Full Throttle Yearning

by Lynn, Aurora Rose

  “It’s all yours,” she said, running her tapered fingers down the inside of her breasts, down to her navel and into the thatch of curly hair covering her mons. Clearly she was all blonde, and the knowledge left Charlie panting heavily.

  Stop! His heart hammered in his chest and he shifted against the concrete wall in an attempt to find a modicum of relief. Cold, hard reality returned and a sudden emptiness filled him. If he was at the top, what was there left to achieve? He was going on thirty-six and there was nowhere to go. He had fifty years left to do what? Unaccustomed panic set in. He’d never envied other men their wives and children, but now, for a fraction of second, he wanted the kind of love that went beyond words, a woman with whom he could share his—his what? He’d set out and conquered his hopes and dreams. The vast future was dishearteningly bleak. There would be plenty of court cases to win but what did he go home to at night? A big house with an indoor swimming pool and lots of space…and the feeling he’d missed out on something. The whole world was abruptly a different place. Barren and futile.

  With a drawn-out gasp, Charlie realized that no matter how many awards and accolades he’d received for being the best in his profession, he’d always feel like an outsider looking in on his own world. How did he go about fixing that? He rose, dusted off his thighs and stomped off toward the building in which Kyle’s law firm was housed.

  * * * * *

  Charlie settled down at his borrowed desk but couldn’t work. Roxie might be in danger, and he was sitting on his ass and doing nothing about it. He knew he was being silly, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. And besides, his stomach rumbled with hunger pangs. He didn’t see the legal pad and his laptop on the desk. All he saw was the candy-pink uniform hugging Roxie’s curves with each move she made.

  Kyle rapped lightly on the door and strolled in. “How was the burger?”

  Charlie frowned and stabbed the eraser end of his pencil at the desk. How had his life changed in only an hour? He couldn’t think of anything but Roxie, and when Plaid Shirt came to mind, anger boiled in his chest. Why did the big hulk think he could push women like the waitress around?

  “Indigestion?” Kyle asked kindly, seating himself facing the desk.

  Charlie observed the other man watching him drum the pencil repetitively. “No,” he answered sullenly. He’d never felt worse. Or better. Worse since he believed Roxie might need his help, even though she hadn’t asked for it, and better since he’d met such a beautiful and apparently competent woman. Could she take care of herself in bed while they made love? He’d bet she could.

  “It’s not the burger, then,” Kyle continued conversationally.

  Charlie had known him for long enough to realize that he was fishing for information, which he wasn’t about to give. He grunted.

  “It’s hot here in LA. You might want to run off and buy yourself some cool clothes. Or my secretary can do it if you like.”

  Now there was an idea. Less restrictive clothes might mean a cooler head with which to think. Charlie scrambled to his feet, leaving the pencil lying forlornly on the desk. “You’ve got good ideas,” was all he said before he took off as if he’d been bitten. He suspected Kyle was looking after him with suspicion. Maybe, if the situation warranted it, he’d explain later.

  * * * * *

  The fantasy returned several minutes later as Charlie sat back in the rented limo, which smelled of new leather. Sleep eluded him, so why not indulge in some harmless erotic daydreaming? Where had he left off when his gloomy thoughts had interrupted his dream next to the running fountain? Oh yes, with Roxie standing naked in the middle of the ballroom floor. His every nerve sizzled and his heart began pounding erratically again. It hadn’t taken long, he mused, to slip back into the sensuality she invoked in him.

  The phantom dancers on the floor kept twirling and swaying to the waltz and he saw a few of the men begin to eye Roxie and her luscious, nude body surrounded by tulle netting, leaving so little yet so much to his mind’s eye. She was like Venus rising from the clam shell, a pearl of priceless value. He’d itched to pull the pins from her hair in the diner and now he leaned forward and, one by one, dragged them out. Her hair cascaded in wavy tendrils over her shoulders and, amazed by its silky softness, he twined his fingers in the lazy curls. Roxie smiled at him, her blue eyes twinkling with the zest for life.

  The ghostly dancers didn’t hesitate in their steps, almost as if they were oblivious to the naked woman. Did they envy her, he wondered? Her fresh-faced appeal, her rounded, firm breasts, her long, smooth thighs?

  The lights were dimmed in the center of the floor where the footmen had placed the bed. One thigh was completely bare and pressed against his trembling leg. She murmured, “Do me with your clothes on. I always wanted to be fucked by a man in a suit.”

  The notion appealed to Charlie. Mutely, he nodded. He’d do anything to satisfy Roxie, to see her gaze lazily shuttered by her eyelids, to watch her long lashes flutter against her cheek.

  She seized his tie and pulled him to her, creating their own dance of desire. His neck muscles clenched. He knew he was at her mercy, his wicked angel of lust. “All I need to complete this feeling is your cock thrusting into my pussy.” She tipped her chin upward. “Kiss me. Take me. Make me yours.”

  Charlie sighed, edged the backs of her knees against the mattress and tumbled downward with her into luxurious warmth. Her nipples puckered tightly and he ministered to them, laving, sucking, as she arched her back and gave him more. He caressed the slopes of her breasts and his hand trailed toward her burning hot core. She was, he reminded himself, completely his.

  She unfastened his belt and the buckle clinked. “Oh God,” he murmured, pressing his lips harder around her areolas. Then his shaft was suddenly, thankfully, free of its constriction.

  “You naughty boy,” Roxie teased him. “You’re not wearing anything underneath.”

  He chuckled softly and helped to liberate himself fully, pulling the zipper down quickly, remembering that she was innocent and although she was prompting him he’d have to be careful, not too hasty when he entered her. His penis bobbed toward her.

  She swept a delicate digit across the tip of his glans, over several beads of cum, then she licked the index finger with a look of wonder. She closed her eyes, and swallowed. “You taste—”

  “Masculine?” he supplied, wanting to savor her yet knowing that, like the ghost dancers around them, she might easily disappear. If he made one misstep she’d vanish and he’d have to satisfy himself. He’d done that too many times to relish the thought, let alone the action.

  She giggled. “That’s it.” She edged her legs apart and her gaze bored into his, inviting, urging him to take her, to meld his body with hers.

  His chest heaved with male pride and protectiveness. He could easily fall in love with a woman like Roxie—quiet, smart, capable.

  His cock was lodged in her pussy. It was where he belonged, as if he were home.

  Then the present reasserted itself. Roxie needed his help, not his lust-addled mind. More than likely, Mr. Plaid Shirt was no danger to her at all. And in any case, it wasn't as though he knew her, or her situation. But something about the scene in the diner had left him feeling uneasy. He’d always trusted his instincts before. Here he was dreaming about her naked, pliant and willing—but what if she really did need his help?

  Charlie settled onto the bench across from the diner and pretended to wait for the transit bus. Although he was much cooler in his new shirt and shorts, the shelter canopy did little to block the glare and intense heat of the late afternoon sunlight.

  This is utter foolishness, waiting for trouble when it will never come. Why don’t I go back into the comfortable, air-conditioned condo and look at different ways to help Kyle out with this case? There has to be some way to convince the jurors that the defendant is guilty. The perp’s admitted to all the gruesome facts to Kyle and me, and yet he’s left out the details that would put him away for life. And a half
.

  He’d work on the case here, while the sun cooked his brain and he feasted his shaded eyes on the gorgeous woman he’d somehow sworn to protect from danger that might not exist. If he left, could he live with himself if something happened to Roxie? Was that her real name? Many people in southern California had run from intolerable lives and completely changed their personae when they arrived. Had Roxie done the same?

  Through the huge, unprotected diner windows, he observed her graceful walk as she served one table after another. He could totally imagine tugging her uniform down the length of her body and her moans of delight as she threw her head back. With her naked and beautiful, he’d part her silky thighs and love her slowly, as she had never been loved before.

  His cell phone chirped. It was his friend from law enforcement. “What do you have, Manny?” Charlie asked, feeling as if he were about to melt into the bus bench. Casually, he waved on a bus headed his way. The driver, who must have been in a hurry, nodded back and continued without braking.

  “The fella you asked me about, Otis Rowter, has a record a mile long, along with assault with a deadly weapon. You might want to stay clear of him.”

  Charlie breathed a huge sigh of relief. His nose for trouble had proved right again. At the same time his heart kicked into overdrive. “Is he on the wanted list?”

  “Not currently, but he’s served time in the federal pen. I’ll send over the details if you like.”

  “Sure. Thanks, Manny. I owe you one.”

  His friend chuckled. “You owe me big-time.” He disconnected, leaving Charlie with a bad feeling. Roxie shouldn’t have messed with Otis Rowter. LA, like so many other metropolitan cities, was filled with crazies. Charlie puffed out a frustrated breath. He shouldn’t have stood up to Rowter. Why hadn’t he called in the uniforms instead?

  But, he told himself firmly, he’d grown up in the inner city and could handle any bully that came his way. He’d blackened a few eyes and bloodied a few noses back then. He wasn’t above doing that now, either, not if it meant protecting the gorgeous woman and her coworkers in the diner.

  Roxie’s thoughts were filled with steamy, hot, erotic images of Charles Vernon. Why had he walked out without his burger and what had he meant that LA was more than he’d bargained for? Even though her shoes were comfortable, her feet were killing her from the long hours being on them. She was glad when she slid into the back booth for her fifteen-minute break. Sipping from a tall glass of sweating Coke, she closed her eyes and imagined Charles sinking reverently to one knee, slipping her shoe off and massaging her foot with strong, deft hands. His thumb and forefinger slid up and down her sole as she watched with rapt fascination. This was only the beginning. In a moment, he would reach up inside her uniform and delicately and slowly roll her pantyhose down her hips and her trembling thighs. When the nylon fell to her ankles, she would try to kick out of them, impatient, but he would stop her with one pleading look, halting her in mid-motion. She so wanted his hands against the insides of her thighs on the soft, tremulous flesh. He would go farther, to that yearning, hot spot—

  “Have you seen him?” Eileen interrupted Roxie’s daydream. Her eyes, a rich amber, were aglow with excitement.

  Roxie sighed, stowing away her fantasy for a later time when she could indulge herself more fully. “Seen who?” She sipped at her Coke again, grateful for the ice that soothed her parched throat.

  “Charles Vernon!” Unconsciously, Eileen smoothed her apron at her right hip. “He’s been there for ages!” She grinned and batted her eyelashes.

  Roxie took a deep breath. She’d never seen Eileen quite so animated before. “Charles Vernon has been here for ages?” she parroted, surveying the diner. If he had been in the vicinity, she would have known. At least, her body would have reacted to his powerful and masculine presence. She tried to quell the spark of hope flaring to life in her chest. He was near the diner. Did that mean something?

  “He’s outside, sitting across the street on a bus bench.” Eileen gave a sweet smile and exhaled. “At first I thought he was taking the next bus somewhere, like he’s not so rich he could buy the whole transit system, but several have gone by and he’s not gotten on a one. So now I’m wondering what he’s doing. Why don’t you take a look?”

  Eileen wasn’t a woman to play jokes on others. Feeling foolish for distrusting her, Roxie turned her head to look out the window. Sure enough, Charles was sitting on the bus bench, his hands held idly between his parted legs. He’d changed since he’d been in Woody’s. The white golf shirt, unbuttoned at the column of his throat, showed off his muscled chest to perfection, and the khaki shorts deepened his tan. The chocolate-brown loafers gave him a very southern Californian look. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses and his hair was slightly mussed, quite probably from the sweltering heat. Roxie imagined rivulets of salty perspiration running down his abs to pool in his navel. She took a deep breath, and in her mind bent to lap at that button…and lower.

  “See? I told you so,” Eileen announced proudly, as if she’d sensed that Roxie wouldn’t believe her.

  Roxie exhaled and a blush seared her cheeks. The fact that Charles was across the street didn’t mean anything in itself. If she could run over and strip their clothes off, one item at a time—

  “He’s just so handsome,” Eileen continued, oblivious to Roxie’s thoughts. “I could eat him right up!”

  So could I, from head to toe and back up to his hard cock.

  “Eileen!” Gerry called. Once again his voice boomed across the diner.

  “Gotta go!” Eileen whisked herself away.

  Roxie’s attention returned to Charles seated on the bench with hardly any protection from the glaring sun. A slight wind had crept up, as it often did in the late afternoons. Was he following her? The notion hit her out of the blue. Why would such a wealthy and respected lawyer want to do such a thing? Dismayed, she answered her own question with ease. Her father had somehow set him up to it. That was why he’d appeared while she had been on her bike and again at the diner, and that was what “LA was more than I bargained for” had meant. Yet was there the possibility that she was wrong? That Charles Vernon had an agenda of his own that had nothing to do with her? He hadn’t shown any signs of recognition when he’d arrived at the diner or when she’d waited on him. And if he was carrying out her father’s orders, which did sound farfetched, why hadn’t he said something to her and dragged her onto the first plane back to Maine? None of it fitted together. Maybe she had the wrong puzzle.

  Roxie finished her Coke and glanced at her wristwatch. She still had some time left before she had to return to work. And it was really hot outside. Her own body temperature skyrocketed as she thought about the hard-packed muscles under Charles’ shirt and shorts. Oh, yummy! She could take him a cold drink to slake his thirst. His throat had to be parched under the summer sun beating down on him. It wouldn’t take long.

  Her mind made up, she rose, paid for an ice-cold Coke and rushed toward Charles. The can began to sweat, although it felt good in her hand. She wondered if she should ask what he was doing sitting in the direct sun? Was that how he got his work done? Not likely.

  She jaywalked across three of the four lanes, dodging several speeding vehicles. Why was everyone in such a hurry? Couldn’t they respect the fact that there was no crosswalk for over two blocks?

  Had Charlie spotted her? His head was turned away from her and she couldn’t tell whether he could see her, with his sunglasses darkening his eyes. As she began to cross the lane nearest the bus stop, a sharp, insistent blaring drew her attention. A huge semi was roaring right toward her.

  She froze in mid-motion.

  Sweat trickled down Charlie’s spine and he swore his shirt was wetter than if he’d showered in it. He turned his head to glance at a passing sedan with tinted windows and wondered if the occupants were cool inside. Private eyes did surveillance all the time in such inhospitable environments. He backhanded beads of perspiration fr
om his forehead but to no avail. He had to admire the several PIs he knew and worked with for hanging out in such awful conditions. He’d shadowed many people over the few years when he’d been putting himself through law school, but that had been a while back.

  His shaded gaze returned to the diner and his heart leaped into his throat. Roxie, with a bright red Coke can, was making her way through the rush-hour traffic in his direction. He remained seated, his thighs tense and his neck muscles tightening with dread. Where was she going and why across four lanes filled with crazy drivers?

  He caught her taking a quick look at him from below lowered lashes. Was she headed toward him? A bright blue eighteen-wheeler in his peripheral vision drew his glance for a brief second. Then the world segued into slow motion. The semi bore down on Roxie, who had frozen in her tracks, a look of pure terror on her lovely face. Charlie had mere seconds. He sprang to his feet, hurtled across the truck’s path, and barely pushed the waitress out of the way in time. A strong wind current whipped them both. The Coke can lay crushed on the hot pavement. Dark brown liquid poured out as if it were blood. The sweat on his body chilled in the abruptly cool air as he held Roxie against his chest, his arms around her slender waist. Miraculously, they were standing rather than lying on the ground. Vehicles in their lane and one over came to a standstill while in the other two cars crawled by.