Drive: Cougars, Cars and Kink, Book 1

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  She sat up, keeping the comforting blanket around her. “Seafood sounds great.”

  “If only they delivered beer, they’d be perfect. But Sam must have some stashed somewhere. I’ll pay him back.” He handed her his phone, which displayed the menu.

  For a second, she looked at the salads. Then she exclaimed, “Fuck it. Fried clams it is. Want to split onion rings? No, on second thought, I’ll take my own for once.”

  “Living dangerously,” he said drily as he joined her on the sofa.

  She shrugged and snuggled up against him, liking the feel of her bare skin against his clothes, loving the heat of his body, the way he pulled her close with his muscular arm. “It’s not every day a nice suburban matron finds herself in a suspense thriller. I think I’ve earned a few onion rings. But I’m not going to live so dangerously I don’t check in with my friend, because she’s scarier than any criminal. Mind if I use your phone?”

  Might as well make a joke of all the craziness, both external and internal. It always beat crying.

  As she punched in Janice’s number, she decided summarizing the whole scary-stalkers thing in a text was too much. It’s Suzanne. Having phone issues, she texted. She figured that would be less panic inducing for Janice than explaining the truth in just a few words. But day went so well I’m not coming home 2nite. Then she sent a second text: Deets later. Your kind of deets.

  She half-expected a text or call immediately demanding proof of life, but instead she just got: Sucks about the phone. Play safe, have fun. And a follow-up message: Call when u can. Want stories!

  Some things hadn’t changed since they were in their twenties. She smiled to herself as she gave Neil back his phone.

  Chapter Eight

  Neil was so tempted to spend the night at Sam’s place, just curl up with Suzanne in the big bed—probably not even making good use of the tie-down points on the bedframe and the rope that hung in the closet, alluring though that notion was—and pass out. Suzanne’s tears, the way she clung to him both before and after her nap, even the way she devoured a large order of clams and enough onion rings to satisfy a college boy, all spoke of sub drop. After a nap and food, she seemed more alert and together, but his instincts told him to baby her.

  Let’s face it, he could use the sleep himself. The adrenaline and lust of the day had drained him too. He was used to a sense of threat at work, but he preferred his days off criminal-free, thank you very much. And while the scene with Suzanne had been light from a physical perspective—no bondage, no floggers, no pointy things threatening her pretty skin, only the slightest bruising from pinching fingers and those last few thwacks with the spoon—it had been emotionally intense. Surprisingly so.

  Unfortunately, he had to be at work in the morning.

  Neil opened up the familiar sofa bed where he’d crashed in the past after one of Sam’s play parties. There were sheets on it, and knowing Sam, they’d be clean in case some of his friends decided to use the place while he was away and didn’t feel comfortable disturbing the inner sanctum of the bedroom. Then he set the alarm on his phone. “Get some sleep,” he told Suzanne. “I’m going to dig a little more, see if I can figure out what’s going on. If we head out around 2:30 the highways ought to be as close to deserted as they ever were, and even creepy stalkers should be asleep. That way I can still get to work on time.” Maybe even getting a bit of sleep himself in the interim. It was only 9:30; he should be able to snatch an hour or two.

  Suzanne was wearing one of Sam’s T-shirts, a huge blue thing with a whale on the front and the logo of an environmental group on the back. Neil figured that he’d have time to wash it and return it, along with the sheets, before his friend got back from whatever goodly scientific mission he was on. It didn’t make her a bit less enticing. More so, maybe. Her hair was loose, like it had been when he first saw her. The shirt wasn’t quite long enough to cover the curve of her ass. He couldn’t see the bruises from the kitchen encounter, but he knew they were there and the thought of them made him yearn to give her more. Then he’d lay her facedown on the bed, kiss the bruises, then go to work on her pussy.

  But no. Nap first, play later.

  He kept that resolve until, she bent over the foldout bed to fluff pillows (not that there was much to fluff, since they were square, flat throw pillows with Patriots covers) and arrange the bedding in ways that it didn’t really need to be arranged.

  He tried to study his phone, where he’d been attempting to see if he could make the photo he snapped into anything useful. But he was quickly reaching the conclusion that someone with mad skills and professional photo editing software might be able to clarify the faces, but he couldn’t. And a man could resist only so much.

  He stood, grabbed those distracting hips, pulled her against his crotch as he bent over her, pressing his body against hers. “You tempt me,” he whispered. “God, do you tempt me.”

  “I’m trying to.”

  He kissed her neck, then bit down at that tender place where her neck met her shoulder. He got a mouthful of cotton, but her sigh of pleasure and her movements against him made the taste of T-shirt a gourmet treat. “It’s working. But I should investigate our maybe bad guys. And I could use some sleep myself.” His cock offered the opinion that sleep was for the weak and feeble. His brain agreed more than it should have. “Besides, I had only the one condom.” That was a more convincing argument to his cock than responsibility, though said happy dick reminded him there were plenty of getting-off options that didn’t require a condom.

  “If you had more than that, I’d be concerned you spent a lot of time having wild nights with strangers.”

  Well, it had been known to happen. He was a young, single guy active in the local BDSM community; munches, demos and play parties sometimes led to hook-ups. He had a feeling Suzanne wouldn’t really be shocked by that. But those were situations when you knew a hook-up was a possibility. “I’m glad I had any. Not something I deliberately take along to check out a car, but I’d had one in my wallet for ages as a just-in-case.”

  “I’m about twenty years out of the habit of carrying them myself. But if you keep doing that—” he was thrusting against her, couldn’t help himself because even with fabric separating them, it felt too damn good “—I may not care.”

  He might not either, even though he’d come like a fucking rocket not long ago, and that would be bad. They were moving fast, but there was moving fast and there was being just plain dumb. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

  She was still bent over, though, and that was more than he could resist. “You have the most spankable ass,” he whispered as he gripped it, digging his fingers into areas tender from their earlier play. She moaned deep in her throat. “Oh please…”

  Oh God in heaven, yes.

  One hand to spank her, one hand to cup her pussy. He pressed on her clit and vibrated as he spanked, played with the ring. She started gasping for breath and bucking, first pushing back to enjoy the spanking, then pressing forward into his exploring fingers. She arched her back and tossed her head. He couldn’t see her skin flushing, dammit, couldn’t see the curve of her body, but even through the enveloping T-shirt, he could see how her breasts moved.

  He reveled in that plump, slick clit, the slippery ring. It wasn’t enough.

  He had a brief, startling thought. It might not ever be enough with this woman. There was something addictive about her enthusiasm, about the way she admitted her darker cravings and seized the opportunity to fulfill them. He could imagine so many things he’d like to try with her. She might not like all of his kinks—that would be too much to dream—but he was willing to bet she’d be game to try most anything once and at least hear more about the edgier ones she wasn’t ready to dive right into.

  Right now, though, what he wanted to do was something even the most vanilla of women tended to like. “So goddamn beautiful. So wet. I need to taste you, Suz
anne.”

  Her answer was a moaned, “Oh God, yes!” Before she finished with the three short words, he bent down. There, he could see better now. Her beautiful ass was mottled, red with a few blue-black bruises shaped like a wooden spoon, and it took all his strength not to bite it, mark it further as if sealing his claim on her. He spread her ass-cheeks, licked once at her wet slit. Delicious, but the position was too awkward.

  “On the bed, now. Shirt off.”

  It gratified his domly black heart to see how quickly yet gracefully she scrambled to obey. She might have been away from BDSM for decades, but gleeful submission was definitely in her nature.

  And then he stopped analyzing. It was hard to turn off that part of his brain but when she was spread before him on that ugly pullout bed, long legs parted wide, her slick pussy glistening and swollen, and a silver ring ornamented with a green ball marking his target, everything switched off that wasn’t directly related to her or to sex. Even the throbbing of his dick took second place to the need to taste Suzanne.

  He knelt down on the bed between her legs and for a second, just studied her. Beautiful, and maybe he’d been saying that word a lot to himself since he’d met her—was it really only this morning?—but he couldn’t think of a better one. Maybe gorgeous, maybe hot and sexy, but beautiful worked.

  Her legs were parted wide, knees bent, and her pussy was already exposed, but he put one thumb on each of her outer labia and opened her wider. Her cunt contracted, clenching as if his gaze caressed her. Oh yeah, she was a live one.

  She whimpered, no words in it, not even a plea. The sound was so soft he might have missed it, as if all her energy was centered between her legs, with little to spare for anything else. He glided his thumbs up and down, stroking along her pussy lips until she was mewling. He ended with his thumbs at the top, near her mound, pulling back so that pretty clit stood proud. “That ring is super-sexy,” he said, “and it makes a great target for my tongue.”

  Then he lowered himself to his belly and let himself, at last, taste Suzanne Mayhew’s musky juices.

  Suzanne was overwhelmed even before Neil touched her sex. The spanking’s pain and the pleasure had awakened a raucous need. And then when he demanded to taste her, in that rough working-class voice…

  Frank had gone down on her, though not in the last few years of their marriage. He’d been good at it, for that matter, as he tended to be at anything that meant something to him. But never enthusiastic, never like he was doing it for himself as well as for her. It was a means to an end for him. Neil was different. She could tell by his voice, the need in it… He wanted to do this because it was something he craved, maybe a kind of power in its own right, not so she’d be ready to fuck him. Any idiot could tell she was ready to fuck again about ten minutes ago.

  Neil opened her and for what seemed like years, just studied her.

  She felt like a lab specimen, a bug on a pin.

  Suzanne rather liked feeling that way, at least here and now, with Neil the one who was scrutinizing her.

  Not like she wasn’t watching him too. He’d never gotten undressed for their earlier sex, but once the food arrived, he’d stripped down to boxers and she was definitely enjoying the view. He was Irish fair, with a dusting of freckles on one shoulder and a fuzz of brown hair decorating his chest. The way he knelt showed off the long muscles of his thighs. No piercings, no tats, just muscle and skin, like he was sculpted from warm marble. She started to reach out her hands to stroke that tempting flesh, but he shook his head. “Not yet,” he whispered.

  Then he changed position, ending up on his belly.

  Good Lord, his hot mouth closed on her clit. His tongue swirled, paying special attention to her piercing. It was indescribably intense. Not painful at all, not necessarily even more sensitive…just so very different than anything she’d ever experienced before, with that little piece of metal focusing her attention on her clit. Not like she could think about much of anything else anyway at the moment, but the slight pressure of the piercing accentuated how he played her.

  When he caught the ring between his teeth and gave it a gentle, calculated tug, she thought she was going to fly through the roof. As sensation shot through her, she reached for his dark hair to keep him doing exactly what he was doing, but some instinct told her no. Not now. He might not mind, but she’d never known it was possible for a guy to go down on a woman in such a take-charge way and she didn’t want to break that mood. Break that feeling of being sweetly taken, pushed, tormented.

  Although he seemed entirely absorbed in what he was doing to her, he must have noticed the struggle not to take control, and the way she’d defeated that urge. “Good girl,” he crooned, looking up enough to meet her eyes. “Such a sweet, tasty cunt. But it’s empty, isn’t it? I bet you want something to fill it up.”

  She nodded. Until he’d spoken, she’d been riding the pleasure of his tongue, but his sultry, sweetly nasty words made her ache to be filled.

  “Say it, Suzanne,” he demanded. For a second, all she could do was watch his mouth. The angled light from the one lamp they had lit highlighted how his lips and chin gleamed with her juices. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want something inside me while you eat me. I can’t have your cock, so let me have your fingers.”

  One finger poised between her pussy lips, ready to enter. “How many?” There was a mischievous lilt to his voice.

  Suzanne could dimly remember the years when she and Frank had suffered bed-death, when she would have been fucking thrilled to have one finger inside her because it was better than the nothing or impersonal silicone she’d gotten used to. But every cell was screaming for more now, eager to make up for long deprivation. Her body remembered being young, wild and greedy, but also recalled she wasn’t so young anymore and could call up every experience she’d ever had, book she’d ever read, filthy image she’d ever glimpsed online, and crazy story she’d heard from Janice, to let her know what she wanted and give her the nerve to express it. “All of them,” she managed to say, although her voice sounded anything but normal. “I want all your fingers, Neil.”

  He laughed deep in his chest, a laugh that sounded almost like a purr.

  Then he turned his attention back to her clit at the same time he entered her with two fingers.

  He started with a slow, rhythmic thrusting, matching his licks to his thrusts. She thought she might die on the spot. Somehow he was keeping the pleasure building, past the point where she’d normally come; just when she was about to explode, he’d switch to doing something just as devastatingly good, yet different enough to keep her hovering but not quite blasting off.

  When her belly began to ripple in time to his thrusts, he pulled his fingers all the way out, leaving her cunt clasping at nothing—then pushed back in, hard and decisive, with a third. She couldn’t suppress the cry that undulated from her throat. “So good. Oh God, so good. So full.” His tongue was relentless, and with the fingers as well, the combination was insane. She rocked her hips, trying to get more of the deliciously invading fingers, the tormenting tongue. She wanted to come, needed to come, but at the same time, this extended push was blissful and she wasn’t sure she wanted it to end. Her head swam, her body trembled.

  Neil drew his hand back, entered her again, and this time, it was almost too much yet just enough. Filling her, finding places that cocks, no matter how much she loved them, sometimes had trouble reaching. At the same time, his tongue swirled just the way she needed.

  Her whole body tightened, then arched off the bed with the force of her orgasm. Her cunt clenched around his thick fingers. It almost hurt but the brush with pain made her clench harder, cry out louder.

  He released her clit, but kept four fingers inside her as he said, “Oh God, I could almost come just watching you, good girl. Someday I’m going to take an hour to tie you down and fist you. Would you like that?”
>
  There were words, Suzanne knew, words that could be strung together to answer Neil. But his wicked question had set up another set of waves crashing through her body. Words other than “yes” seemed far away, but maybe yes was all the answer she needed.

  She came back to herself with Neil wrapped around her on what she could now recognize as a really uncomfortable bed (though one that would forever be blessed in her memory), one leg and one arm flung possessively over her. “Hot,” he said, the one word seeming to sum up a bunch of things he didn’t quite know how to say. “So very hot.” As he said it, his fingers, still slick with her juices, toyed with her nipple, almost as if he didn’t know he was doing it.

  Suzanne didn’t believe that for a minute. He might be half-drunk on lust like she was, but he seemed like the type to hang on to a few spare brain cells so he could stay in control of the situation and of his partner.

  That thought was enough to make her cunt twitch again, an aftershock making her bite her lip and press her body against Neil’s. “Good girl,” he crooned. He tweaked her nipple, then ran his hand down her body to circle her clit. “Let it take you.”

  And she did. Over and over again.

  Finally she calmed—more like he let her calm—and her brain started to solidify. Her body let her know it was exhausted. It wasn’t that late, but she’d had a long, weird day, not to mention more sex than she’d had in…well, she wasn’t going to go there. Why look back on the depressing dry spell now that she’d ended it?