by Amber Burns
And if she’d let me, I’d prove how much. I didn’t say that though. I’d crossed the line and was now waiting to see how she responded.
“Vanna,” I sighed her name after a few moments of silence. It was enough to shake her into responding.
“I know.”
I was sitting up straight now and was all ears. I put the bug back into park, knowing I wouldn’t be able to drive while having this conversation. I bit my tongue, and tried to hold it together for the ‘but’ I knew was coming.
“I’m not really sure what you expect of me though,” she said while staring out the fogging window. I was losing her. She was slipping through my fingers and closing the door to us having a chance.
“We can take things slow,” I offered. As long as she was my girl, I’d settle with revving it down several notches until she was comfortable with us being a unit, a couple.
“Slow?”
“Slow,” I stressed. “No rushing anything. No demands.” And because I didn’t want her to go into this entirely blindsided, I tagged on, “I have to be honest though, I’m not looking for a quick piece either. This would be exclusive. Just you and me, me and you.”
I had the sense that nothing short of marrying her and tying her to my side for the rest of our lives would satisfy me anyways. But right then, I was more concerned with trying to convince Vanna to let me in and prove myself.
“Okay,” she said in almost a whisper.
“Okay?” I was practically leaning over the space between our seats and sitting in her lap.
She nodded, and I knew she was blushing again. Her voice held her misplaced embarrassment, but I wanted to hear her say it.
“So that’s an ‘okay, you’re mine’?”
Vanna caught herself mid-nod. “Y-Yes, you’re m-mine. And, um, I’m y-yours… If that’s how you want to put it.”
It was music to my ears, and other lower parts, once it clicked – and it clicked very quickly - that Vanna agreed to be mine. All mine.
“Come here,” I said to her and heard the huskiness in my command. It got her to draw those shoulders to her ears, tensing up with probably a million and one thoughts racing through her mind.
My girl thinks too much, I told myself. And that’s the first thing I’ll nip in the bud.
Now was a good a time as any for a lesson. I patted my leg.
“I said, ‘come here’.”
“There?” she squeaked. I nodded. “People… people will see us.” Vanna’s stammering was tearing me in two. I yearned to grab her hips and drop her in my lap, to catch her face and bring her lips home for a bruiser of a kiss.
Fuck the people, I wanted to say. Fuck propriety and fuck me, woman.
I took a fresh look at my girl. She was soaked, like really soaked. Her coat was open, parted halfway down, revealing her creamy throat. I followed the water droplets down her front to her rack.
Aided by the dying sunlight that reflected off the light gray dashboard, I saw her blouse and under-tank were melded together over her like a second skin. Her nipples, little nubs jutting through the soft material, seemed to stare at me. Temptation was only an arm’s reach away.
I felt the pre-cum soaking the tip of my cock, smearing wetness over my upper thigh. I held off on reaching down and re-adjusting myself. I had Vanna’s attention, and I planned to keep it.
Switching tactics, I asked, “Do you want me to climb over?”
Probably more to shut me up than anything else, she answered me by pivoting and drawing one leg over the cup holder. She flinched when my hand grabbed her under her knee and settled her to the side of my leg closer to the driver’s door. The movement was enough for Vanna to lose her balance and drop on me all at once.
“Sorry,” was the first word that flew out of her mouth. Her fingers clung to my shoulders during the drop; they curled over my jacket as she leaned to peer into my eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Peachy,” I answered, and I meant it, too. Just as her hands went to my shoulders, mine found her ass as a natural place to grip. She jerked against me, her breath hitching, and I felt the teasing kiss of her soft chest over mine.
She was going to get me soaked, but I didn’t much care. I pushed in to mold her soft breasts to my chest, the sensation of which dried my mouth and forced me to shift for fear of cutting off circulation to my erection.
I groped around the bottom of the chair searching for a lever. Finally finding it, the seat jerked back with the both of us, causing Vanna’s chest to bump my chin.
“Oops, wasn’t expecting that,” I said to her now wide-eyed expression. I surprised her, but I expected - and feared - this reaction.
Like a startled animal, the surprise ushered in doubt and a sense of disorientation that had her trying to sit up over me. I might have only known her for a little over twenty-four hours, but I already knew that Vanna was a frightful creature. She clearly took her abilities for granted. One look suggested that she didn’t appreciate herself as much as she should, and it was highly likely that this type of interaction wasn’t something she was used to.
“Relax, just settling us in,” I said and smoothed the wet strands that clung to her forehead, the ones that hadn’t been saved by her jacket’s hood. I cupped her smooth cheeks. “You have no clue what you do to me.”
“Amos,” she was calling for me, revealing her depth of breathlessness.
A silly smile lifted my cheeks. “Hey, I got you to say my name again.”
She was close, and I yearned to go in for that kiss. It took all my willpower to stop myself from breaching the distance and connecting our mouths in what I knew would be the next level of this foreplay. Instead, I dropped my hands from her face and found a better place to grip: her ass.
She arched at the touch, pushing her pebbly nipples into my chest. Our eyes locked, and in the darkening evening, I saw that she was angling with the same thought. Vanna was staring at my mouth, and dividing her attention between my eyes and my lips. That division of attention was losing its traction quickly; my lips were winning out.
I could have ordered her to take the plunge, or done it myself, but where’s the fun in that? This was going to end my way whether I did it for us, or if I waited until she found the courage to take what she so clearly desired.
Her mouth hovered with her indecisiveness, her apprehension clouded her expression. It was holding her back from closing the space filled by her sweet breath. It took just about everything I had, but I kept still. I had gotten us this far, but I couldn’t do it alone now. She had to put us both out of our misery, one way or another.
My hands were stiff over her butt cheeks, my stare was unwavering in its hold of hers. I was a plank board until she gave me a signal. Whatever choice she was going to make, we were going end this foreplay nonsense now.
Her first touch was like waking up to the world after a fitful slumber, and I was slowly letting the kiss set my senses alight. My eyes were hovering closed on their accord… And then it was over. I released a hungry groan, my equivalent of a protest, at the breaking of our mouths. I was eager for more, and the second kiss came at my initiation.
It demanded submission, took total control of the situation, and left Vanna panting during the small break I gave her.
Mine, mine, mine, my mind was chanting the mantra, but the rational part of me knew she needed to fill her lungs.
As consolation, I angled my lips to connect over the pulse in her throat. In response, her hands came up and stroked my shaved head. She whined, and her breath grew shallower with each touch of my mouth. I kissed a trail to her clavicle, sucking the flesh over the bone and chuckling when she moaned, “Amos… please.”
“Please what?” I spoke around the sucking, my tongue joining in the cruel foreplay.
I wanted her begging, and I needed her under me crying for release. It worried me that this wouldn’t be enough, but it was a start.
She had to say it though.
“Vanna,” I groaned her name as my ha
nd stroked her cheek and then my mouth tilted up from her throat, claiming her mouth.
She was pliant, sweet, squishy putty in my hands; mine to mold and shape for the night. Come tomorrow, she might once again succumb to her habitual timidity.
I unsnapped our lips with a wet smack. I pulled back and took her in. She was a study of beauty. After the pause, she arched from me, small breasts heaving. I lifted my hands from her ass to rest them below her pits, thumbs testing what I knew to be true. Her nipples were taut, almost as steely as my dick.
“Amos!” she said my name on a breath, her nipples slipping from the reach of thumbs.
Vanna threw her head back, our unified breathing had fogged the wet car windows. We were now safe from outside prying now. Safe and cozy, wrapped up in our late-evening activity, yet it had me wondering how long it would last.
I was kissing her again to forget. I didn’t want to think about anything other than slipping into her wet core. And based on her reactions, she had to be wet by now. I imagined the glistening pre-cum coating her outer lips, her nub swollen and begging for direct contact… the kind of contact I ached for my tongue to provide.
Vanna’s fingers locked together at the back of my head, and she deepened our kiss before surprising me by pressing her tongue to my lips.
By all means.
Surprise gave way to humor. She was an amateur at this, but seemed a quick and eager study. She couldn’t be any sexier. My surprise returned as her hips began to rock up and down. She was grinding herself against my length as our tongues danced and hands explored each other. Her rocking became faster and faster as she wriggled closer and squeezed her thighs around my waist. I knew she was close when her breath took a shallow dip and her panting was closer in intervals. I pressed myself forward, providing extra friction for her to enjoy, and her legs quickly grew taut in their embrace of me.
Vanna came stronger than I expected from the dry-humping. I massaged her back through the waves that caused a quivering to spread through her limbs and kissed her arched breasts through her blouse. My lips and teeth trapped one nipple and then the other, intensifying the whimpers and groans that emanated from the woman panting in my lap.
She was coming down from her high, but I was still hard and wanting. I watched her tits lift with each pull of air as Vanna regained control over her erratic breathing. A small, timid smile began to cross her lips, along with a look I hadn’t seen before reflected in her eyes. That had to be love, or at least the beginnings of it.
“Amos,” she said, her fingers clasping back behind my head. She was pulling back, bringing me out of the valley of her boobs. I began to protest, but the sound died in her mouth. Her kiss was a sloppy, tongue-filled, and passionate affair. Saliva, hers and mine, coated my lips on our parting. I probably looked like a mess, though hopefully not enough of one to turn her off. As she held me back from plunging in for a second bout, Vanna whispered, “Are we dating now?”
I chuckled because it seemed like such a Vanna thing to say given the moment.
“Yeah,” I told her. “We’re fucking dating.” My cursing earned me a delightful gasp. I laughed harder, my chest rising with the strain. I couldn’t help teasing her a bit more. “And we’re fucking in your brother’s car.”
She tried and failed to scramble back to her seat.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said as I pulled her back to me and then stole a quick kiss. When that wasn’t enough I rained a succession of searing, fast lip-locks between each word: “Besides... That... Wasn’t... Fucking…”
Vanna was back to moaning and leaning in to me, begging for more attention. She was focusing back in on me and forgetting all about the outside world. Despite what I wanted, I knew that being inside of Vanna right now was an impossibility. We had to take it slow, like I had told her. I would have to settle for a case of blue balls and our little teenage make out session. Though I did take a bit of satisfaction in knowing the pleasure she had taken from it.
Besides, I never needed to be inside her to know that Vanna Sterling was made for me.
4
I was whistling… whistling!
Sergeant Amos Fuller, former Marine with eight years of active duty, one of the top graduating recruits, and completely tone deaf, was standing in line for coffee and whistling. I must have been a sight to behold since the guy in front of me turned to give me a look. I stopped my poor rendition of some Eagles’ tune and stared right back, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t.
That’s right, turn the fuck around.
Before long he cleared from the queue, and I answered the perky young male barista’s greeting with my order. He responded with the expected smile, and before long, I was out of the shop and on my way to Sterling Outfits with my order and a smile on my lips.
In a rarefied ultra-good mood, I greeted just about everything I crossed, animate and non-animate, with a grin. Since it was still early in the morning, relatively few souls were around to document me making a fool of myself.
A few stores down, I paused by my favorite display window. The mannequin inside was wearing some twenties-era flapper dress, complete with a parasol and a feathered hat. Autumn garland coiled up from the bottom edges of the window, reminding passersby of the season. Above the mannequin’s head, in arched silver writing, was ‘Sterling Outfits’.
It was still dark inside as I peered through the window. Through the display case I made out a few pin pricks of light streaming from the back rooms, where the dressing rooms were. It was enough to incite me to rap on the freshly painted green door. I didn’t have to wait long for the slim, bearded owner to open the door.
“Do you sleep?” Wes asked as he leaned on the doorjamb, blocking the door. Both his greeting and his blood-shot eyes imply he was the one needing more sleep. “Well?”
I raised the tray I was holding. “I bear offerings to the Styling Gods.”
“Har har, hardy har,” he mocked, but the aroma wafting from the tray caught his attention. “Is that apple cider I smell?”
“You like cider?” I knowingly questioned with a grin.
“Violet…” he realized and tossed his head toward the back of the shop. “All right, come in.”
Wes led me to the back and waved me toward an armchair, another vintage find. “Sit, be merry, and give me a damn cider.”
I did as he said, hoping to ingratiate myself to the other Sterling siblings.
Wes plopped down in an adjacent chair, and I wedged my Americano out from the tray. Taking sips of the bitter liquid gave me a shot of much-needed caffeine. I tried to make small talk with Wes, but it was painfully awkward. It didn’t take long for me to realize he was not a morning person.
Thankfully, we were not alone for long.
As a near opposite to her brother, Violet walked in and beamed her greeting. Even brighter than her smile was her outfit. She shrugged off a sunshine-y yellow wool coat, and tucked away the long string holding her keys to the store into a matching tote. It looked like the silky gray blouse and grape purple waist-high pant suit she wore were made specifically for her.
Wes looked to his sister and held up his paper cup. “You told him about the cider?” Wes punctuated the question with a sip from the contested cider.
“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” she answered back, ignoring the question.
“You told him about the cider?” Wes repeated. He was glowering over his cup toward his middle sister.
I glanced between them, sensing the storm of a sibling argument, and then scouted the back room for a place I could use for cover. Normally I’d take the signal to slink away and give the siblings space to work out their spat, but I planted my boots firmly. I wasn’t going to leave without retrieving what I originally wanted, but she seemed to be nowhere in sight.
“Only because you threw a shit-fit over yesterday’s coffee.” Violet winked at me, and I covered my grin with a drag from my cup.
“That was not anywhere near a shit-fit,” Wes protes
ted. “Would you like me to demonstrate so you can compare?”
I was glad Violet had saved me from talking to Wes, but now I wanted a certain someone else to save me from both of her siblings. I decided to take the wait to the front room, and I also decided to forego mentioning my departure; Wes and Violet probably wouldn’t know I was missing anyway, considering the way they were arguing.
Vanna’s key turned the lock to Sterling Outfits less than ten minutes before it was due to open for the day. After closing the door behind her, she turned and her eyes quickly widened in an adorable way that told me she hadn’t expected to see me.
“Amos,” she whispered almost breathlessly. Her hair was in a tight bun that wasn’t as telling of her harrowing journey over as her rumpled red-brown Henley and askew jean skirt were. Any hint of leg under that knee-length skirt was obscured by worn riding boots.