Vice

by L. M. Pruitt

  “I got it.” I tried to tug the small slip of paper out of his hand, frowning when he gripped it harder. “Seriously, I got it.”

  “I’m the one who begged you to come to lunch so that means I pay.” He leaned in, all but pressing his cheek against mine and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Please. If I let you pay, I’ll be getting a phone call from my mother before we get back to the bar.”

  “I don’t remember you being this scared of your mother when you were in high school.”

  “I’m not scared.” He lifted his free hand, dragging his thumbnail down my jawline and over my lower lip. “I just don’t want to spend the afternoon talking with my mother when I could spend it doing much more pleasurable things.”

  “Do you practice it? The charm and seduction?” I reached blindly for my water, fumbling for a moment before wrapping my fingers around the glass and pulling it toward me, taking a long sip before continuing. “You must because you turn it on and off so easily.”

  “Comes with being a bartender.” He eased back, the lazy smile fading away. “Doesn’t mean I’m faking it.”

  “Didn’t say you were.” But something about his unease settled me, gave me back a little of the control I felt slipping from my fingers every time he looked at me. I took another sip of water before setting the glass down, my movements steady again. “If it means so much to you, go ahead and pay. But don’t think this means you’re getting a home-cooked meal as a thank you.”

  “Do you even know how to cook?” Tammy’s question broke through the intimate little bubble Abraham had managed to create and while I didn’t exactly jerk away, I came damn close. Her frown was more curious than prudish and I could only be thankful she was apparently too naïve to pick up on the undercurrents between me and Abraham. “I don’t think I’ve seen you turn on the stove one time in the last two weeks.”

  “First, it’s a metaphor of sorts and second, why would I cook when every time I think we’ve finally eaten our last bit of tuna casserole I find another one in the fridge?” I shifted my attention to Conway, shaking my head and sighing. “How did you manage to get more syrup on yourself than on your waffle?”

  His only response was a shrug and a sunny smile before he fastidiously wiped his doll’s spotless mouth.

  “It’s okay, Aunt Jeannie.” Dolly dipped her napkin in her water before leaning over and cleaning her brother’s face, her movements quick and efficient and disturbingly mature. She balled up the used napkin and dropped it on her plate before beaming at me. “All better.”

  “So I see.” I glanced at Abraham, still waiting patiently for me to relinquish the bill. Rolling my eyes, I dropped my hand to my lap, fiddling with my belt for a moment before dragging my purse over and digging through depths, finally locating my keys at the bottom. I pulled them out and tossed them over to Tammy, who surprised me by actually catching them. “Here. Don’t get any tickets and don’t wreck it. I’ll be home... later.”

  “I can’t.” You would have thought I told her to go rob a bank. “I don’t have a license.”

  “Nobody in Cotton Creek cares whether or not you have a license.” The idea Sheriff Underwood might was so preposterous I couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. “Trust me, Tammy, it’s fine. And if for some reason he does pull you over, tell him to call me and I’ll straighten everything out.”

  “And if your aunt can’t, I can.” Abraham pulled his wallet from his inside suit pocket, tugging out a few bills and tossing them on the table before shoving his wallet back in his coat and sliding out of the booth, pulling me with him. “So, if there’s a problem, call one of us. Otherwise, I’ll make sure your aunt gets home at a reasonable hour.”

  I stayed silent until we were outside on the sidewalk, well out of anybody’s earshot. “You do realize every person in there with the exception of the very young or the very naïve thinks we’re going off to fuck.”

  “Well, they’re not wrong.” He slipped his sunglasses on before shooting me a blinding smile. “I mean, I thought we might have a conversation before the main event, so to speak, but I feel I made my desire to fuck you again, today, more than obvious.”

  I slipped on my own sunglasses and lifted my chin. “Maybe I don’t like being the center of gossip.”

  “If that was the case you wouldn’t have bought the Fisher house and you wouldn’t have agreed to lunch with me not matter how much I begged you.” He turned to face me, his smile dying as he lifted one hand to cup my face. “Look, I want you, which isn’t something I’ve said to a woman in... Christ, I can’t remember how long. But not if you don’t want me.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Mostly because we both knew if I did, I’d be lying. I took a deep breath, holding it for long seconds before exhaling. “I’ve fought an uphill battle with this town my whole life. Even not being here, I’ve been judged by what I did or didn’t accomplish. Now that I’m back, I’m going to be under the microscope again and I don’t have the luxury of a good name to cover up my sins.”

  “I lost that particular luxury—the one of a so-called good name—a long, long time ago.”

  “You keep thinking that.” I looped my arm through his and steered him toward the parking lot. “So, I have to ask—how does a guy with so many tattoos and hardware wind up with such a beauty of a classic car?”

  “Well, it’s a story which I should be able to tell in its entirety before we arrive at the bar.” He opened the passenger door, trailing his fingers down my arm. “Providing you don’t distract me, of course.”

  I shot him a smile. “I do like a challenge.”

  HE DIDN’T FINISH the story.

  Entirely my fault.

  But he’d looked so serious, talking about the restoration process for a 1969 Pontiac GTO hardtop that I hadn’t been able to help myself.

  To his credit, all he did at first was take a deep breath when I slid across the seat, draped my arm over the back of his seat, and rested my chin on his shoulder. His voice hitched and broke for a moment when I pressed my lips to the curve of his neck but he recovered almost instantly. He clenched his jaw and bit his lower lip when I started nibbling on his earlobe.

  When I dropped my hand to his lap and squeezed his thigh, my fingertips inches from his cock, he swore and jerked the car to the side of the road. He threw the gear shift in to park, killed the engine, and then hauled me over until I was straddling him. Fisting one hand in my hair, he rasped out, “I thought I told you not to distract me.”

  “Not true.” I leaned forward, running my tongue over his lips before drawing back. “You implied it would be detrimental to your story-telling but you didn’t say I couldn’t do it.”

  “You knew what I meant.” He slipped his other hand under my dress and cupped my ass, his eyes widening slightly. “Really? You went to church like that?”

  “I’m not a fan of underwear.” I tugged his tie free from its knot, whipping it into the back seat. “You’re not complaining, are you?”

  “Yes.” He pressed his fingers harder against my skin, groaning low in his throat. “No. Fuck, I don’t know.”

  “Consider it motivation.” I wiggled free from his grip, moving across the seat until I was able to lean my back against the door. Nudging his thigh with my foot, I said, “The sooner we get to the bar, the sooner you can show me all those things you didn’t get to last night.”

  “If Sheriff Underwood pulls me over for speeding, I’m blaming you.” He turned the car on and threw it in to drive, nearly fishtailing back out on to the road. Glancing at me, he said, “He might let me off with a warning. Maybe. He’s a man. He understands these things.”

  “What things?” I dropped my other leg to the floorboard, my dress hiking higher up my thighs. There was no way he was able to see anything worth seeing but based on his muffled curse you would have thought I was as on display as a Penthouse centerfold. “Abraham?”

  “Things.” He swallowed, the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple painfully obvious, shifting
his attention back to the road and increasing his speed. He had to be going close to seventy and if Pete Underwood did happen to catch us there’d be all kinds of hell to pay. “Touch yourself.”

  “What?” I would have laughed if I thought he was joking but the set of his jaw made me think that wasn’t the case. “Seriously?”

  “You weren’t shy a few minutes ago when you were all but giving me a handjob.” He flicked a gaze my direction which was nothing short of scorching. “I want to watch you touch yourself. I want you as worked up as I am. I need you that way because ten seconds after I park this car I’m going to be inside you.”

  “Ten seconds, hmm?” I shifted until I was able to spread my legs a little bit wider, giving me space to slide my hand between my thighs. I sucked in a breath when my fingertips brushed over the already wet folds of my cunt, exhaling on a shaky laugh. “It’s going to take longer than ten seconds to get me off, Mr. Hansom.”

  “Fuck.” Taking one hand off the wheel, he reached over and grabbed my wrist, pushing my hand tight against my core. “You’ve got about two minutes to get on my level. And then we’ll see how long it takes to get you off.”

  “Oh, yes, sir.” I meant it as a joke but if the way he tightened his grip was a hint, I’d have to remember to be more... not submissive... demure, perhaps. Clearly, it did things to him, things which would no doubt turn out to be very, very good for me as well.

  I closed my eyes and tipped my head back against the window, concentrating on the slick warmth of my outer lips, my inner muscles clenching at the first press of a fingertip to my clit. Even with his limpet like grip on my wrist, it was only a matter of seconds before I all but forgot he was there. As badly as I wanted to slip a finger deep in my pussy, I held back, focusing all my attention on my clit, driving myself up to an orgasm with nearly the same speed as Abraham was driving the car.

  I was five seconds, probably less, away from coming when he tugged on my wrist, pulling my hand away from my cunt with an intensity which bordered on vicious. I gasped, gripping the back of the seat with my free hand and opening my eyes to glare at him. “Bastard. I was so close. I am so close. I can practically taste it.”

  “Great idea.” He lifted my hand to his mouth, sucking my fingers clean, the swirl of his tongue over each digit only tightening the knot of arousal deep in my core. “You taste amazing, by the way. Just in case you want to know.”

  “What I want is to come so hard I see goddamn stars.” I bit out the words, digging my nails in to the upholstery. “Or go blind. Or both.”

  Apparently, orgasm denial made me cranky.

  “I think I can arrange that.” He jerked the wheel and I realized, with no small degree of shock, we were finally at the bar. He jerked the wheel hard again, sending the car fishtailing for a few scary, exhilarating seconds before slamming on the brakes, coming to a screeching halt parallel to the building. He threw the gear shift in to park, killed the engine, and yanked me over with such smooth precision it was arousing all on its own.

  I fumbled with his belt buckle, swallowing back something which felt suspiciously like a sob. I would have been embarrassed at how obviously I wanted—hell, needed—him if it wasn’t for the fact his hands were shaking as he pushed my dress up to my hips. When I finally managed to undo the button of his slacks and tear down the zipper, I muttered, “Thank God.”

  “Not yet.” He wrapped one arm around my waist, arching toward me as he pulled his cock free, the head and barbell piercing already wet with precum. “In thirty seconds.”

  Before I could make a comment about his ego, he twisted his hips and pulled me down, sinking the entire length of his cock inside me in one smooth motion.

  It might have been the angle. Or the piercing. Or the simple fact I was still teetering on the edge of orgasm.

  Whatever the reason, when the tiny barbell scraped over my G-spot, I got my wish.

  I came so hard I saw stars, the edges of my vision going white hot before I closed my eyes and tipped my head back on a strangled whimper.

  “Jesus.” My ears were still ringing but I thought I caught a hint of reverence in his voice. “Jesus, Jeannie. Do that again.”

  It was a struggle but I managed to lift my head and open my eyes, forcing myself to smirk even though my reply was low and hoarse. “Why don’t you make me?”

  “Yeah.” He pushed my arms behind my back, clasping my wrists in one hand, effectively handcuffing me, while wiggling his other hand up my dress and pressing his thumb to my clit. “Why don’t I?”

  Normally, being on top would have given me most, if not all, of the power. That was, after all, one of the highlights of the position. But the combination of my bound arms and his thumb on the most sensitive part of my body—at the moment, anyway—produced the exact opposite feeling.

  He controlled the pace—slow, torturous, even as I struggled and strained for more. He controlled the depth of his thrusts—deep enough to tease but too shallow for his piercing to make contact with my G-spot again. He controlled the kiss—long, liquid, seductive enough there was no way to hold back a moan.

  Abraham controlled everything—his body and mine.

  And I wanted to hate him for it.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead, I wanted more.

  “Please.” I might have whispered it. At least I thought I did. Breaking the kiss but not moving away, I pressed my forehead to his, struggling to breathe. My only consolation for my weakness was his breathing was as wrecked as mine. “Abraham, please.”

  “Please, what?” He twisted his hips, the barbell barely scraping over my G-spot, pressing his thumb just a little harder against my clit. “Don’t be shy now, Jeannie Jackson. It doesn’t suit you.”

  He was right but I’d never begged for an orgasm in my life. It was more difficult—more humbling—than I would have imagined. Still, given the choice between a little submissiveness or not reaching the pinnacle of what I already knew would be a monster orgasm, I’d take the blow to my pride any day. Swallowing hard, I rasped out, “Please make me come.”

  “Fuck.” I wouldn’t have thought it possible but deep inside me, his cock grew even harder. He tightened his grip on my wrists, shoving me tighter against him. He bit my lower lip, not deep enough to draw blood but hard enough the already oversensitive skin began to throb and ache. “What do I get?”

  “Anything.” The wrong thing to say. I knew it but I was too desperate, too far gone, for playing it safe. “Damn it, Abraham, please.”

  His only response was to arch upward, finally giving me the full length of his cock, twisting my clit between his thumb and forefinger at the same time.

  If I saw stars before, this time I saw the entirety of the universe, my entire body going rigid as the orgasm finally, finally, crashed through me. Some part of me registered the frantic jerks and thrusts of his hips, the sudden blossoming of warmth inside me as he found his own release. The larger part of me was struggling to remember the basics such as breathing.

  When he let go of my wrists, I slumped forward, resting my chin on his shoulder and closing my eyes as a sudden wave of exhaustion swamped me. He eased his other hand from between our bodies only to rest his palm on my thigh, the knowledge of why his fingers were so wet bringing a flush to my cheeks. He slid his hand up my back, palming the nape of my neck, the tips of his fingers mussing the low bun I’d pulled my hair in to that morning. After long minutes, he laughed low in his throat.

  “What’s so funny?” My voice sounded thick and slurred even in my own ears and I shifted, turning my face in to the curve of his neck. “Hmm?”

  “I keep thinking I’m going to show you things. Surprise you.” He pulled the rubber band from my hair, sighing when the somewhat sweaty locks tumbled around my shoulders. “And then you....”

  “Then I what?” I straightened, blowing a loose strand of hair out of my face so I could see him clearly. “Then I what?”

  “I don’t know.” He brushed his lips over mine, light
, almost sweet. If you could ignore the fact we’d just fucked in a car in front of a closed bar in broad daylight. “You just... I don’t know.” He sighed again, shifting his gaze to the back door. “Want to go inside, get a few drinks, get naked, and see what happens?”

  “I think we both know what’ll happen with a lack of clothes and an abundance of alcohol.”

  He lifted a brow. “So is that a ‘no’?”

  I managed a throaty laugh. “I didn’t say that, did I?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  An hour later, we’d lost the few clothes we’d stumbled in to the building with and were on our way to being well and truly lit. Abraham had gone upstairs long enough to get two or three overstuffed quilts and had thrown them down on the floor behind the bar. I’d pulled the open bottle of Don Julio off the shelf and he’d retrieved a second unopened one from the stockroom. It sat off to the side, still unopened, with the now empty bottle on the blanket between us along with a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa.

  It wasn’t exactly a romantic picnic in a meadow but then again neither of us were looking for romance.

  “Are you sure we won’t get in trouble for this?”

  “For eating chips and salsa? Last I checked, it wasn’t illegal.” Abraham took another chip, reaching over and tapping it against my lower lip until I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth, letting him pop it inside. “Although I’m not entirely certain tortillas qualify as chips.”

  “I meant drinking in the bar on a Sunday.” I stretched out on my stomach, pillowing my head on my arms. “Dry county and all.”

  “It’s only illegal if I’m selling it to you.” He closed the salsa jar and rolled the chip bag down neatly, stowing both in an under the counter mini-fridge half full of single serve wine bottles. Laying down next to me, he said, “And since when did you care about getting in trouble?”