Two Crazy, One Wild

by Shaye Marlow

  “Yes,” Rory said. “She didn’t like that you were humping Zack, or that I looked like I was humping you, and so she left, and now I’m stranded, bereft, and completely without a sexual outlet. Do you have any idea how that impacts my mental health? And you refuse even to give me a pity fuck. And you throw shit at me,” he complained, dodging the banana I lobbed at him.

  “Nothing happened,” I stressed. “We were just discussing our lesson plan for today.” Head held high, I turned and headed for my room.

  “Oh yeah?” Rory said. “Then why do you have pancake stuck to your back?”

  “Ooo, I love pancakes,” a female voice said.

  Zack’d been angling to follow me, probably to pick up where we’d left off, but seeing his mom crowded into the doorway next to Rory, he pulled up short with a nervous laugh. “Well, hey,” he said. “Time for that flight lesson.”

  He practically ran for the plane.

  FRANCES

  Our flying lesson that day was more about avoiding his parents than anything else. Which was good, because I was somewhat distracted. Zack was the apple of my eye, and I wanted to take another bite—wanted to smear his skin with peanut butter before munching on it, feel his juices dribble down my chin…

  It was as we were taking our headsets off that he glanced over and said, “Stick shift lesson?”

  I licked my lips, thinking about a dozen naughty things I’d like to do with his ‘stick’.

  “I was thinking we could drive up to your dad’s, maybe get that dahlia.”

  I grimaced.

  “I am assuming you don’t want to be riding bitch forever.” His wicked grin should have been illegal.

  I had enjoyed riding that motorcycle with him—correction, I’d fucking loved it. There was a certain charm to straddling both him and the bike, and letting them take me where they pleased. But I could also see where guiding my own bike, being up front with nothing between me and the street but a pair of handlebars, the wind in my face and my hand choking the throttle, would be so much better.

  “Eh,” I said, climbing from the airplane. “I could just get one of those Spyders. They’re automatic, right?”

  Zack sputtered. “Those are not motorcycles.”

  “Also, you’re assuming we’ll go to town together ever again,” I said, walking across the yard.

  “There’re always dirt bikes,” he said, chasing after me. “You could probably take a dirt bike all over the mountainsides up above your dad’s.”

  I paused with my hand on the Jeep’s driver side door. “This thing still out of gas?”

  He grinned. “Yes, but I have a tank. If you’ll just give me five minutes…”

  I’d give him anything, but instead of admitting that, I went for a quick potty break. As I emerged, I saw him loading pilot bread and peanut butter into a shopping bag, and nearly whimpered.

  “Picnic lunch,” he said, and if that wasn’t charming as fuck, I didn’t know what was.

  I climbed into the driver’s side of the Jeep, and the seat hummed as I brought it forward.

  “Might wanna go a little farther still,” Zack said, climbing in next to me. “You need to be able to push the clutch all the way to the floor.”

  I did as he said, then tried to start it.

  Zack grinned over at me. “Need the clutch in to start it, and at all times if you’re not either under power or in neutral.”

  I jammed the pedal in, then started it. Following his directions, I tried to get us moving. The Jeep bucked, the engine died, and we rolled toward the river.

  “Slower,” he said, looking over at me with an intense gaze, his voice dropping low. “You need to eeease it out, find the sweet spot, and when you feel the tension begin to mount—”

  “Ha, ha,” I grumbled as he echoed my bookstore ‘lesson’.

  “—when you hear it start to catch, let it.”

  Great. Being hot and bothered was not going to help. I stalled it again. With the next failure, I hit the steering wheel.

  “Quit being such a spaz. Seriously. Relax. Go slow.”

  This time, we rolled within a couple feet of the cut bank before I stalled out. A curl of smoke drifted by my window. “What was that?” I asked, craning my neck. “I smell something. Are we on fire?”

  “That’s just the clutch. Let’s try something,” Zack said. “Put on the emergency brake and put it in neutral.” I was still reflecting on how sick it was of me to enjoy his commanding tone, when he did it himself. “Now hold tight.” He jumped out of the truck and came around to my side.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as he opened the door.

  “Something we might regret.” He grabbed me, lifted me up out of the driver’s seat, then climbed in himself. But, he didn’t let me go. Instead, he hauled me up on his lap.

  “This… is not a good idea,” I said breathlessly.

  He reached around to adjust the steering wheel so it wasn’t cutting off the circulation in my legs. “Take off your shoes.”

  “That would be a lot easier,” I grunted, bending down to try and do so, “if I weren’t jammed in here like an 18-inch piece of wood in a 12-inch stove.”

  “And quit squirming,” Zack said.

  I gave an extra shimmy against the hard bulge under my tailbone—speaking of wood—as I tugged my last shoe free, then flung it into the passenger’s side. “Why, Zack, I had no idea you liked to drive so much,” I cooed.

  “I love to drive,” he rasped directly into my ear, making my nipples harden in an instant. “Now put your feet on top of mine, and fucking pay attention.”

  I followed along as he put a foot on the brake, and the other on the clutch.

  “Put it in first, please,” he said. But the feel of him behind and under me was robbing my synapses of spark, so I didn’t immediately move. He grasped my hand, placed it on the gearshift, and covered it with his own, a move which made my back arch, and a little moan spill from my lips.

  “Oh my god, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just do that,” Zack said, his voice sounding like it’d been scraped from the pits of hell. Under me, he was even harder than before, and I didn’t make a habit of measuring things with my inner thighs, but… Mmm.

  “Stop it,” Zack said. “Whatever you’re thinking, pull your mind out of the gutter and concentrate.”

  “Yup,” I said, feeling dazed.

  “First gear,” he said, and helped me make it so. “Gas, slowly off the clutch. There, you hear that?” he asked. “That’s the sweet spot. Hold it there, a little more gas—” we’d started to roll, forward this time “—foot the rest of the way off the clutch, slowly. And there you go. You’re driving. Might wanna steer around that crabapple,” he added.

  I hauled us to the right while Zack laughed at me, then aimed the Jeep toward the trail. We were bounced together by ruts and bumps, and Zack’s chuckles were only making things worse. His breath was hot against my ear, his body vibrating under mine.

  “Hear that?” Zack asked softly. “That’s the engine saying it wants to be in second.” His hand tightened on mine when I would have pulled the shifter down. “So,” he said, “foot off the gas, foot on the clutch, down into second, and ease back into it.”

  I could have cried. I wanted to ease back into it—or onto it, actually.

  A hundred feet or so up the trail, he braked to a halt. In the absence of bumping and the throaty rumble of the engine, we could both hear my harsh breathing. My fingers flexed on the wheel.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  His indrawn breath pushed me forward slightly. “Frances,” he said softly, and brushed a callused fingertip along my neck.

  I tilted my head to let him. “Who the hell thought this was a good idea?” I asked. I shifted on his lap, only too aware that I’d soaked through my panties.

  He looped an arm around me, his warm palm flattening against my ribs. “Some dumb bastard,” he said, his lips now brushing where his finger had been
.

  I rested the back of my head against his shoulder, wrapped up in the feel of him. “You’re not dumb.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  That hand of his was sweeping lower, lying now across my belly. My legs slid along the outsides of his, and I arched in his hold, willing that hand to go lower still.

  Zack groaned. “I was just trying to teach you how to drive a stick,” he whispered, his hand now on my hip, pulling me closer.

  “Well… can’t we do both?” I gasped.

  “No.” His laugh was strained. “No way. You’re learning, and if you can’t control yourself, I’ll move.”

  “If I ‘can’t control’…”

  “Yep.”

  I gritted my teeth and told myself I could do this. I could sit on his cock all day, if that’s what it took. I wouldn’t proposition him, or reach for him, or grind on him, or any of that good stuff. I had more self-control than him, could outlast him, and I would, dammit.

  “Where do I go to get to my dad’s?” I asked, as theirs was an unfamiliar route.

  “Up this trail a mile or so,” he said, releasing my hand. “Then there’s a branch to the left. I’ll show you.”

  I put it in first, and the Jeep lunged a bit, but I managed to get it going. Following his directions, I turned off onto a track that was tamped down and a little torn up, but not quite worn-in. We wound ever upward, me determinedly ignoring his hot breath on my ear and what was going on in his lap.

  “Here,” he said after a good twenty minutes. “We park here and walk up.”

  The Jeep lunged and died when I pulled my foot off the clutch, and then I shoved the door open and jumped from Zack’s lap, desperately needing space before I did something apparently undesired.

  He slid down behind me and I put up a hand. “No, no. You have to stay here. George doesn’t make idle threats, and I don’t want to tempt him.”

  “But you—”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Stay in the Jeep, where the dogs can’t get you, okay? This’ll take me ten minutes, tops.”

  The muscles in his jaw bunched.

  “If you want to have that picnic with me,” I said softly, “you’ll stay in the Jeep.” He finally climbed back in, and I loped up the hill and into the yard. I said hi to the dogs, then found a pot and shovel, and did the deed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  FRANCES

  “That’s it?” Zack asked as I approached with the dahlia. “That’s the plant that caused all that trouble?”

  I hugged the big pot tighter to my chest, irritated that he couldn’t appreciate the beauty that was just in front of him. It was as Mildred had said: a prize-winning dinner plate dahlia, currently exploding with giant blooms, blood-red fading to fiery orange, each petal tipped in white.

  I belted it into the back seat, then told Zack to get out of mine. Any man who told me to control myself didn’t deserve me grinding on his lap. Plus, not having anything to grind on would help me maintain my control.

  Zack directed me downhill, and several minutes later, we arrived at a lake. It appeared almost alpine, with turquoise-tinted water and a gravel shore.

  I put it in first and turned off the engine. “So,” I said. “Picnic?”

  “Yes, but first… swimming.”

  My head swung around. “I didn’t bring a suit.”

  “Did I mention we’ll be naked?” he said, giving me a challenging grin.

  Ha. I climbed out of the Jeep and slung my shirt, pants, and underwear over the truck bed. Then, completely nude and comfortable that way, I crunched down the rounded-pebble beach and stuck my toes in the water. “It’s a bit chilly.”

  “A bit,” he admitted, his voice coming from behind me.

  I closed my eyes, imagining him naked. Keeping my back to him, I walked into the water. I went in up to my knees, then my hips. Goose bumps rolled over my skin.

  “Fuck it,” I said, and dove. The cool water was an invigorating shock.

  Zack popped up next to me, his smile wide. His hair was plastered to his head and gleaming drops tracked down his planed cheeks. He was still able to stand, while I was forced to tread water.

  I splashed water into his face, and I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when he splashed me back. I got him again and then dove, swimming away. He caught my foot and hauled me back.

  I was planning to get him again when I surfaced, but he caught my hand and the back of my neck, and dragged me into a kiss. Just as quickly as he grabbed me, he let me go.

  I went under, then floundered back up in time to catch a stinging spray full in the face. Cussing, trying to squeegee my eyes, I kicked toward the shore.

  Again, he grabbed my ankle. I kicked at him, and he was laughing as he both fended me off and reeled me in.

  When he had me in his arms, the whole length of his body against mine, I glared up at him. “So what’s your plan, here?” I asked.

  The reflection of sun off the water was doing some wondrous things to his eyes. “Well,” he said. “You have no pants.”

  And he had an erection. It was rubbing against my thigh.

  “You turned me down less than an hour ago,” I said. “Implied I had no self-control. If you think you’re getting lucky now...” I shook my head.

  “Frances,” he said, his voice more a purr than anything else.

  “Stop it.”

  “Franny,” he coaxed, nuzzling my jaw.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  He sighed the word into my ear. “Fanny.”

  “Damn you,” I said, and began to thrash.

  He laughed, holding onto me as I turned a full 360 in his arms. 180 degrees after that, his erection was riding the crack of my ass, and he tightened his arms across my chest, locking me down.

  Then his mouth was on my neck, nuzzling under my ear. “You left me high and dry this morning,” he murmured.

  “You mean at breakfast? Good. I hope your balls are as blue as your eyes.”

  He kissed his way down to my shoulder. One of his arms loosened, and his hand slid downward, between my legs. We both sighed as his callused fingers slid into me, and the flat of his hand pressed. He brought his mouth to my neck, sucking gently.

  “You really don’t have to do this,” I panted. “Get me ready, I mean. I’m already there. I’ve been there since I first fucking saw you.”

  His hand stilled. “You threw me out of a plane.”

  “And I was wet the whole time,” I assured him.

  “You hit me with a board.”

  “What, it wasn’t good for you?”

  He spun me around in his arms and stared down into my eyes. Searched them. Maybe saw the truth there. “You’ve been attracted to me this whole time?”

  “What, you couldn’t tell? Sheesh. Just look at you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So, anyone that looks like I do, you’d be wet for him?”

  “Um. I feel like this is some sort of trap.”

  “Rory looks like me,” he pointed out.

  “Not even close,” I said, shaking my head vigorously. “His hair’s darker. He’s a little thicker through the middle. And don’t even get me started on the fact that he hit me and that he’s a mouthy, nosy bastard who’s way too loose with the word ‘bitch’.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You want me because I look like I do, because I don’t hit you, and haven’t called you a bitch?”

  I growled softly. “You don’t even care why I want you. You had a house girlfriend you shared with your brother, whom you didn’t even like. You just want something to stick your dick in. Am I right?”

  He shook his head, looked at me a moment, then dropped me.

  My head went under, again. I came up sputtering, but he was already walking away. I swam after him. “What the hell is your problem?”

  He rounded on me, bringing me up short. “I’ll tell you what my problem is. You just assume all I want is sex, that I’m incapable of a relationship. And maybe I’m feeling a l
ittle objectified, have you ever thought of that? ‘Oh, Zack’,” he said, affecting a falsetto, “‘Zack, your tattoos, your muscles, your eyes.’”

  I was startled into a grin, which made him snort and turn away. “You forgot your big, fat cock,” I said, “and your fine, firm buns.” I followed him up to the shore, admiring the way the light shone off his dripping body.

  “Listen,” I said, grabbing his arm. Making a sound of impatience, I dragged him around. “If I didn’t like you, for yourself, I wouldn’t be offering you sex.”

  “Now, see, I don’t believe that. You were banging everybody up in that compound of yours.”

  I gasped. “That’s not true.”

  “Half of them?”

  “Ehhh.” I latched onto his arm to keep him from turning.

  “So which one is it?” he demanded. “You like me, or you just want me to stick my dick in you?”

  “I…” Why were we arguing, again? Because I thought he was attractive? I was confused.

  “Because I can do that, if that’s what you want.” He wrapped his hands around my waist. “If that’s all you want.”

  I nodded, because I wanted him. I wanted him right here, right now. Badly.

  He hesitated then, and glanced over at his pants.

  “I’m on birth control,” I said. “I have one of those little sticks in my arm. And I’m clean.”

  Zack considered a moment, and I knew he’d made up his mind when he lifted me. Holding me with one arm, he pulled my leg around his hip, and guided himself to my entrance. He moved his grip to my thighs, hitched me a bit, then let me sink down on him.

  The sensation was… perfect. It was flesh and blood, perfectly hard, perfectly sized. And when I say ‘perfectly sized’, I mean he was frickin’ huge. He stretched me wide, hurting me just a little.

  He must’ve seen something in my face, because he paused.

  “No, no,” I said feverishly. “More. I want you.” I grabbed his face and kissed him, thrusting my tongue in his mouth, showing him how I wanted it. Hot and deep and close and fast.

  I wiggled, sinking down on him, taking him. Tightened my legs around his waist, and took more.