He sat up, his smile now a smirk. “That sounds like a dare.”
“No. It’s not a dare. It’s a truth,” I whispered, lost in his eyes. I realized one of his hands was up my skirt, digging into my bare thigh.
He searched my face in the dark car, as though hoping to read the veracity of my statement. The crowd surrounding us grew a bit more obnoxious and were now peeping through the windows. Duane shook himself. He withdrew his hands and set me away at the same time, lifting me to a more vertical position.
He engaged the ignition, revving it, as he glanced in his rearview mirror. “Put on your seatbelt, we need to move.”
I used the center seat belt, and then snuggled close to him, weaving my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and using my other hand to stroke his inner thigh. He was tense. His muscles felt tight.
“Duane,” I whispered in his ear, more breath than sound, “I’m not letting you leave this car until we make it to second base. At least.”
He rolled the Road Runner forward slightly, nudging the crowd out of the way, giving me his profile. “Jess, you know how good I am at baseball, right?”
I got the feeling he was waiting for me to answer. “Yes, Duane. I know you’re good at baseball.”
His eyes slid to the side, collided with mine. Again, I saw intense focus, like he had plans and they all involved me.
“Do you think I’d settle for second base if I was sure I could steal home?”
CHAPTER 14
“As you walk and eat and travel, be where you are. Otherwise you will miss most of your life.”
― Gautama Buddha
Duane
Jessica James tonguing my ear, stroking my thigh, her knuckles brushing against my hard-on, all while I navigated back mountain roads.
It was a gauntlet.
While I drove, in between kisses she’d managed to pull off my shirt, unbuckle my belt, undo the button and the zipper of my jeans. She was single-mindedly focused on removing my clothes, but had yet to remove a single article of her own—an oversight requiring immediate rectification.
The only sound in the car was our breathing, the roar of the engine, and her soft moans of please and hurry.
But despite my earlier allusions to rounding the bases and her sexy little sounds and touches, the drive gave me the time I needed to gain perspective. I’d made up my mind a long time ago. Our first time wasn’t going to be in a car.
I’d always figured, in the unlikely event Jessica agreed to my courtship, we would wait. I’d decided, likely after we’d confessed our undying love and devotion to each other and were engaged, we’d go on vacation together for an anniversary. It would be someplace I could romance her. Or maybe we would wait until we were married. That had always been my assumption.
My expectations hadn’t factored in her life goals and ambitions.
We weren’t going to have any anniversaries, romantic vacations, or a wedding night. We only had now. Regardless, despite her eagerness to consummate our abridged relationship, I couldn’t completely shake off my years of frustrated hopes. It wouldn’t be what I’d wanted, but I was damn determined to make it meaningful and memorable. Even if she didn’t care about the where and how, I did.
No.
Nothing would be rushed or hurried. I would take my time, several times. We would have all night, not a quickie in my Road Runner.
Now if she would just stop dipping her fingers into my boxers, I’d be able to form a coherent thought.
I pulled into Hawk’s Field. It was closer to The Canyon than it was to Green Valley. I didn’t have the luxury of a forty-five minute drive back into town. And I wasn’t surprised to see we weren’t the only car on the lot. But the field was massive, with several offshoots and dirt roads, plenty of space and cover for privacy.
As soon as I had the car in park and the lights off, I grabbed her hands and pulled them away from my body. I needed to think, and feeling her stiff nipples through her soft dress wasn’t helping my state of mind.
“What—what are you doing?” she asked, sounding breathless.
I didn’t answer. I made the mistake of releasing one of her hands so I could slide mine under her dress and she brought it down to my groin, stroking me through my boxers.
“Take off your pants,” she ordered, her nails clawing at my jeans and redirecting the blood flow from my brain.
Again, I had to grab her wrist. “Jess—”
“I want you,” she pleaded, biting my neck.
“Take off your dress.”
“I’ll take off my underwear. I thought I could just hike up my dress and climb on your lap,” she said in a panting whisper.