I swallowed, not sure what to say or do as the slow song came to an end and silence took its place. My heart thundered painfully in my chest. The moment felt taut and untenable, so I moved to distance myself. Duane’s grip tightened, preventing me from stepping away.
Then something behind his gaze acutely sharpened, and the sharpness felt dangerous. My eyes widened in alarm just before Duane’s mouth sought and claimed mine. He kissed me—wet, devouring, open-mouthed kisses—and gripped my arms a little too tight. He walked me backward until my legs connected with the hood of the Mustang. Pushing me backward, he released my arms, his hands moving to the zipper of my coveralls.
Breathing hard, I gripped his wrists and ducked my head to the side to evade his mouth. Duane’s savageness caught me off guard and sucked me into a vortex of ferocious longing. “Wait…wait a minute. What’s—”
“I want you, Jess. So much. You don’t know…” He unzipped the jumper, pulling it off my shoulders with a yank and trapping my arms against my sides, lowering my back to the car. His mouth and tongue worked, kissing and licking and sucking from my jaw to my neck to my white lace-covered breast. I moaned and whimpered as he did something truly fantastic to my nipple with his teeth and the tip of his tongue. I didn’t know if I’d ever recover, as sharp slices of hot need ran down my spine and to my lower abdomen.
“Duane, please.” My arms were still trapped and I was laying on the hood of the car, writhing and arching my back, trying to get closer. He was over me, devouring my skin, pressing his thigh where I needed him.
“Don’t change a thing. God, Jess. Don’t change a single thing. Be wild for me, be reckless. I love your kind of wild. I love…”
His words were lost as he moved lower, his hand replacing his leg. My breath came in short, excited bursts and I briefly fought the sleeves holding my arms to my sides. But then my captivity was forgotten and I melted against the metal of his Mustang, a bundle of nerve endings and feelings and insensible desire.
He had me trapped. I was helpless to him. As he touched and tasted my body, he watched me, his gaze a mirror of the urgency and desperation I felt at his hands and mouth.
Maybe I was being absurd and reckless, misguided and foolish. I knew he would push me, I had no doubt. But I trusted him. I trusted that, even though Duane would definitely push, he’d also be there to catch me when I fall.
CHAPTER 16
“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
Duane
She wanted to give me a blow job.
I suggested fried pie instead.
It took some convincing, but Jess finally agreed. Yet her agreement came only after I pointed out that Daisy’s Nut House would be closing in an hour. If we were going to secure pie, the time was now.
While she righted herself, I grabbed my clothes, took a walk upstairs, and shoved my head and neck under the cold water faucet, thinking of England and the Queen. This was a trick Cletus taught me some years ago. When faced with a stubborn boner, thinking of all those wrinkled, disapproving monarchs in their fancy clothes usually worked.
It didn’t exactly work this time, but it worked enough. I couldn’t keep wearing my tented coveralls, so I switched back into my pants.
I’m not sure why I turned her down. Feeling her lose her mind against my mouth and fingers, this time lying on the hood of the Mustang I was determined to give her, was going in my long-term memory storage for frequent replay.
I should have taken her up on the offer to reciprocate, but I couldn’t. Fuck I wanted to…but I couldn’t. Not until everything was just right. Not until we had more than a few hours.
So instead I tried to recall the names of Henry the Eighth’s six wives, and how each had met her demise.
Both easing and increasing the torture, on the ride over Jess snuggled close to me, opting to use the center seatbelt and laying her head on my shoulder as I drove. She sighed a lot. And she smiled a lot.
At one point she picked up my hand from where it rested on her thigh and studied my fingers, holding them close to her face and tracing my knuckles.
“I like your hands.”
“My hands like you.”
She smiled again. Then sighed against my neck.
“This feels good.”
“What’s that?” I slowed to make the turn into Daisy’s, scanning the cars in the lot. It was fairly packed.
“I don’t know what to call it…post-orgasmic bliss, I guess.”
I released a short laugh and shook my head. “Don’t tell me I’ve given you your first?”
She shrugged. Even though we’d parked and I’d turned off the engine, she made no move to relinquish her spot curled against my side.
“No. I’m quite talented at the art of self-pleasuring.”
At this statement, two thoughts warred for my attention: first, I was vehemently determined to get her to myself again as soon as possible, because I’d very much enjoy watching her talent in the art of self-pleasuring.