She’d never felt a kiss so deep in her body. “May I?” Sarah nodded toward the sleeper behind them.
“Make yourself at home.”
She kicked off her shoes and crawled in. She reached for the tie at her waist. “Remember? I said there would be a prize.”
He grabbed her hand fast. “That’s more’n a prize.”
The way he looked at her, the way he said it, made it hard for her not to gasp. It was the time of free love, sexual liberation, and cast in that light, this was a prize, pure and simple. She was sure of it, right up to the moment. She let go of the bow and relaxed her hand into his. “So you never had, just sex for the fun of it, Dave?”
Dave looked out the front of the cab at the growing strip of light. “That’s none of your business.”
“You have.”
“Appetites go strong when a man ain’t fed. Sometimes it’s hard not to gorge. Don’t make it right, and the bellyache after tells you so.”
Sarah reached her hand back in the cab and turned his face toward her. “I want to gorge, bellyache be damned.” She reached for the tie again. He didn’t stop her. She unbuttoned her dress. It fell open.
Dave cleared his throat. Sarah reached into the cab and tried to turn his face to her.
He held fast. “You know, we’re in Winnemucca. This is where we…go our separate ways.”
“I know.” She shook her shoulders. The dress fell away to fully expose her bright white bra and panties. “Ever made love in a sunrise?”
Dave shook his head. “Can’t says I have.”
“Then you ain’t lived, Dave.” She pulled his chin again. Now he looked.
His eyes roved up and down her hungrily. “Oh lord.”
“Join me.” She unclasped her bra, shrugged her shoulders, and her full breasts relaxed. She traced finger and thumb along the top of her panties.
“Oh lord, Sarah.”
She could see the bulge in his jeans plainly though his groin was angled away. She pulled down the panties.
The sun emerged fully. Dave didn’t look at it. He stayed on Sarah, then jumped into the sleeper. He fumbled with his clothes like a teenager, his first chance at sex. Their limbs formed shadows on the back wall of the sleeper.
“I’m hungry.” Dave crouched down in a small parcel at one end of the sleeper, his face turned up, eyes locked in hers. He pressed his face to her clit.
“Oh!” Sarah had a few men do this and it made her feel awkward. It was so intense a sensation, and so personal a place. She let out a gasp as Dave flicked her clit with his tongue. She grabbed the plain white sheets in her fists. Her voice overpowered the rise and fall of diesel engines nearby.
Dave’s glossy chin ascended from between her legs, a huge grin across it. “You’re delicious, Sarah.”
“I’m hungry too.” She motioned for him to lie next to her, facing the other direction. She pulled his cock to her mouth. The tip was beautiful and silky soft. The thick veins curled like vines atop the rigid shaft, and she could not get enough of studying him, taking him as deep as she could into her mouth then tonguing every inch of him. Each time she focused on its base and flicked his tight balls, she felt him jerk.
He rolled her body onto his chest and split her knees as wide as they would go. His tongue was powerful, insistent, unrelenting. She was overcome by a huge, full-body orgasm, her mouth was slack on his flagpole cock. Her limbs tingled and her waist shuddered in time. She tasted him again, but again lost control when a second orgasm washed over her.
She tried her best to overcome him with her mouth. When she managed to take him fairly deep, he became still for a moment, but his fingers and mouth were so capable, all she could do was try to keep up with what was happening in her. The words replayed in her mind. A place where a man can taste a steak in his mind…Oh, the things Dave must have thought while he was imprisoned.
She increased her urgent sucking, and his cock was a dark burgundy color, but it did not yield to her. She orgasmed yet again. She needed control badly. She thought to ask him for it, but this made no sense given their time to date. She thought of sword swallowers in the circus. She fought past her gag reflex. It took a few tries, but she took him down, her nose brushed his tight balls.
Dave grunted, and his limbs went limp as she worked his cock. She loved it desperately, as if the small window she had created would soon be revoked. Tongue, fingers, palms, lips, a touch of teeth, then back down her throat a few times, and he arched his back, lifting her like she was a feather. His voice was silent when the first shot sprayed deep into her gullet, and she nearly lost control of the gag reflex again. She subjugated it. He yelled out. His cock sprayed her mouth. She swallowed him whole again, and he nearly bucked her body off.
She held tight to him like a rodeo champion finishing the bronco ride, still in the saddle.
They lay in a heap, nearly still, totally silent. Only soft, restorative breaths.
The cab was brightly lit. “What the hell did you do to me, Sarah?”
All that came out was, “No bellyache.”
He laughed and stroked every inch of her body. She had never felt like this with any man. She had never felt like this at all. She didn’t want it to end.
Sarah devoured a big omelet breakfast in the diner. The meal in Reno had burned off halfway across Nevada. She wanted this one to last.
Dave sipped his coffee, nibbled some toast, and didn’t try to stop her from paying for both their meals, though clearly he had to fight the reflex. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get a ride up to Nampa. I’d sooner take you, but I got a schedule.” He started for the cab of his semi. He looked back just once.
“Thanks, Dave.” Yes, she was close enough to home that she could get someone to come get her, or thumb a ride north.
She barely heard the words moving away. “I sure will miss you, Little Sarah.”
She yelled out. “You never told me where you’re headed.”
“Next stop, Lincoln, Nebraska. After that, well, lot of roads out there. Still got a bunch to discover.”
She walked after him quickly. “Always wanted to see Lincoln.” Truly, she never had given it a thought. She grabbed his arm. “You know, it occurs to me we never did work out our differences about Vietnam, Dave.”
“You might be surprised what I—” Sarah put her finger tight to his lips. He grinned. “You’re right. You got your work cut out for you.” He took the suitcase from her hand, walked to the passenger door, and opened it.
She paused for a moment, then smiled and climbed in. “You too, Big Dave.” She folded her hands in her lap. He closed the door for her.
TO BE IN CLOVER
Shanna Germain
Down on his knees in the clover, Dustan wrapped the electric wire around the insulator, pulling it tight. In the field next to him, the wind tickled the corn, making it rustle. The shiver of the tassels sounded like a woman undressing. And when Dustan thought of a woman undressing, he always thought of Maddy.
He cocked his head, listening. There was no wind today. It was bright and still as summer could be, as if the day was holding its breath, waiting. If it wasn’t the corn and wind making that sound, then it was Maddy.
In another moment, he could make out the sound of her, the silky-corn swish of her sundress against her legs. He kept at the fence, letting the sound of her come to him in small waves of leg and fabric, and then the smell of her; beneath his own fresh sweat and the sweet waft of the flowering clover came her morning scent. Tomatoes off the vine. Zucchini blossoms. The tang of the marigolds she used for pest control.
She came up behind him and threw her hands over his eyes, and he pretended that she’d surprised him, that he hadn’t been anticipating her arrival by sound since she’d entered the field. Her hands were rough with tiny cuts—she never wore gloves—and he reveled in the press of her palms to his eyelids, the momentary loss of light, the way her sounds and smells rose around him to block out the world. Her laughter tickled the edges of
his ears.
It was dangerous, the things she did, sometimes. Like blinding him while he was working with fence trimmers and electric wires. But he didn’t have the heart to quell her enthusiasm, her childish delight. At least not for his own safety.
She was still laughing when he turned and lifted her a few inches off the ground. She was little but strong, half a foot shorter than him. He settled one hand on her ass, holding her up, loving the way her body filled out there, glorious curves. Not suns. Not moons or melons. Just Maddy and the sweet globes of her ass.
She kissed him, grinding along the front of him as much as she could while he was holding her. Her mouth tasted like raspberries and cream. She wiggled along him, and he had to put her down, out of breath and bending backward. Her bare feet—the toenails painted like mini-suns—disappeared into the clover.
“Maddy, you shouldn’t be barefoot out here.” He could hear the scolding in his voice, couldn’t help it. “You’re going to step on a pricker. Or a bee. Or worse.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Besides, I’m only interested in being stuck by this particular pricker.” He wondered, as he often did, if her daddy knew what a wild creature she was. He doubted it.
Her hand found the front of him, already half-hard, tickling her fingers over his zipper. The flash of her ring in the sunlight as she stroked him, lifting her head, laughing.
“Maddy,” he said.
“What?” All innocent, that look, as her gaze caught his—she had deep brown eyes, big and dark, lightly flecked with gold in the centers, and thick dark eyelashes, a sharp contrast to her lighter hair.
On one of their first dates, he’d told her, “You have eyes like a Jersey calf.” He hadn’t meant to say it—words were his enemy, mostly, things that bit at his tongue and made his cheeks fire. But Maddy hadn’t laughed at him; she hadn’t gotten angry at being compared to a cow. She’d said, “I don’t have to moo when we have sex for the first time, do I?” He’d never thought a woman could say things like that. She said things like that all the time. Words loved her. And he knew then that he wanted to love her like that.
The crazy thing was that she let him do just that. Madeline O’Hara, daughter of Fire Chief O’Hara, Queen of the Country Fair, she of the proper “Please” and “Thank you,” she of the gold-brown corn-tassel hair and the calf-brown eyes.
Dustan had seen her his whole life, of course, the way he’d seen all the town girls he’d grown up with. From the outside. Genqua wasn’t even that big of a town, but it was big enough to split the farmers and ranchers from the ones who had town jobs, town roles. Maddy O’Hara wasn’t just way out of his ballpark. Maddy O’Hara was out of his league.
Except they’d met, officially, for the first time in a ballpark. Dustan playing for the farm team, Maddy’s brothers playing for the townies. The farm team had won, and they were heading off for drinks, when this girl in a daisy-yellow sundress and white sandals crossed the field, calling his name.
“Dustan,” she said, although everyone else called him Dusty so he didn’t know it was his name she was saying until she got close and touched his shoulder.
“Can I go out with the winning team?” she’d asked. The first time he’d seen those eyes, that smile that gave her one dimple on the side, a pushed-in petal.
His teammates were there, standing with him, but he couldn’t hear or see them. He could only see the freckles on her chest and the way the sundress cut into her pale shoulders just enough to make red marks.
“I, uh...” His stuttering had been bad then, words more than just an enemy, words a cow kick to the gut that he couldn’t step out of the way of.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl,” she’d said, as though he’d actually said all of the things that were in his brain. The what and the why and the way these boys, these farm boys, got drunk and wild beyond what she could have possibly seen, and how the whole other part of him was saying Please, yes, please.
“Besides,” she’d said, raising her voice in the direction of the other team. “Those town boys are b-o-r-i-n-g.”
Later, she said that was their first date, although he hardly counted it. It was beers with the boys and darts. She’d flitted among them like some exotic insect, but one who clearly liked them. And even more clearly liked Dustan.
He still had no idea what she’d seen really in him that day or that night, or the days after, even though she’d told him a million times. “It was that farm-boy muscle in those baseball pants,” is what she always said, putting the emphasis on muscle. Singular.
She’d let him love her then, and she was still letting him love her now, she was crossing a field of clover and honeybees in her bare feet to bring her pricker-and-honey love to him, to stand on his booted feet and wiggle against him.
“So, you have time for a quickie, Mr. Fence Fixer?” Her words accompanied by her fingers tugging at the bottom of his T-shirt. “Or do I have to go back to the house all sweating and unsatisfied?”
“What, here?” Words came better, without the stutter, but still slow. One or two syllables to her elaborate sentences.
She was nibbling at his neck, laughing. “Mmm, you taste like sweat. And sunshine. More, please.”
He meant to resist. He had work to do. The field was flat and open, the clover not even knee high. It wasn’t like the time she’d ducked him into the head-high corn, going down on her knees in the mud to suck him. Or the time they’d had sex in the apple orchard, the scent of blossoms and spring grass caught in their hair and skin.
He meant to resist, but she had his shirt up and was running her cool hands along his belly, tucking them into his waistband. “Come down with me,” she said. She tugged him down as she went, both of them falling to the ground, the clover a cushion of sweet flower and the quiet buzzing of sun-warmed honeybees.
He remembered his wire cutters at the last second, tossed them sideways out of the way. Maddy cupped the back of his head, brought him down for a giggled, honey-dipped kiss of lips and tongue.
Laughing, they rolled, crushing the clover, bringing him again on top, part of her face covered with the sprigs of green and pink. Looking down at her was pleasure and a kind of pain that squeezed his chest and his cock at once. So beautiful and so his, but in that, the worry of losing her too.
“Fuck me, Dustan.” Maddy’s eyes up to him, through him. “Please.”
And then that thing that always happened, when the giggling stopped and their mouths opened and met, their bodies, still clothed, lined up against each other. As though a switch had been flipped, that electric heat that ran through them both, conducted by desire and pleasure. Dustan felt it everywhere—the tip of his cock, the edges of his lips as they touched hers, his fingertips. Sometimes he thought his very hair stood on end with the want.
“Gladly,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you all morning.” And, here in that moment, he could talk, fully. He could say all the things in his head without tripping on his tongue, without the words halting him. His face burned when he said things like that, but it burned with a good thing, a safe and yet still dangerous thing. “But I think I’ll make you wait....”
Her moan was everything to him, that small sound bitten back behind her lips. He pushed her dress up around her hips, watched the pale skin appear above the carpet of green. She had nothing on underneath, her golden-brown hair trimmed and curled. He dipped a finger, heard the soft groan as she arched her hips toward him, felt his cock harden fully at the feel of her, wet and wanting.
He tucked another finger, marveled as always at the tight, warm pull of her around him. His thumb found the small peak of her clit, circled it lightly until she released another sigh. He could smell her—the sweet arousal from between her legs, the clover crushed beneath her each time she raised and lowered her hips into his hand.
“Please,” she said. Her voice was graveled and breath-broken. The one time she had no words, a moment he loved for, lived for. “You’re making me...mmm...wait
...on purpose.”
“I am,” he said, leaning down, his fingers still stroking inside her, his other hand pushing the top of her dress down to expose her breasts, taking one small nipple in his mouth, running his tongue in circles that echoed his thumb.
“Dustan...”
Her hands fumbled for his belt. He pulled away at first, content on her, but she kept at it and he let her. It took her two tries, but she finally unhooked the belt and jeans enough so that he could slide out of them.
Maddy tried to sit up—she wanted to suck him, he could tell by the way she moved, by the way she reached for his cock—but he held her there, writhing in the clover.
“Later,” he said. “I want to be in you.”
She pouted so cute that he almost gave in, but he wanted to feel her warmth around him. Not the active heat of her mouth and tongue, but the way her body rose to his and surrounded him.
He leaned back above her and stroked his cock, once, twice. Who cared if someone saw? That was something Maddy was teaching him every day. The only thing he cared about was the way her gaze followed his movements, the hungry look in her brown eyes, the way she kept saying Please, please, please, the sound a wind whisper of want.
She lifted her hips to meet him and he slid into her, slow, teasing, loving the way her body arched, planting her feet to lift her hips and curl her spine upward. Slow, taking his time, watching her, one hand coming between them to tease her clit with each thrust.
Her words totally gone now, just low, moaning breaths, both of her hands gripping his bare ass, pulling him in harder. Her desire made his flare, hot and thick, so that he wanted to plant her into the ground, to plow her under, to go with her into that place where they both bloomed and blossomed.
He slowed his thrusting to lean down and kiss her, trailing his tongue over the edge of her lips and down the curve of her chin. He captured each nipple in turn, sucked hard between his slow strokes.
Best Erotic Romance Page 13
