It was now hot in the car. Hot and muggy. The windows were fogged. I hit my head on the ceiling of the car, trying to position myself.
Shelly laughed, then moaned as I fingered her, sliding my hand down the inside of her thigh to hook around her knee.
“Move this leg.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
Wearing a look of concentration, she folded it up to her chest. “How is that?”
I eased forward carefully, exhaling my relief to be inside her. She gave me a sweet sound, one of pleasure and mindlessness.
Finally, driving into her like I’d wanted, like I’d needed, I answered, “Fucking fantastic.”
There was nothing slow about the pace I set, but it was deliberate. She was pushed up each time I thrust and had to brace her hands against the door to keep from hitting her head. And her breasts? Fucking amazing as they bounced and teased me. The way Shelly bit her bottom lip—and the moans and pants—told me she didn’t mind.
And when her sharp cry pierced the car, I sucked her bottom lip into my mouth, needing the taste of her on my tongue as I came along with her, mindlessly grunting as I curved my body over and inside hers.
I’d like to say I didn’t collapse, crushing her beneath me. But I did. My cheek pressed against her bare breast and I struggled to breathe, to think, to move.
I couldn’t.
At least, not for a while.
Her fingers in my hair, caressing my temple and jaw, eventually woke me to the moment. And then her words did.
“You never cuss, except when we have sex. Then you cuss a lot.”
I blinked. “Does it bother you?”
“No. Do you think I should switch to a blend of almond milk and coconut milk?”
I grinned, shaking my head at her randomness—as much as I was able—and moved to sit up.
“Don’t,” she held me tight, “not yet.”
“Your leg?”
“It will recover.”
I chuckled, forcing her to let me go, and kissed both her breasts on my way up. I helped her straighten and move her leg, gave her a hand so she could sit up, and then I restored my pants. I didn’t bother to button them, though.
I was too busy watching. Her dress was still gaping open, as was her bra. The skirt around her hips showcased her long legs and the triangle of tantalizing hair at the apex of her thighs. Yet she paid no mind.
She was searching the car for something, apparently oblivious to her state of undress. “Do you have any napkins in here?”
“You are so fucking sexy, Shelly Sullivan.”
Her eyes moved to my face, and I remembered that she couldn’t see me, not with the windows fogged and the waning moon.
“I’m glad you think so, Beau Winston. Because I think you’re so fucking sexy, too.”
I grinned at that.
But she wasn’t finished yet. “I want you to love me always.” Her tone was contemplative as she opened the glove compartment, finding her napkin. “How can I make sure that happens?”
Reaching for one of the open flaps of her dress, I tugged her forward, kissed her soft mouth, then slid my nose along hers, whispering, “You keep being you, that’s all you need to do.”
34
“Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.”
― Anne Frank, The Diary of Anne Frank
* * *
*Beau*
* * *
“Turn up the heat.”
Duane studied me. “How can you be cold?”
“’Cause it’s literally freezing outside. Now turn up the heat.”
“Fine.” Duane revved the engine of his Road Runner and turned up the dial on the heat.
We’d decided it would be best if he drove. Firstly, his car was black and mine was red. Tracking his car at night was near impossible. If we needed to make a quick getaway—which was always a possibility when dealing with the Wraiths—then being difficult to spot was just as important as being fast.
Secondly, this was one of the last times Duane would get to drive his car for the foreseeable future. And that was just sad.
It was cold at our house down in the Valley, but it was ten to fifteen degrees colder in the mountains. Cooper’s Field—up on the top of a ridge—always felt colder than most spots. I’d packed a thermos of strong coffee, but we’d finished it a half hour ago while shooting the shit.
With nothing warm to hold or drink, my teeth were chattering. I’d made my brother turn his car back on so we could use the heat.
“Are we playing good cop, bad cop? Or what’s the plan?” I rubbed my hands together, wishing I’d worn gloves.
Christine and Drill were due to arrive at any moment and we’d neglected to agree upon a strategy. Instead, we’d talked about Duane’s plans for Italy and the family’s plans for Thanksgiving. This would be his first year missing Thanksgiving, so I’d decided to taunt him with a list of pies and cakes on the menu.
I reckoned we’d skipped a strategy discussion because we always played off each other, with Duane being the bad cop and me being the good cop.
But to my surprise, Duane shook his head. “Nope,” he peered out his window toward the entrance to the field, “We’ll both be bad cop this time.”
“Oh.” I smirked. “You’ll have to give me some pointers.”
“I think you’ll do fine.” He turned back to me, the set of his mouth hard. “Just picture our momma’s face when Christine showed up pregnant.”
A sour lump settled in the pit of my stomach, making me wish I’d had less coffee. “She was a saint.”
“Who?”
“Momma.”
Duane gave a short nod. “I can’t imagine, what it must’ve been like for her, adopting us. Looking at the proof of your husband’s infidelity for twenty-three years. Why did she do it?”
“I don’t know.” Growing up, I took for granted that I knew my mother, that I understood her. Clearly, I had no idea.
“I wish we could ask her.” Duane rubbed at a spot on his steering wheel.
“She’d probably give us one of her quotes, something like, ‘If God gives you twin hell-raisers, smother them with bacon and ice cream until they surrender.’”
Duane’s scowl softened. “I have a few favorites of hers.”
“Me too.”
We were quiet for a while, likely both thinking about our mother and all the times she’d been patient and wise. Granted, there’d been lots of times she hadn’t been patient or wise, but I supposed she was entitled to her frustrations. Lord knows, we’d deserved every bout of anger she’d tossed our way.
Out of nowhere, Duane asked, “Why’d you press the button?”
“Pardon?”
He cleared his throat. “When Momma was dying, that one night she wouldn’t press the button. Remember that? She was in pain and she wouldn’t give herself the morphine. We stood there like dummies, Ashley and me. Cletus and Jethro walked in. They wouldn’t have done it either. But you did. You gave her the meds. You took away her pain.”