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Blizzard
Copyright © 2013 by Taryn Kincaid
ISBN: 978-1-61333-482-9
Cover art by Fiona Jayde
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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Also by Taryn Kincaid
Lightning
Thunder
Frost
Blizzard
An Edge Erotica Story
By
Taryn Kincaid
The snow, which had started out first as a minor misty drizzle, then morphed into a light dusting of a few scattered flakes, now fell in earnest. Gazillions of thick, fat clots merged and covered the New York State Thruway faster than the sand trucks and salt spreaders cleared the accumulation. Slushy gobs of whiteness covered the windshield, turning into thick bricks too heavy for even the Volvo’s mad wipers to deal with.
Mandy cursed her pigheadedness. She never should have left the upstate conference center that afternoon. But she’d been desperate to get away from the pharmaceutical convention. The business meetings with her colleagues had made her temples throb and her neck stiff, physical symptoms blossoming into the raw edges of a migraine that the brightness of the snow did nothing to mitigate. But her gorge had risen when gaggles of salesmen tried to hit on her in bars and hallways, until the idea of spending another second in their company made her bolt. They were all married, like her. But away from home, they figured they’d play.
She wanted to play, too. God knew she did. But not with any of them. Maybe she longed for sex right now, even a desperate hook-up. It had been so long since she’d gotten down and dirty. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex with her husband. But no way would she give any of those pathetic pitch guys at the convention a tumble.
The last telephone conversation with her husband had left her agitated and her stomach in knots from an urgent need to get home and see him. To talk face to face. These days, with their hectic schedules, they communicated mainly by text message and Post-It note.
So yeah, she’d ditched the rest of the convention a day early. She couldn’t bear to stay upstate for another night of unwelcome groping and tired pick-up lines, of drunken colleagues who’d be mortified later when she ran into them sober. All she’d wanted was to get out of that claustrophobia-inducing conference center and return to her home in Sleepy Hollow for the remainder of the long weekend—perhaps because of the gloomy weather forecast.
The mild gray sky had not appeared threatening when she’d left; no precip yet falling at that time. And for pity’s sake, she’d driven a Volvo at her husband’s insistence. Traffic willing and all other things being equal, she might be home in under two hours.
But the weather refused to cooperate. Visibility was nil. She couldn’t follow in the tracks of the cars in front of her; or even see their taillights anymore. Or anything else except stark, blank stretches of white.
Mandy, girl. You’ve had some bad ideas in your time, but this one tops the hit parade. Better get home in one piece or hubs will whack you.
Terror time. The image of her husband loomed large in her mind. She could no longer concentrate. Inside her gloves, her hands began to sweat. As beads of perspiration sprouted on her brow, she lowered the heat a notch. All alone in winter world and with her stomach clenching in fear, she tightened her fingers on the steering wheel and decelerated. Her right foot rode the brake until the speedometer dipped below 5 mph and didn’t even register a speed. The tires slid suddenly, skidding into a wide arc that nearly landed her in a large drift on the shoulder. Her heart pounded and the death grip she had on the wheel made her fingers cramp.
She had to get off the road. Now.
But where?
Huge mounds of snow from the last storm had been plowed into high banks on the shoulders, glistening like glaciers, leaving no room for a vehicle to pull over. The steady click and scrape of the wiper blades over the iced windshield mocked her.
Please, please, please. She begged and bargained, promising she’d never do something so stupid again. But she knew herself. She’d always been something of a risk taker. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Even if her husband did force her to drive a Volvo, for his peace of mind, not hers. Always a bone of contention between them. Although, with the hand of fear squeezing her innards until her heart sat in her mouth, she conceded he might have a point.
Finally, up ahead, pinpricks of light winked through the darkening night and the frosted windshield, proclaiming a Thruway rest stop.
At last.
She guided the car into what she believed to be the parking lot—or the white-blanketed area where she thought a parking lot should be. The gas pumps stood forlorn, like lumpy statuary. Few other vehicles dotted the area.
But still. Even if she had to dig in for awhile and the Volvo got buried, she’d manage to find it in the vast expanse of white through the magnificent GPS system. Or the spring thaw. Whichever came first. Meanwhile, she needed a hot cup of coffee to settle her nerves. Maybe some homemade fudge. Or doughnuts. A dozen or so. A sugar glut. That’s what she needed.
Finding sanctuary at last, among the fast food court, unlimited calories and carbs, and souvenir shops. Nearly all the tables inside the cavernous structure stood vacant. She unwound her scarf, peeled off her gloves and stuffed them in the pockets of her damp coat, then removed that as well, dumping it beside her in one of the empty plastic booths. Still trembling with relief at being off the horrible road at last, she put her head in her hands and took a few calming breaths before scavenging in her bag for her Smartphone. The tiny, blank screen taunted her. No bars. No battery. No email. No nothing. She’d packed the charger in her suitcase and hadn’t thought to connect the device to the USB port.
Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb.
Once again, she pictured her husband’s face. Frowning. She imagined his lecture on the necessity of being p
repared, instead of larking off on the spontaneous adventures so dear to her. Not that he was a stick-in-the-mud or anything. Far from it. But their personalities were completely different when it came to stuff like this. Grudgingly, she admitted that Volvo Man saw more horrifying disasters working with FEMA than she ever would. Merely getting stuck in the snow in a rest stop filled with food and electricity and heat probably didn’t qualify as an emergency, let alone a catastrophe.
She rooted around in her handbag again, on the off chance she’d missed something useful to her current situation.
“Is this what you’re looking for, lady?”
Mandy glanced up, startled by the deep, rumbling baritone that echoed loudly in the fairly quiet building. And even more startled by the tall, gorgeous hunk of manhood bundled into a down parka standing next to her table.
I could totally jump him. Right here. Right now.
From nowhere, steamy erotic images of what she wanted to do with the man leaped unbidden into her head. Beneath her sweater, her breasts swelled, her nipples hardening with need. She’d never felt such instant attraction to anyone, such a frantic desire to get naked and get fucked. Maybe it was a reaction to her frightening experience on the Thruway. Or maybe something else created the overpowering chemistry.
Besides being the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on, he held out a battery-operated pocket charger. A sigh escaped her as he stared down at her.
“It’s not the only thing I’m looking for.” Her voice, husky and sultry, and laden with blatant sexual innuendo, shocked her. Where had those words come from? Nearly alone with him in the deserted rest stop…and still she felt…safe.
“Yeah?” The man removed his parka, revealing a plaid flannel shirt, the triangle of a white, cold-weather T-shirt peeping from the open neckline. When he raised his arms, thick bands of muscle rippled across his chest, beneath the layers of fabric. He riveted her with brilliant azure eyes, bluer than a lake under the summer’s sun. His hair, which curled a bit boyishly at his temples, resembled a wet beach, light, dirty brown, with shimmering bronze threads straggling through the locks. But this was no boy. No, indeed.
God. Gorgeous did not even begin to cover it. The longer he looked at her, the hotter she became. So hot she suddenly felt she’d do anything, dare anything with this man.
In another second, I’ll be tearing at his belt buckle, ripping at his zipper, taking his cock in my mouth.
The idea shocked her. But not nearly enough to squelch the fantasy. More fantasies piled on. His cock throbbing inside her. Or his lips and tongue stroking her pulsing clit. Additional scenes of the two of them together, doing things to each other that would have them both limp and wrung out when they were done.
She flushed, the sudden roar of heat spreading through her and chasing the panic sweat that had trickled across her forehead during the horrible drive. Her cheeks had to be flaming. Desire dampened her panties. Just the sight of the guy had her aroused. She wanted to do bad things with him. Bad, bad things. Her excitement increased.
“What else are you looking for?” His low, almost harsh growl kicked up her temperature a few more notches. The sexy, gravelly timbre of his voice resonated through her. One of his eyebrows lifted. No question, he’d caught her invitation, recognized it for what it was.
Did he really need her to say it out loud?
“Looking for you,” she murmured.
“Really? That’s interesting. You say that as if you were expecting me.” His tone held skepticism, his expression mirrored his doubt.
Her voice evaporated to a bare whisper. “Want you to fuck me.”
“Do you?” He pressed his lips together in a severe frown; his eyebrows veering downward as rapidly as he’d raised them a moment before.
“In the worst way.”
“The worst way, huh?” He glanced around the nearly empty food court. “Prefer the best way, myself.”
“Any way. So long as you do it. So long as we do it. Now.”
He continued to stare at her, but the dark expression left his face and the confusion fled, replaced by a devastating grin that made her melt, that made everything inside her clench with excitement. “Tell you what, dollface. Happy to oblige a good-looking piece like you. But since you’re sitting here shaking like a leaf, let’s get some food and coffee into you first. Then we can talk about things.”
“Don’t want to talk,” she told him. “Want to fuck.”
“Nevertheless. Talk is what we’re doing.” He leaned down and stroked a finger across her hot cheek. “First.”
He left his parka on the banquette across the table from her and strode off to one of the food vendors. She watched him go, admiring his easy gait, the confident way he carried himself, the spare, sinuous play of ass and thigh muscles inside his tight jeans. Broad, masculine shoulders. Long, long legs. Ending in sturdy Timberlands. Easily six-four. About 220 pounds of prime male beef. More fantasies bombarded her. She wanted his weight on top of her, her legs wrapped around his lean hips, the jeans down around his ankles, his cock driving into her, making her scream in passionate release. Boots optional. On or off, she didn’t care. As long as his fly was open.
They were going to do it. She would wrap her needy body around this man. Once she stopped shaking and got her conscience and libido in control. In her head it was already a done deal. They were going to screw like bunnies. And then screw some more.
He returned to her, balancing two trays, and slid into the seat opposite.
“Double cheeseburger, fries. I figured you’d probably opt for rabbit food, but it’s too cold tonight.” He winked. “And you may need your energy if everything goes as planned.”
He pushed a coffee toward her.
She eyed his milkshake.
“You’re kidding,” he said. She shook her head. “It’s been my experience only the very young ladies, like under twelve, go for the calories.”
“You have experience with the very young ladies? What are you, a pervert or something?”
“Not that kind of experience. But I may know something about feeding them. Besides, what kind of question is that to ask me? A guy who walks into a rest stop and immediately gets propositioned for sex by some crazy chick in a business suit?”
“It’s an unusual night,” she managed.
“I’ll say.” He stood up again and loped back to Mickey D’s, returning with the largest milkshake the joint offered. “Satisfied?”
“Not yet.” She eyed him carefully then took a long, slow slurp. “But this is a good start.”
“I like the way your lips handle that straw.” He nodded and the heat in his eyes turned her to liquid. Even her hands were damp. “Okay. So are we going to bother with names? Or just get down to it?”
“I may need to cry one out. If things get aggressive. And physical.”
“Jack.” He hesitated briefly, as if considering whether to tell her more, then shrugged. “Jack Manning.”
“Mandy. Mandy, um, Malone.” What just possessed me to give him my maiden name?
“Malone, huh? Good, solid name.” He seemed to roll it around in his mouth, as if savoring the combination of words. “Pleased to meet you, Mandy Malone.” He extended his hand to shake hers. The brief contact between them sent electric shimmers up her spine. She knew he felt the same heated flash of chemistry, something palpable and combustible. A light-headedness settled over her that had nothing to do with the Thruway drive from hell. She gripped the edge of the table with her left hand.
His glance darted to her wedding band and he reached out, stroking his fingers over the ring. “Married?” She yanked her hand away from him. “Do this often, Mandy, um, Malone?”
“Never. I’ve never done it.”
“Why me?”
“I don’t know. I just know I want you. Nothing like this has ever come over me before.”
“Never?”
“Only with my husband.” She sighed. “We haven’t had sex in a long time.”
/> “I see.”
“I had a new baby eight weeks ago. And since I went back to work, well, our schedules are hectic, with the other two kids and job commitments. We’re both on the road a lot. Seems like we’re never on the same page anymore.”
“Why are you telling me all this, lady?”
“Because…you’re so freakin’ hot,” she blurted.
He gazed at her a long time. “And you’re totally horny?”
“Totally.” She squirmed in the booth, as if to prove her words, barely able to sit still anymore. The hunk of all time sat across from her and they were seriously discussing sex between them. The anticipation had her climbing the walls. If she’d had claws, she would have already scratched through the plastic booth.
“And you think I can take care of you?”
“I’m sure you can.”
“What about your husband?”
She fiddled with her engagement ring, betraying her uncertainty and her nerves. “It’ll be good for him.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Because it’ll take the edge off my frustration and I won’t lash out at him the second I get home. He’s probably ready to lose it as it is, after being cooped up with the kids and the baby all day. Wondering where I am. Especially if he asked my mother to come in and help out with the kids. He doesn’t need me jumping down his throat.”
He chewed his cheeseburger, as if completely absorbed by it.
Men.
She’d just poured out her heart to this guy, told him how sex-deprived and ready she was to screw his brains out, and his attention remained riveted on the food. He inhaled his burger in two more swallows and went to work on the fries. Methodically. As if a proposition for unbridled, no-questions-asked, no-strings-attached sex, bombarded him every day. A guy so ruggedly gorgeous…maybe they did.
“Do you…do you get these kinds of offers a lot?”
“Nope.” He dipped a couple more fries into a paper cup of ketchup and crammed them into his piehole along with the rest. She watched his jaw work. Square. Hard. Solid. An utterly masculine jawline. His lips were firm and she wanted to feel them on hers. Feel them everywhere. “So it’s not like I’m gonna pass up an opportunity.”
Blizzard Page 1
