“OK,” he said meekly. “Anything you want.” He punctuated his statement by snapping open the front clasp of her bra.
When the garment fell away, her mood shifted. Her prickly, in-your-face attitude sharpened into caution. She wasn’t as brash as she tried to appear. He had to be careful. Go slow, and delicately.
He stared down at the gleaming contours of her beautiful breasts, barely visible in the glow of city light that sifted through the bushes, and touched her reverently with his fingertips. She shivered, but she didn’t pull away, despite the tension that made her breath go short and shallow. His fingers stroked, explored, worshipped the full, plump curves, the tight nipples. “It’s true,” he told her.
“What’s true?” Her voice vibrated with tension and uncertainty.
“God exists,” he said. “I was withholding judgment. But as of this moment, my doubts have been permanently laid to rest.”
She dissolved into nervous giggles. “Oh, please. A pair of bare naked ta-tas is all it takes to convince you? There’s three billion women on this planet, so let’s call that six billion ta-tas bouncing around, and a lot of them are more memorable than mine. So don’t go basing your personal theology on my bra size. It’s too much responsibility for my poor boobs. What’ll you do when they start to sag? Change religion?”
“Time has no meaning in the face of divine perfection,” he said.
She giggled harder. “You’re nuts.”
Her laughter encouraged him. “But these aren’t just any ta-tas,” he protested. He slid down and maneuvered her so his face was at her chest level. “I’m talking about Margot Vetter’s gorgeous, luscious ta-tas.”
“But I—oh…” Her words trailed off as he pressed his face to the warm, scented valley between her breasts.
The raw immediacy of every sensation shook him. He had no experience with this kind of feeling, like a filter had been ripped out of his head, and left him naked and trembling at every point of contact with her tender skin. He rubbed her tight, puckered nipples against his hot cheeks, pulled them tenderly into his mouth, grazed them with his teeth. Then swirled in wider circles with his tongue.
Her taste was intoxicating. It drove him out of his mind.
Her arms crept up to circle his neck, cradling him. He was humbled by her trust. He wanted to make up for all the fear she was trying to hide, to lavish her with pleasure.
He wanted to deserve what he would take from her in return.
Every shiver and moan was his reward and his prize. Gone was all his calculating skill, and his bag of sexual tricks. He forgot that they existed and lost himself in her. He wanted more than he’d ever even known there was to want from a woman. Layer after layer of surrender and revelation. A flower unfolding, all her tenderness and trust, all that soft abundance, that power and sinewy strength. His panther woman.
He popped open the buttons of her jeans and slid them down over her ass. Skimpy lace thong panties covered warm, silken flesh.
Her sea and flower-scented female musk made his ears roar. He couldn’t tell if the soft sounds she made were approval or protest, and he couldn’t stop, in any case. He wanted to make her come. Needed it.
His fingertips circled tenderly over the top of the warm crevice of her labia, and each teasing touch jerked a breathy gasp from her, like shocked surprise. “Davy,” she whispered. “This…this is crazy.”
“Tell me if you want me to stop.” He covered her trembling mouth with his own as he said it, drinking in the broken sounds and making sure they didn’t have a chance in hell of becoming coherent words. Her jeans were halfway down her thighs, trapping her legs together. He slid his fingers into her panties, teased his way through the warm, humid nest of soft ringlets that hid her soft cleft until his fingers found slick, tender folds. Hot and wet and yielding. She was ready for him.
She squirmed and whimpered at the slow, insistent invasion, grabbing his hand and pushing it harder against herself. “You bastard,” she whispered. “You planned this all along, didn’t you?”
“You should’ve known better than to get into the truck with me and my untrustworthy hard-on,” he told her.
Reluctant laughter vibrated her body. The muscles in her tight pussy clung to his finger as he thrust it deeper. Her trembling thighs clenched around his hand, and he slid his tongue into her mouth as he circled his thumb around her tight, swollen clit.
He followed every tiny cue she gave him with her jerking hips, her hitching breath, the clutching of her cunt around his hand, and established a slow, tender thrusting rhythm with his hand. With her legs together, he couldn’t slide his hand deep enough to catch the hot spot deeper inside. He wanted to spread her wide. Get her on all fours, penetrate her completely. He kissed his way across her face, to her ear. “Will you let me get those jeans off you?”
She tried to respond, but the words broke up, incoherent.
“I want to slide my tongue into you,” he whispered. He pulled her earlobe into his mouth, tongued and bit it delicately. “I want to lick up all your sweet juice. Please, Margot. Let me do that.”
“No,” she gasped out. “Not now. Just…harder. Right there. Now, damn it. Yes. Oh God—deeper. Please…oh, Davy…”
She shoved down on his hand, her fingernails digging into his wrists, her sleek body tightening around him. With every slick thrust of his finger, he imagined how it would feel when it was his cock plunging and sliding inside her. Her legs clenched around him, her nails dug into his back. She was so hot, so responsive. Burning with sexual energy.
She cried out, jerking and throbbing around his hand. The torrential rush that went through her body was so strong, she almost pulled him after her.
Margot lay in his lap, afraid to move. The slightest shift in her weight sent sweet jolts of sensation through her overstimulated body.
He was so good. It was almost scary, like…mind control, or something, and all he’d done was pet her. She was in bad trouble.
She didn’t want just a poignant goodbye kiss. She wanted goodbye sex. Hot, wild, grinding sex that lasted for hours. No way could she drive off into the dark without knowing how it would be to do the wild thing with Davy McCloud. She would never sleep again.
She clenched around him as he slowly withdrew his hand from between her legs.
“Don’t worry, I’ll put it back whenever you want. I just had to know how you tasted.” He lifted his hand to his face and licked his fingers. “Sweet and juicy,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I want to put my head between your legs and never come up for air.”
She avoided responding by fishing around awkwardly for the ends of her bra. She struggled to refasten it over her breasts. They seemed bigger, swollen and hot and sensitive, abraded by his beard stubble. She finally managed to yank her tank top down. She took a deep breath and forced herself to say it. “Do you, ah, want to make love to me?”
The quavery, high-pitched sound of her voice embarrassed her, and she hated that she’d used the word “love.” She should’ve asked if he wanted to have sex. Do the nasty. Even fuck. None of these more accurate terms would come out of her mouth. She felt too vulnerable tonight for words with such a harsh edge of reality. She was such a sentimental, girly, romantic wuss. She never learned. Never.
He stroked the tops of her naked thighs. “You’ll come back to my place with me?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean here. Now. In your truck. I would do it. If you…if you wanted me, I mean.”
He laughed. “Of course I want you. Let’s at least go into your—”
“No,” she said hastily. “I don’t like the way I feel in there.”
He was silent for a long moment. Bad sign. She started feeling nervous, self-conscious. Ashamed for being so needy and desperate.
“Three things,” he said finally. “One, I’ve got no condoms. You?”
Oh. Yeah. That. She’d lived like a nun for so long, she’d forgotten the ABC’s of modern sex. She let out a disgusted sigh. “No.”
“Two, Snakey’s out there somewhere, and I’d rather have a couple of good locks between us and him, if we let down our guard that much. And three…” He brushed her hair off her cheek, a tender gesture that made her breath catch. “You said ‘no’ earlier this evening. You sounded like you meant it. I didn’t mean to pressure you into having sex with me tonight. I just wanted you to know how great we could be together.”
“You did. Oh, God, you did,” she said fervently. “I’m destroyed.”
“You were really pissed at me, for my kinky proposal. If we had sex now, you might get weird about it. Throw it back in my face the next time you get mad at me. Which is liable to be soon. I want to get this right.” He paused for a moment, and added, “But I still think you should come home with me. That hasn’t changed.”
It’s now or never, you goddamn tease, she wanted to shriek.
Here she was, a writhing chaos of lust, and he just sat there, holding her bare naked bottom right on top of his huge hard-on, talking about self-control. Trying to impress her. Dolt.
In any other circumstances, she would be impressed. She would be charmed, disarmed, all that good stuff. Just not tonight, poised on the edge of doom. She was losing out on what promised to be the most exciting experience of her life because Davy McCloud just had to be a rightous dude at all costs.
Something had to be done. This was not to be borne.
She scrambled off his lap and onto her own seat, yanking her jeans up over her bottom. He gasped, startled, as she reached out to stroke the length of his erection. Mmm. Long and hard. Very nice.
Good. That was progress. Startling Davy McCloud was no mean feat. By the time she was done with him, he would be more than startled. She wrenched his belt buckle open, attacked his buttons.
By the time she was done with him, he would be dumbfounded.
“Margot.” His voice was ragged. “Hey. Wait. You don’t have to—”
“Would you please, please just shut up?” She shoved his jeans down. She slid her hand into his briefs until she got a grip on him.
Oh. Wow. He was very hard, hot and throbbing in her hand. Bigger than she’d fantasized, and her fantasies had been extravagant.
It had been a long time, and God knows she’d never dealt with a male member on this order of magnitude. But tonight, she felt inspired.
“Lift up your butt so I can slide your jeans down,” she ordered.
He obediently lifted his hips. “Margot—”
“Go on, beg me to stop,” she challenged him, jerking his jeans down to mid-thigh. “I dare you.”
His burst of ironic laughter broke off into a shuddering groan as she seized his thick, hot shaft and stroked it. Thick and blunt and velvety hot, ridged with veins, she memorized it in the dark with her hands and wished she had more light to see him properly.
“Wow. You’re aggressive,” he said.
Something went cold inside her. “Does that turn you off?”
He covered her hands with his own, and closed them tightly around his throbbing member. “Do I feel turned off to you?”
“Uh, no,” she admitted. “But guys are weird. Delicate creatures. You never know what will freak them out.”
“I’m not a delicate creature.” He dragged her clutching fists roughly up and down the length of his penis. “But I’m aggressive too, you know. Does that freak you out?”
“It would be awfully unfair of me if it did, wouldn’t it?” she retorted. “I guess it just means we’d fight a lot in bed.”
“I’m bigger,” he said, his voice breathless and rough. He rotated her hand around the swollen glans, spreading his pre-come until the thick bulb was slippery and wet. “I’d win.”
“There are weapons other than brute strength, you overgrown galoot,” she informed him loftily. “Big’s not everything, you know.”
“But big is good. You like big. Right?”
She laughed as she leaned over, inhaling the warm scent of him. “Don’t be vain,” she murmured. “It’s unbecoming. Good Lord, Davy. I mean, really. This thing of yours is a little excessive, don’t you think?”
“Sorry.” The word strangled off into a sharp gasp as she milked him boldly. “It just…uh, grew that way.”
She bent lower over his lap. “Oh, I’m not complaining.” She gripped the thick root of him firmly in her fist and licked a salty drop of his pre-come off the tip, with a warm, lavish swipe of her tongue. She loved the tremors that racked him, his ragged gasps of pleasure.
She couldn’t fit much of him into her mouth, but she wasn’t discouraged. She just shimmied around on the seat, searching for a more comfortable position, and settled in to drive him out of his head, swirling her lips and tongue around the head of his penis while she stroked its entire length. Slow, deep and hard. She would teach him what aggressive was about. The man would never be the same again.
He gasped, clutching her head. Helpless, just like he had been in her barbarian queen fantasy. It was a wild turn-on to make a man as powerful and self-possessed as Davy McCloud was writhe under her caressing hands, her teasing mouth.
“Stop,” he directed her. “Slow down, or I’ll come right now. And I want more. I want this to last.”
Hmm, not the words or tone of an abject love slave, but whatever. She was so turned on, she wasn’t inclined to complain, and besides, she liked his self-control. It boded well for when he used that excellent thing of his to please her. If it fit at all, which was anyone’s guess.
She was leaving tonight. Don’t forget. This is it. No next time.
She shoved that painful thought angrily away. The cab of the truck was too cramped, too small. She wanted to flail around, she wanted to come again, she wanted to be naked with him inside her.
It wasn’t fair, that this was all she got. It made her furious.
“Hey. Slow down,” he warned her again. “Margot…oh, God—”
She ignored him this time, tightened her grip, deepened her strokes. Faster, harder. She ran this show, damn it. She said when.
He convulsed, and spurted his come into her mouth. Hot, pulsing spasms that went on and on. His fists were tangled in her hair, holding her fast against him as his pleasure coursed through him.
He leaned back against the seat, panting. Speechless.
Margot sat up slowly, and swallowed the hot, salty liquid. It burned in her throat, the raw, sharp male taste of sex that she only could bring herself to swallow when she was totally ga-ga in love—and about to get shafted, since the two things were inseparably linked.
She wiped her mouth. Better not to think about that.
Davy slid his pants up over his hips, tucked himself inside, buttoned up, buckled his belt. Little sounds sounded loud in the quiet darkness. He turned to look at her. She couldn’t see his face, but she still couldn’t bear his scrutiny. She felt as if she were slowly shrinking.
“Uh, Margot? You OK?” His voice was low, nervous and wary.
It was obvious, then. She couldn’t hide the feelings crashing down on her. The fear and shame. The sickening anger.
She’d wanted such normal things out of life. Nothing fancy. Work she liked. Career challenges. Good friends, good times. To cuddle on the couch with a guy who thought she was special. And maybe, if she got super lucky, she could have the whole family cliché. Car seats littered with cookie crumbs. A stodgy minivan. Being part of something real and deep and sweet. Not shoved off to the side, forever out of bounds, looking in the window with big, sad, puppy dog eyes.
She’d tried so hard for it. Hoped so hard.
And what did she have? Mikey. A dingy little sublet. Snakey the Sicko Maniac. Grisly memories that wouldn’t let her sleep. A crappy fake identity that wouldn’t hold up to the most casual scrutiny. Low-paying, mind-numbing jobs that she couldn’t even seem to hang on to. A beater car with a knock under the hood, perilously low on gas.
To add insult to injury, when she finally did find a man who rang all her bells, all he wanted was a convenient,
undemanding bed partner that he could dismiss when he got bored. And she was so lonely and desperate, she was actually falling for it. She would attack a guy and give him a blow job in his truck because she was afraid to watch him drive away. She was pathetic. As much of a whore as he probably thought she was.
Self-loathing yawned wide inside her like a cold, aching wound. She opened the door, slid out.
“That ought to cover your costs up to now,” she said.
She slammed the door shut and ran to the car to retrieve Mikey.
Chapter
11
It took all of three seconds for the top to blast off his fury and break his stunned paralysis.
He slammed out of the truck. Something had broken wide open inside him. He had no idea what he was going to do, nor did he give a shit. He caught up with her as she was jamming her key into the front door, and grabbed her around the waist from behind.
She squawked, and tried to twist away. “Davy, for God’s sake—”
“Where the fuck did that come from?”
She tried to elbow him in the ribs, but he immobilized her arms. She flung her head back, her eyes panicked. “Let go of me!”
“No,” he snarled. “Explain yourself. I did not deserve that!”
“Oh, no? After suggesting that I exchange sexual favors for goods and services, you get up on your high horse and—”
“Oh, Christ, I thought we were past that. And I never implied that I thought you were a prostitute!”
“OK. You’re right, I’m wrong, I apologize. It was a snotty thing to say. I take it back. Now would you please stop squashing my rib cage?”
“You think a snide, half-assed apology like that makes it better? You tear down all my defenses, turn me into fucking mush, and then lob a grenade right in my face. I did not deserve that, Margot!”
She looked down, and her hair fell forward over her flushed face. “I said I was sorry,” she said, more quietly. “I meant it.”
“And I’m still mad,” he said.
She wrestled herself around in the circle of his arms until she was facing him. “What would it take to make you not mad, damn it?”
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