“We need to roll out in seventeen minutes. Come on, Nevaeh.” He snaps. “Time’s wasting.”
A throb starts between my legs. I run my soapy hands down my arms. Then I cup my tits, slide my slippery palms over my aching nipples. His breath quickens.
“Put your foot up on the side,” he orders. His strokes are firmer now. And his gaze is focused between my legs.
I do what he asks. My pussy opens for him.
“Spread the lips. Show me your clit.”
I use my fingers to open myself up. My clit pops from the hood. I graze it with the pad of my thumb, and shivers shoot up my belly. I whimper. Forty falls to his knees, his shoulders bracing me wide, his head delving between my legs.
And then his mouth is on me, sucking my clit, his tongue teasing, lapping, and I buck forward, chasing what I want. He isn’t having it. He grabs my hips, pins me in place, and then he sucks my clit again, breaking only to circle it with the point of his tongue and blow hot breath over it.
He’s learned a few things. I hate the thought, but I love his mouth and the way he’s working me, so intent. I love his grip, firm and unyielding. He’s doing what he wants to me, and I want him to.
An orgasm is coiling in my belly, tighter and tighter, and I’m sweating as the hot water pounds my back. I dig my fingers into his hard muscles.
“Make me cum,” I pant. “Forty, please.”
“You want to cum?” he murmurs between long licks.
“Yes!” I have to, or I’m going to explode. “Please!”
Forty stops, stands, and grabs my chin. “I want the truth. All of it. This isn’t just sex.” He kisses me lightly, firmly on the lips. I can taste myself. “And until you’re ready, I want to go find a Rebel Raider and beat the shit out of him until he talks. You’re comin’ with. I can’t trust you here alone. You move my shit around.” Then he slaps my ass, slides open the shower door, and hops out.
“You got about two minutes of hot water left,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads into the other room. “And we’re leaving in eight minutes whether you’re ready or not.”
Joke’s on him. I finish myself off in thirty seconds flat, and I’m ready to go a minute early, hair pulled back into the world’s poofiest, messiest bun.
It was easy. My steps are light. I’m fizzling with happiness.
Whatever this is, it’s more than sex. And I’m comin’ with him.
As he walks down the hallway to the stairs, I fall into step beside him. As soon as we hit the commons, everyone does a double take and stares with contempt in their eyes. Heavy Ruth purposefully turns his back and stalks out of the room.
Guess my scarlet A is bright and shiny this morning. They can think what they want. I don’t care.
Forty’s by my side.
I’m right where I want to be.
Five hours later, I have changed my mind. I haven’t done any long runs on a motorcycle since I was a teenager, and after several hundred miles doubling back and forth all over the tri-county area, my inner thighs are burning and my ass is numb.
Apparently, we’re looking for something. Or someone. Forty won’t say. Club business. We’ve been to honkytonk bars, tattoo parlors, package goods, the Elk Lodge, the Moose Lodge, the Optimist Club, the Oddfellows, both gun ranges, three community ponds, and two public fishing piers.
We’re definitely looking for a man.
Forty tells me to stay by the bike, and while I hang out in the parking lot, he pokes around, talks to whoever he finds. I’m kind of impressed. Forty was never very gregarious, but he’s bullshitting with all types.
Around one, my stomach starts growling audibly, and Forty pulls into Duck’s Diner on Gracy Avenue. Duck’s has been around forever. It’s a Petty’s Mill institution. The décor has never been updated—plastic booths and no A/C—and neither has the menu. You can get a real cherry soda where they add the syrup.
I don’t wait for Forty to mess around with his bike. I’m getting a little sick of him barking at me to stay like a dog and ignoring me otherwise. I know he’s aware it’s me riding bitch with my arms wrapped around him. He has to adjust his dick at each stop.
I drop my helmet on the seat, and bound inside, leaving him to catch up. The wooden screen door slams with a satisfying thud. Nothing smells as good as Duck’s. The counter is polished wood, so old it has that mellow shine and the lemon scent from Grandma’s house.
The place is packed, but no one bothers to look up. I nip back to the bathroom, do my business, and glare at my hair in the cloudy mirror. A helmet and seventy mile per hour winds have not improved the situation. At least my cheeks are pink. I pat my curls ‘cause there’s nothing else to be done and shake out the Steel Bones T-shirt I borrowed, trying to dry the sweat under my boobs.
It’s a hot day for spring, inching towards eighty-five degrees. I can’t wait for summer in the country. Summer in the city isn’t the same. No real cherry soda. No swimming at the lake. No tubing down the river.
Forty and I used to do all that. We’d be outside every minute we could, and by July, I’d have hundreds of freckles, and he’d have every tan line you can imagine. Socks. Hat band. Short sleeve and tank top.
I want to do that again. Maybe I can convince Forty to take a break after lunch. Go to the bend in the river where we tied up the rope swing. See if it’s still there.
First, though, I’m getting a Rueben with extra meat. Forty better be paying. I think my purse is in my car. Which is in the shop. Or did I leave my purse at home?
I rush back to the dining area, smiling, imagining how cold the river will be, and how wonderful it’ll feel to sun ourselves naked on the bank after taking a dip. I can see it, feel it, and—
Forty’s standing in the entrance, talking to a woman. Trying to smile at her. I think that’s what this is. Kind of looks like a raccoon baring his teeth.
Her hand is on his arm. She’s animated. She kisses his cheek. His hand presses briefly to the small of her back to steady her. She’s wearing six-inch heels. In Duck’s Diner.
She’s tall. Blond. Wearing a perfectly-tailored, navy blue business suit. And coral lipstick.
Now she’s introducing Forty to the guy she’s with. He’s short and thin with a collared shirt and a sweaty hairline. His handshake is quick and floppy.
They must be co-workers. She’s about two thousand fathoms out of that guy’s league.
And she’s Forty’s perfect match.
They banged. The way she’s leaning in to talk to him. How he squared his shoulders? They definitely banged. Crap. Now I’m not hungry anymore.
I guess she’s the ideal woman. Organized, loyal, with good common sense.
I hate her.
But that’s unfair—and besides, maybe she’s his realtor or something—so I make myself go forward, hand stuck out, friendly grin plastered on my face.
“Hi!”
The man with her startles.
She blinks at me. She has big blue eyes and killer lashes. She kind of cocks her head and shoots Forty an expectant look.
“Amelia, this is Neveah.”
She blinks a few more times, and then she grasps my hand. She has a firm grip. “Nice to meet you. I haven’t met any of Forty’s friends yet.”