by Mimi Strong
I brought the glass to my nose to smell the bouquet of the wine, rich and earthy. “You mean chain me up and keep me as your personal…” I took a sip. “Housekeeper?”
He stifled a laugh, his face red and his mouth full of wine. Fanning his face, he swallowed, then said, “I think your talents exceed mere housekeeping.”
“I also play the French horn.”
He snorted, his hand over his mouth. “New rule. You don’t say anything scandalous while I’m taking a sip.”
I batted my eyelashes. “Whatever do you mean? I really do play the French horn. It’s not a euphemism.”
He turned his head and gave me side-eye. “First your extensive wine knowledge, and now this. You were a band geek, weren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.” We both picked up our utensils again and started eating. I’d never felt such an unusual combination of being completely at ease with someone and also utterly nervous.
“What about you?” I asked. “What were you like in high school?”
“I know all actors are supposed to say they were total dorks in high school, to make them seem relatable, but before I dropped out, I was really popular.”
“No shit. With that face? I can’t believe it.”
He chuckled. “Back in ninth grade, I was the most popular guy in school, and I dated the most popular girl.” He looked me straight in the eyes. “And her best friend. At the same time.”
I picked up my wine and swirled it around in the glass. “You cad.”
“That’s a good word,” he said. “People don’t call each other cads nearly enough.”
I glanced at the door to the trailer, as did he.
“I was fifteen, and we didn’t do any more than kiss,” he said.
I crossed my arms and shrugged, acting cool.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”
“To be completely honest with you, because I really like you.”
“I liked you a little more before I pictured you kissing two girls and breaking their hearts.”
“They’re fine, I’m sure.”
“What about that girl who was taking our picture? Alexis?”
“I never dated her. Not even one kiss. I swear.”
“Pinkie swear?”
He linked pinkie fingers with me. Even his pinkie finger was sexy. The heat from the wine spread through my belly and the rest of my body.
Keeping his finger wrapped around mine, he shifted his body closer to mine on the rounded banquette seat, so our knees and the sides of our legs were touching. The trailer felt warm. Very warm.
He murmured, “You’ve hardly touched your dinner. Was the marinade too salty?”
I stared at his lips, deep red from the wine and food. “Everything was perfect. I guess I wasn’t that hungry.”
He moved his free hand to the tops of my knees, then pushed his hand down between my legs, the heat of his palm radiating through my jeans.
My heart sped up, thrumming in my ears as he slid his hand up between my legs until he reached the center of me.
I gasped as he pressed against me through my jeans.
His voice thick with lust, he said, “I can’t stop thinking about the other night in the car. I should have laid you back on the seat, put your legs up on my shoulders, and pulled off your panties with my teeth.”
“Oh-my-goodness.” I reached for my glass of wine and tossed the rest of it back in one shot.
He leaned in and kissed my shoulder through my blouse, then moved up to my neck. His hot lips on my skin—on my pulse points—made my body go limp and my eyelashes flutter.
He slowly made his way to my mouth, where he nibbled my lips, both of us tasting of red wine. I parted my lips as he thrust his tongue hungrily into my mouth, while his hand pressed against my swelling pussy.
Yes, pussy.
Usually, I have girl-parts, or a ladyflower, or some other euphemism.
But as Dalton Deangelo thrust his hot tongue into my mouth and worked me through my jeans, I had a full-on, raging hot, swollen pussy.
And I wanted him inside me. Immediately.
He sensed my desire, perhaps due to the panting or the mewling sounds I was making, and started working the button and fly on my jeans.
How was I supposed to get my jeans off, with the table right there? He undid the jeans and slid his hand down the front, making skin-on-skin contact with his fingers on my pussy. I gasped and closed my eyes as his fingers slipped between those swollen furrows of flesh and nudged around my nub.
He nuzzled my cheek with his chin and kissed my eyelid. Pulling back, he gazed at me, his eyes gentle and warm. “Like this?” He curled his fingers and stroked my silky skin.
“Yes.”
“How about this?” He stroked his fingers more firmly, and pushed deeper, down where it was wetter.
“Wow.”
“I’m going to pull your jeans off, turn you sideways on these cushions, and put your legs over my shoulders.”
“Mmm.” Waves of pleasure radiated from his nimble fingers.
“Unless you want to… go for a walk around Dragonfly Lake?”
“Mmm.”
He swirled his fingertips in a circle, then up and down. For the second time, Dalton Deangelo had me wrapped around his fingers, literally.
I was breathing heavily and audibly as he withdrew his fingers, dragging the damp tips up along my lower stomach.
He suddenly grabbed hold of me by the hips and yanked my lower body along the cushioned seat. I gasped in surprise, then began to giggle as he pulled my butt down farther and my head bonked against the side of the trailer’s interior.
“Oops,” he said, stopping to rub my head with one hand.
Laughing, I pushed his hand out of my hair. “I’m fine. Your trailer might be twenty-eight feet long, but it’s not very wide, is it?”
“Wide enough.” He gave me another strong yank, so I was flat on my back on the cushions. He stood and tugged my shoes off one at a time, then removed my bright blue jeans.
I held my legs together shyly and angled my knees away from him, still with my panties on.
“Those are nice,” he said.
“They’re new.” I glanced down at my cream-colored panties with the contrasting black lace highlights.
“I meant these.” He positioned himself at my legs and kissed one knee and then the other. “Nice legs.” He slid his hands up and down my thighs, making me shiver with his touch.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He pried my knees apart and started kissing my inner thighs. I arched my back and tried to quiet my thoughts. Another moan escaped my lips, and I found a place within me that was calm.
His voice husky, he said, “I’m going to pull those sweet panties off with my teeth.”
He reached under me and easily hoisted my lower body so he could remove my panties. True to his promise, he used not just his hands, but his teeth to pull them off and all the way down my legs and off over my feet.
“Brr,” I joked, because the trailer was quite warm. I pulled my legs back together and angled my knees away again.
“Let me see you.” He stared deep into my eyes as I let my knee fall to the side, opening myself to him. His gaze moved down, his face serious, then smiling.
He whispered, “I like what I see. Let’s get that shirt off.”
Half the buttons had already come undone with all the excitement. I covered my chest with my hands. “Oh, now you want to see the peaches?”
He raised his dark, sexy eyebrows. “Yes, I do. Come on, Peaches, show me your… peaches.” He shook his head, grinning. “I can’t believe you made me say that.”
“I didn’t make you say anything.”
“With those eyes of yours? You have all the power here.”
I batted my eyelashes up at him.
He leaned over and finished unbuttoning my blouse, the pearl buttons tiny and delicate under his thick fingers. I shifted around so he could get the blouse o
ff.
“Your bra matches your panties,” he said. “Okay, I’ve noticed. Now take it off.”
Unlatching the bra, I released my peaches. They’re not the biggest fruit in the orchard, just a D-cup, and I do get self-conscious about my large hips making me look bottom-heavy, even though D-cups are a respectable size.
I held my hands over my breasts demurely.
Dalton asked, “Are we playing peek-a-boo?”
“More like strip poker, only without cards, and I’m totally losing. Are you wearing more clothes than when I got here?”
He sat up, undid the buttons at the neck of his polo shirt, and whipped it off over his head. As the shirt came off, the scent of his body, mixed with a nice cologne, reached my nose. He smelled as good as he looked, all lean and muscular, with those bumps of muscles where most guys I’d been with had love handles.
“Are you for real?” I asked, daring to press one bare foot against his stomach. Either he was naturally hairless or waxed, because his chest and stomach was completely smooth. Under my toes, his flesh was hot and firm.
His jeans were still on, but I could see evidence of his manhood, long and thick and standing at attention behind the fabric.
My foot moved down, stroking that rigid rod. Mamma mia! His soldier was trying to make a jail break, out the waistband.
Dalton caught my foot and brought it up to his cheek as he sat on the banquette next to my inner calf. He stroked his jaw against the sensitive inside of my foot. I’d never had a man touch me quite like that, and it felt incredibly intimate and hot.
He kissed the sole of my foot, in the arch. “You have lovely feet.” He raised his dark eyelashes and gazed at me, his green eyes devilish. “You have lovely everything. Move your hands and show me the peaches.”
I pulled my hands away. “They’re not the biggest fruits in the orchard.”
“Yum yum.” He pulled away, moving his butt off the seat and kneeling next to me. My leg went over his shoulder, and he brought his face down between my legs.
Oh!
First a tentative lick, splitting the swollen flesh into two sides. Then deeper, harder. Hot and wet. Tongue on pussy.
I arched my back, my breathing coming in ragged gasps.
His beautiful head was between my legs, and it felt so good.
This man had clearly been to Pussy School. He licked, sucked, and swirled his tongue in a way I’d never imagined possible. I mean, I’d heard about such things, but never experienced them. I couldn’t even tell anymore what exactly was happening. Fingers and tongue were inside me, all over me, stroking the pink satin lining and teasing my nub.
My clit took a nibble, inflating with desire. It felt like a little fist down there, expanding and tingling with every coaxing stroke.
“Uh-oh,” I said between gasps.
He murmured between my legs, his breath hot on my skin, “Uh-oh?”
“Oh! Yes?”
He growled into me, a wordless vibration that made me lose my mind. One hand kept busy betwixt my legs, and the other reached up to stroke my breast, gently pinching my nipple.
My muscles under his tongue pulsed, and a blast of goodness tore up my middle, puddling in my belly and turning my brain to soft, gooey caramel.
“Uh-oh,” I said, coming.
My muscles pulsed, and I peaked quickly, coming down to earth after a few ragged breaths.
He eased back and kissed my leg, his chin moist. “You came already?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Why apologize?”
I held my hand over my face, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know. I guess it just seems rude of me to go first like that, before I did anything for you.”
He took a mouthful of my thigh and gave me a gentle bite. “I enjoyed feeling you blossom like a flower. It was beautiful. Plus I am a patient boy.”
“Boy?” I removed my hand from my face and propped myself up on my elbows to look Dalton in the eyes. “You’re all man.”
He gave me an innocent look. “When I’m with a captivating woman, I’m just a boy again.”
As we stared at each other, he moved his hand back between my legs and clutched at my pussy. I shivered, feeling sensitive. He swept his thumb over my clit, and a strange sensation flooded me. My eyes hurt, like I might start to cry at any second.
I pushed his hand away and sat up. “Take off your pants,” I said.
“Sure, but let’s make a voyage together. About twenty-eight feet.”
“To the bedroom?”
“Unless you want to try the stand-up shower?”
“Bedroom it is. You first.” I waved him ahead of me.
He walked, stripped off his jeans and boxer shorts, then climbed up onto the bed platform, showing off his cute bare butt.
Seeing his rear view was a nice bonus, but the main reason I’d sent him ahead was so he didn’t see my tush jiggling in front of him and then blocking the narrow doorway as I climbed onto the bed.
My body confidence is decent, but there are limits. I guarded the back-side view, so I could stay confident.
“Hurry up,” he urged, patting the red sheets next to him.
“I feel like I’m getting into a big animal’s mouth,” I said as I climbed onto the bed. “With the red sheets, this bed is like the tongue.”
Dalton laughed. “You’re right.” He took a long, appreciative look at me directly, and then again, using the mirror on the ceiling. “That mirror’s okay after all,” he said.
“Can the lights be dimmer?”
He reached for a switch and lowered the brightness of the sconces, then turned them completely off. The cave-like bedroom was still glowing with the golden rays of the sun setting over the lake, the light coming in through a sliver of a window.
When he saw me staring, he said, “Quite the view, isn’t it?”
At that moment, a flock of ducks landed on the lake, next to some cattails.
I turned back and looked at the hot man waiting for my full attention. Now he seemed so relaxed, but my lust had been partially quenched, and so I was feeling nervous again. The tiny bedroom at the back of the Airstream might be described by some as cozy, but it was also freaking small.
I decided to focus on the task at hand, so I got to work on that fine-looking beast I had roused from its trouser slumber. I hardly even looked at the cyclopean creature before I popped it into my mouth.
Dalton moaned in appreciation and closed his eyes, his body both rigid and relaxed at the same time, all his fine bumps glistening with sex-sweat.
As I bobbed my head up and down, barely able to enjoy the salty taste of him, I started to freak out a little.
My brain yelled orders: Petra, slow down and be sexier! It’s not a blowjob contest between you and every other girl he’s been with, and even if it were, speed isn’t everything! Slow down, girl, it’s not a pepperoni stick!
Dalton twitched, his mouth opening a few times and some sound coming out, like he was going to say something but got distracted. Distracted by what, I wondered. Maybe by the lips and tongue going a hundred miles per hour up and down on his salami.
He gasped, clutching at the red blankets with both hands. Sexy, I thought, and he groaned and splashed in my mouth.
Mission accomplished!
Now I could go looking for my clothes, looking for my escape route. I could climb out of the mouth of this silver beast of a trailer and catch my breath.
I swallowed and treated him to one slow, languid lick as I released his meat flute, melody played.
He rolled onto his side, catching me with one arm and pulling me in to cuddle him, spoon style.
Nuzzling my hair, he said, “I had big plans, but I blew them all rather quickly.”
“It was me. I blew your big plans. And also your big salami.”
He chuckled and squeezed me tighter.
Now the bedroom was actually getting dark. The sun had finally set, and either the frogs around the lake got louder or my hearing got more se
nsitive.
Dalton’s arm grew heavier, and a moment later, his breathing changed.
I gently lifted his arm off me and rolled over to face him.
“Dalton?” I whispered.
CHAPTER 9
“Dalton?” I whispered again.
He murmured and stirred, but didn’t wake up. While we’d been walking around the lake, he’d mentioned being exhausted from a long day, and he wasn’t kidding.
I lay there in the dark, replaying parts of our date. Had he invited me to spend the night? I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, and part of me wanted to dine and dash.
Then again, it was cozy there next to him, in the mildly claustrophobic maw of the Airstream.
My stomach grumbled.
Hungry already?
Of course I was hungry. I’d eaten one quarter of a steak, along with nothing more than green salad with a smattering of sliced strawberries and goat’s cheese. The meal had been delicious, but low-carb, and now I had a carbohydrate shortfall for the day that my tummy wouldn’t let me forget.
Panna cotta.
Dalton had mentioned panna cotta for dessert, so that was probably in the fridge.
I nudged him gently. “What about dessert?” I whispered.
When he didn’t respond, I answered for him, “Oh, Peaches, just help yourself. It’s in the fridge.”
I replied to my suggestion with a convivial, “Don’t mind if I do!”
Getting out of the bedroom was easier than getting in. The windows were midnight blue, and I felt exposed in the glowing light of the interior, so I tiptoed around the creaking trailer playing a game of Pick-Up Clothes.
Once fully dressed, I tidied up the plates and washed them in the tiny, round sink. Hot water came out of the tap. Where did the hot water come from? I had no idea.
I kept expecting Dalton to wake from the noises and come out, but he was completely zonked.
The panna cotta was in the under-counter refrigerator, and it was delicious—the firm custard neither too heavy nor too light.
I grabbed my phone from my purse, hoping to text Shayla, but I still had no cell service.
Fully dressed, I sat in one of the club chairs across from the kitchenette and considered my options.
After a few minutes, I decided that taking my clothes back off and climbing into that tongue of a bed was not a viable option. Sleeping here would mean using that tiny toilet, on the other side of a paper-thin wall from handsome, perfect Dalton, who probably didn’t poop, what with all his perfectness. He likely had Vern, the butler, do it for him.
