by Warren, Rie
And it was. High heels, mountains of dresses, cosmetics, files, folders, books and all, strewn around our bedroom, bathroom, and the office. Fuck if I even wanted to change a thing. Leelee was a hurricane-level storm that upended my life, made it chaotic and crazy, and more complete than I’d ever thought possible.
“Yeah, kid, we can keep her.” We fell into hair-ruffling, tummy-tickling awesomeness.
Walking into the living room after tucking JJ in at the table with a full-body bib, I hunched before Leelee. She blinked up at me, pulling out of the writing daze that captured her for hours.
I slid my fingers down her neck. “Hey, babe. Dinner’s on.”
Curving her arms above her head as she stretched and did that feline thing I liked, she said, “You know, you two are so cute, Josh.”
Cute. My grin grew dangerous. The atmosphere charged as her eyes strayed to my mouth and stayed there. Her breath deepened, her cheeks heated.
She’d eat those words later, with my cock in her mouth.
And she did. Not long after the kid had passed out cold for the night, she found me in the living room. “Still got that hat, Stone?”
“Why? You got plans for me, babe?” My hard-on formed in anticipation as I sat on the couch.
Leelee lifted off her T-shirt, slipped out of the sweats, and let her hair down. Completely utterly fuckably naked, she stood several steps away, moving her hips in a suggestive dance. “I think I wanna go for a ride.”
“Hat’s in the hall closet,” I croaked.
“Don’t move.”
I watched her ass swish-sway away, in complete agony as my cock lengthened down the inseam of my jeans.
On her return, she wore my fedora at a sexy angle. She leaned over me so I could take long hard draws on her nipples while she slowly pulled my erection out of my jeans.
My aching length pumped in her enclosed fist. “Fuuuck, Leelee.”
She put the hat on my head, lowering to her knees between my spread thighs. Her mouth engulfed me in one swift, wet move. All the muscles in my body screamed with pressure.
Her mouth worked me to the breaking point, her fingers ripping at the buttons of my shirt and pulling it open. I shrugged it off, one hand guiding the back of her head up and down.
Rigid, slick, shiny swollen, my cock slapped my stomach when she released it.
I pulled her onto my lap and thrust into her hot sheath without warning. I swallowed her yell with my mouth and grunted, “Josh Stone. At your service, babe.”
* * *
The following week, coming up on mid-July, Leelee and I headed out of town. We’d pick up a U-Haul in Shreveport, tow my car, and drive her belongings back to South Carolina. She planned to put the condo up for sale in hopes of making enough profit to cover the mortgage Patrick Fuckstick had saddled her with. It hurt like hell to leave the kid—only my second time—but we needed this time together. We craved it.
He gave his blessing with a book he’d stapled together complete with hacked-off edges from safety scissors that didn’t even fit my fingers. The pages opened to gaudy, blobby drawings of castles and, well, I couldn’t make out much of the rest until the end. The final page showed a picture of three people holding hands. The red hair was a dead giveaway for Leelee. The bright blue cape on the smallest figure was his. And between them both was a giant—shit, had he made me a Cyclops?—linking them all together. A lopsided heart surrounding us.
I tucked the book under the visor of my muscle car. Gripping Leelee’s hand, I drove away, trying not to look back or turn the car around.
The ’69 Camaro, on the road, with my woman: life couldn’t get much better. She proved to be more entertaining company than Nicky’s waxed ass by far. We took our time, doing the tourist thing through Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi, staying at inns instead of dime-a-dozen hotels. Every night was a new romantic pit stop.
Romantic may have been stretching it. Once we left Mt. Pleasant, we were all over each other every chance we got. The domesticated animal gave way to pure male greed. Leelee was right there with me, as hungry for the clothes-tearing, hair-grabbing, wet, loud, horny sex as me.
By the time we arrived at her apartment to pack it up in the four days we’d allotted, my Camaro resembled the cracked-up state of her hotel room in Atlanta. It’d all started with one innocent straw wrapper from a Sonic Cherry Limeade and had grown to out-of-control proportions. I swore, she had a hundred changes of clothes stowed beneath the seats alone.
It was one thing to mess up my house. I could always hire a maid. It was another to annihilate the Camaro. On that last day of driving, I’d had to change a flat—no biggie—but that was work shit I didn’t want to drag into our vacation. I hadn’t been able to reach the kid all day, and I was in a fine snit when I finally parked outside her place.
It was sweltering outside, late at night. We had a couple hours to start clearing before falling asleep exhausted and meeting her folks for brunch the next morning. I needed a shower for myself as well as an excavator for the car to be able to see the floor mats again.
I slammed my door, stomping over to open Leelee’s before she found the handle, probably because it was hidden under her usual debris.
My shoulders stiff, I formally bowed. “At your service, it seems.”
Her long legs flashed out of the car. “You got a problem all of a sudden, Stone?”
She did not wanna pick that fight with me.
I pressed her against the hood, hot as the surface of the sun after driving four hours straight. “Yeah, maybe I do. When are you gonna start pickin’ up after yourself?”
“You weren’t complaining about how sloppy I was last night when I sucked your balls until you shouted my name so loud the manager called our room.”
Her reminder made my anger over stupid shit morph straight into lust. Zero to sixty, three seconds flat.
“Maybe what you need is a homemaker à la Father Knows Best instead of me. That would suit your old school, macho image.” She sneered.
Parting her thighs, I stood inside them, rigid against her. “You’re asking for it, Leelee.”
“Look, I don’t know what crawled up your ass, Mr. Pissy Pants, but you’re not the boss of—”
“You might wanna rethink saying you’re not the boss of me, babe.” I pushed in tight. “I ain’t your boss, don’t wanna be. But I am your man.”
“You arrogant pig!”
“Wrong words, woman.” I lunged inside her mouth with a kiss so full of force and passion, I groaned with the way she gave it up, clinging to me, pulling me down.
She held me with one hand around my neck. She tried to drive me back with a palm to my chest. I smirked before attaching my mouth to the shivery point on her collarbone.
“Oh God, Josh, you’re not gonna—” She gasped when I slipped two fingers under her panties, finding the warm, silky opening and her clit.
“I’m gonna fuck you right here, on top of my car.” One handed, I unzipped. I stroked my cock, watching the way she draped on the hood, one knee raised. Sure she wanted it, positive she was ready, I slammed inside. “We’re about to wake the neighbors.”
Frustration, fury, fatigue boiled down to this hardcore, raw fucking. I powered inside of her. I wanted to be in her skin. The next best thing was Leelee supporting herself on one hand, her head dropped back, her hips pumping up.
Her pussy rippled around me, blanking everything from my mind but the pure ecstasy that burst inside of me—mind, body, sight, muscles tautened until I roared.
She burned against me, around me, shaking from her legs to her tits. I held the back of her head, protecting her from the unforgivable metal of the car.
When she slumped, I did too. Her fingers combed through my hair. “You been thinkin’ about doing that for a while?”
“Maybe.” I could fall asleep right there, her satisfied purr better than any engine I’d ever worked on.
“It’s probably a good thing I’m moving out.” Leelee dragged her
self back together as lights came on from inside a couple apartments.
I lifted her against me, one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back. “I reckon.”
A messy car to deal with in exchange for one incredible woman who turned my world upside down, inside out, and perfectly right? Worth it.
The next morning the prospect of meeting her folks shot my nerves to shit. I compounded the frazzled edge by downing two cups of black coffee. On the drive over, I couldn’t sit still. I was turning into the kid.
“What if I say fuck in front of them?”
Leelee’s hand on my leg calmed the jumpiness. “They’re not gonna hate you, Josh. They’re just good, salt-of-the-earth people, and they want me to be happy. Besides, I don’t think they ever approved of Patrick, and you’re night and day from him.”
Amen to that.
Unfortunately, I was in trouble almost as soon as we entered the house. Small and energetic as a hummingbird, Leelee’s mom Patsy bounced from hugging her daughter to holding both my hands, pumping them up and down.
Her dad, on the other hand, looked like a woolly mammoth, staring me down with arms crossed over a barrel-sized chest. At some point Brian Childes’s hair must’ve been nearly the same color as Leelee’s, but now the wild beard and thick curls were steely grey shot through with what was left of rust-colored red. His moustache didn’t even twitch when he shook my hand.
“Mr. Childes, Mrs. Childes, pleasure to meet y’all.”
“Oh, Leelee, you were right. What a lovely baritone he has.” Patsy linked her arm through Brian’s and petted his bicep. Only then did the stoniness of his face thaw, and only when he looked down at her. “She said you’re a wonderful singer, Josh.”
I was not breaking out the show tunes for them when Leelee’s father looked like he wanted nothing more than to break my legs.
“Dad.” Leelee left my side and gave the forbidding man a hug. His features softened a second time.
“You’re looking a hell of a lot better than you did when you left here, sweetie.” He touched the back of her head with his big paw.
“Well, you can thank Josh for that, and JJ of course.”
“Hmm. Are you sayin’ I should cut the boy some slack?” The fact he’d called me boy let me know he had no intentions of cutting me any slack at all.
“That’s enough now, Mr. Childes. It’s the Lord’s Day, Leelee’s home and happy, and we finally get to meet the mysterious Josh Stone.” Patsy pinched his arm lightly. “Now be polite, like I finally taught you after thirty years.”
“Woman.” His voice was gruff with warning, his face sterner than ever, but a hint of playfulness showed in his eyes.
Maybe the old man isn’t gonna take me out back and skin me alive after all, at least not before we eat.
We made it through brunch with me still in one piece. It wasn’t too awkward once we got rolling. Patsy drew everyone into conversation the way Ma would have, and both she and Leelee paid careful consideration to me. Brian did too, but with a hostile look in his eyes.
I tried to help Leelee’s mom in the kitchen after we ate—anything for a stay of execution—but she told me she didn’t want menfolk messing up her domain. Fair enough. I slunk out when Leelee’s dad entered the room, rubbing his hands together and reaching for Patsy. I overheard their conversation.
“You lay off that boy, now, Bri. He’s done a good thing, bringing our Leelee back, and bringing her back to herself.”
He harrumphed.
She twined her fingers behind his neck. “If you play nice you get pie later.”
A huge grin finally broke through the old dude’s bark and bite. “I like pie,” he drawled, grabbing a piece of Patsy’s ass.
I had a feeling they weren’t talking about the apple pie set out on the cake stand in the middle of the table.
I’d barely managed to sneak back to Leelee in the living room when her dad beckoned me. “C’mon then, Josh.”
Time to duke it out already? My food hadn’t even settled yet. I stood and followed him into the garage, or to the gallows, as it were.
His grin turned dark. “Just us men now, huh?”
I gulped and said a prayer. At least we were in familiar territory. I looked at the covered bulk of a car sitting center stage on the cement floor. “What’re you working on?”
He swept the cover off with all the flair of a man about to show off his pride and joy. “Pontiac GTO.”
“’67, right?” I admired the dark maroon hardtop he’d revealed.
He nodded once, pulled the lever under the dash, and popped the hood. “Come have a look.”
“She’s a beaut.” Glancing at the woodgrain vinyl dashboard, taking in the chain-link grille on the Pontiac’s nose, I joined him under the hood. We inspected the shiny V8 engine that would growl like a lion. “Something to be proud of.”
“I’m just finishing the fine tuning now. After that, I’ll be working on the interior. I’m gonna take her back to her former youth.” He winked at me and I began to breathe easier.
Lowering the hood, he left the GTO uncovered and we continued to appreciate the lean mean lines of her. He looked out the open garage door to my Camaro. “Did you restore that one?”
“From scrap to what you see now.”
Resting against the trunk, he scratched along the steel wool beard on his chin. “I’ve gotta admit, I’ve got a hankerin’ for that model. Did you and Leelee have a nice trip out here?”
It probably wasn’t a good time to tell him what I did with his one and only daughter on top of the car last night. I swallowed that thought right quick. “Yeah, we did and we needed it. I know this all seems real fast, sir, but it’s the real thing. I’m the real deal.” Jesus, I sounded like an eighteen-year-old idiot come to pick up his daughter for the prom.
“I hope you don’t think just because we share a love of cars I’m gonna go real easy on you?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I leaned against a workbench. “Just like I wouldn’t dream of letting any harm come to Leelee through me or anyone else.”
Spreading his thumb and forefinger over his moustache, he smoothed it down, all the while scrutinizing me. He suddenly asked, “Is it after noon yet?”
I glanced at my watch. “Twelve-twenty, sir.”
He stealthily closed the door between the kitchen and the garage, stepped over to the icebox, and nodded at me. “Time for a beer.”
He took one, handed me another, and sat on a stool, pushing its neighbor out for me. After a long guzzle, he wiped his mouth. “You go to church?”
I got the picture. I was in for a Q/A session with Pops. I could do this—I’d handled Jules, for chrissakes.
“Once a month.” I sipped from my beer, figuring it wouldn’t do to act like I wanted to down an entire six-pack.
“Do you run around?”
“I used to, I’m not gonna lie. But I was responsible, never did anything in front of my son, never intentionally hurt anyone.” I twisted the beer bottle between my hands, its condensation mixing with the sweat on my palms. “I’d for damn sure never cheat on Leelee, sir.”
“Ever cheat on your ex?” The grilling continued.
“No, sir. She left me because . . . well, we never had a good relationship and, after JJ was born, shit went to hell in a handbasket. She suffered from postpartum depression, and I don’t think she was cut out for motherhood. And we definitely weren’t made for each other.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “That had to have been tough.”
“Yeah, and no. The hardest part is watching JJ try to figure out how his momma could leave him.” I shrugged. “I think we’ve been a better family without Claire. I never thought we needed more until I met Leelee. She’s one helluva woman, Mr. Childes.”
“Intentions?” He cut to the heart of the matter.
“That depends on whether you’ve got a shotgun stashed around here somewhere.”
He clinked his bottle against min
e. “Good answer, and I do.”
Setting my beer on the workbench, I looked him square in the eyes. “Sir, I expect you to make my life a living hell if I mistreat your daughter. I want you to know that isn’t ever going to happen. I’ve fought for her. I’ve thought of no other woman but her. She’s inside my heart.”
“She deserves to be treasured, not treated the way that twiggy piece of shit Patrick did.”
“If he’s still in town, I wouldn’t mind paying him a visit.” My jaw hardened.
The hand resting on my shoulder tightened as anger flashed across Brian’s face. “Only if you bring me with you.”
Another beer later, I laid down my cards. “I want to ask Leelee to marry me, sir, with your blessing.”
“All I want is her happiness. You know how that is.”
“I can do that. I’d be honored to do that.”
He squinted at me for a long time while I sat perfectly still. “I bet you can.” He nodded, the matter settled.
Leelee found us like that, drinking beer, talking shop. She took one look at the empties and rolled her eyes. “It’s not even five yet, Dad.”
He pointed at the Frigidaire—one of the old ones, baby blue, chrome handle—and she grabbed one herself before calling through the door, “They’re out here gettin’ plastered, Mom.”
The Queen Bee, the hummingbird, entered, taking a seat on Brian’s lap. “Where’s mine?”
Everyone gave cheers and thanks. Leelee stood beside me with her arm draped around me. We talked about our trip and the weather, the upcoming college football season . . . Basically nothing at all but with the all-important feelings of belonging and acceptance.
Then Leelee’s dad blindsided me. “Do you wrap it?”
I choked on my beer.
“Dad!” Mortified, Leelee flushed to her hairline. Not a bad look on her.
I settled a hand on her hip, stopping her from baring her claws at Brian. “It’s okay, babe.” I answered her father, “We’re both clean and monogamous, so no, I don’t.”
“I’m on the pill, Dad, Jesus.” Leelee moved into the shelter of my arms.
