meals together doesn’t mean you’re dating. Going to concerts together doesn’t mean you’re dating. But reaching out to hold my hand while we ride around… that means we’re dating.”

  Funny how the simplest thing can be the most significant.

  “Then it’s official. We’re dating.”

  And we leave it at that. Nothing more to say.

  * * *

  Just enough milk. Just enough salt. Just enough pepper. Frankie’s sawmill gravy is nearly identical to my mom’s. And her biscuits are tall and light and airy with the perfect amount of sour from the buttermilk.

  “You acted like your cooking capabilities were mediocre. Baby, this isn’t mediocre. It’s exceptional.”

  She shrugs. “We didn’t have the money to eat out when I was growing up. This is just everyday cooking to me. Nothing special.”

  She doesn’t get it. “But it is special. I don’t get this kind of food unless I go home.”

  “You don’t have to go home to get meals like this anymore. I’ll cook for you. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

  I reach out and grasp her chin as I lean closer and pull her in for a soft kiss. “I know it’s nothing to you, but it’s very special to me. Feels like home.” Her cooking ain’t the only thing that feels like home.

  “I’m happy I can do this for you. Are you finished?”

  “As much as I hate to admit defeat, I can’t eat another bite.” Seems like such a shame to leave even a crumb.

  “No need to gorge because you think you’re never getting this again. I’m happy to cook for you whenever you like. I enjoy it.”

  It’s Sunday night. She’ll have to go home soon. “How long can you stay?”

  “Two hours max.”

  I come up from behind and wrap my arms around her, plucking the dish from her hands. “I’m going to take care of the cleaning.”

  “If you’re cleaning then what am I doing?”

  “You are going to the bedroom and putting on something sexy and waiting for me on the bed.”

  “I can do that. Anything specific you’d like to see me in?”

  Things have changed between us today. I’d like tonight to reflect that. “Wear something sweet. Skip the porno apparel this time.”

  “I have a very sweet baby-doll set I think you’ll love.”

  “Baby doll sounds perfect. And for the music, choose something slow and romantic. A song you consider perfect for making love.”

  That brings a smile to her face. “Okay. I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.”

  I take my time cleaning the kitchen so Frankie will be ready when I come to her. I know she is when I hear the music. “Look What You've Done to Me” by Boz Scaggs. One of the love songs from Urban Cowboy.

>   Movie’s older than her. Hell, movie’s older than me.

  She’s standing beside the bed in a short but flowing white baby-doll gown. Damn. She looks like a sweet, innocent virgin on her wedding night.

  “Is this what you want?”

  “Yes. You and that outfit and this music are exactly what I want.”

  I go to her and tenderly pull her into my arms. I press several kisses to her lips, and we simultaneously open our mouths for our tongues to meet. It’s a familiar yet somehow new sensual waltz for the two.

  We’ve shared a lot of kisses, but I want every one we share tonight to feel different. I want each one to tell Frankie how much I care for her. I want my touch to show her how much I adore her. I want my tenderness to whisper all the things I can’t say because I’m too afraid.

  We move onto the bed and I feather kisses down her chin and throat. My mouth continues traveling lower and I pull the fabric of the gown down and both of her breasts are bared. I cup them and rub my thumbs over her rosy pink nipples before sucking one. Something between a moan and the sound of my name leaves her mouth as she laces her fingers through my hair.

  I release her nipple and she grasps my shirt at my stomach and pushes it upward. I grab the neck and pull it over my head in one swift motion. Her hands explore my pecs and shoulders and biceps, stopping when she reaches her design on my arm. “You’re going to wear me right here on your body. Forever.”

  “I am.”

  My mouth glides lower down her belly and then to her hipbones. I kiss each of them and everything in between before I pull back the waistband of her panties to bury my nose inside. “Mmm, you always smell so good.”

  Kneeling between her legs, I grasp the waistband of her panties and pull downward as she raises her hips. I drag them down her legs and toss them to the floor next to my shirt.

  I place my palm on her chest between her breasts and slowly glide it down until I reach her stomach. It’s flat now, but it’ll grow one day with another man’s baby. I don’t like the way that makes me feel inside. Not even a little.

  “What are you thinking?”