by Lynda Bailey
This whole evening had been an erotic fantasy come true. But being naked and on her knees, performing oral sex on Scott was the most erotic experience she could ever imagine. His erection grew longer and thicker against her tongue. Some might think her in the weaker position, yet she never felt so powerful. Her pussy quivered. She slipped her free hand between her legs and rubbed her clit.
Without warning, he lugged her to her feet. “Goddamn, woman. What part about no fucking rubbers didn’t you understand?”
His mouth devoured hers. The kiss was brutal, all mashing lips and clashing teeth. He reached down, cupped her butt and boosted her into the air. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist for support. He managed to open the door then navigate through the skinny threshold without cuffing her against the jamb. He then none-too-gently tossed her onto the bed.
A squealed surprise burst from her lips. “What’d you do that for?”
Scott stretched flat on his back out beside her. “For torturing me. Just like I’m gonna do to you. Now come here.” He grasped her waist, spinning her around so she straddled his face.
Okay. She was officially starring in her very own porn film. Mic couldn’t believe the position she was in, with Scott’s majestic, glorious cock right in front of her face, or what he was doing with his mouth, tongue and fingers. He flicked her intimately at a dizzying pace. Hard and fast, an orgasm blasted her body making even her toenails tingle.
Fine. Two can play that game.
Grasping his base, she took him to the back of her throat, sucking him with the same vigor he did her. The bed bounced. Their strangled moans filled the room.
Another orgasm swelled on the scale of a forest fire fanned by a whirlwind. Within seconds, she was blazing. She arched her back and popped him from her mouth. “Yes, Scott! Yes! Don’t stop!”
Blood pounded in her brain. Her hips bucked and thrashed. Pumping her hand faster on his cock, she opened her mouth. She wanted him coming in her mouth.
The first spurt of his cum coated her tongue. The heavy, salty taste reeled her senses. Before she could take any more in, Scott yanked her up, spun her to face him and crushed his mouth to hers, his dick wedged between them. A warm, sticky fluid shot up her belly as his cock pulsed and his agonized groan of pleasure rang in her ears.
Together, they crumpled to the mattress, a mesh of intertwined body parts. She heard nothing but their gasping breaths and wondered vaguely how thick the motel walls might be. Was anyone staying in the adjacent room? Rather than be embarrassed, a weak giggle puffed from her mouth.
“What’s so funny?” he mumbled from the vicinity of her right breast.
“Nothing.” She brushed hair from her face only to realize her hand was still sticky. “I need another shower.”
“Me too.”
“We should get up then.”
“Okay. You first.”
Mic didn’t think she could move if her life depended on it. And by the way he snuggled tighter to her, she figured he felt the same. Later was soon enough to get cleaned up.
She stuffed a pillow under her head. Sleep beckoned, but she fought to stay awake. She didn’t want to waste time sleeping, not when this would be her only time with Scott.
She wanted to remember everything that happened. Everything Scott had said and definitely everything he’d done. The way he’d kissed and held her. The way his tongue licked and teased. The ways his fingers stroked and entered.
She wanted to remember his smell. His taste. How he’d caressed and stroking, taking her to such incredible heights of pleasure.
His words from earlier in the evening filtered through her head about how she should save her virginity for someone special. Didn’t he know that she had?
Scott was her “someone special.” All the nights—and days— she’d dreamed about him were the proof. Of course, she’d never admitted it, not even to herself. But now, with his body draped over hers, she fully embraced the reality that Scott Trehune was, and would forever be, the man she loved.
Tears welled and slowly rolled from her eyes. She might be in love with him, but she wasn’t so naïve to think he felt the same. Giving him her virginity didn’t mean he’d give his love in return. She inhaled a stiff breath.
She knew going in what this night meant. No strings. He lived in New York and her life was here in Tatum. They couldn’t have a lasting relationship. She accepted that truth.
He’d given her an amazing night of passion in exchange for her virginity. More than a fair trade. Because now she had all these wonderful memories to keep her company on the many lonely nights to come.
Chapter Eleven
Carrying two Styrofoam coffees and a box of mini chocolate donuts, Scott entered the motel room. Mic sat cross-legged on the bed, in one of his white Tshirts, braiding her hair.
Regret barreled into him. He didn’t want to ever see her splendid hair confined to a braid again. But that wasn’t going to happen, not with her mechanic’s job. Her warm, welcoming smile stopped his heart in its tracks as a sudden insight smacked him upside the head.
Throughout his adult life, he’d achieved a good measure of success in New York, but it always seemed like his achievements were less than they should be, like something crucial was missing from his life. And now he knew what, or rather who, had been absent.
Michaela Anderson.
He felt the same bond with her as he had with his parents and Nonie. A sense of rightness fill him being with her. Death had taken that feeling from him, twice. He didn’t want to lose it a third time. But what did that mean? Was he willing to sacrifice his work, his livelihood for a chance to stay with Mic, a woman he may have known for years, but didn’t truly know? The answer was a resounding yes.
But did she feel the same? Or was this just a one-time deal? That possibility sent an ice pick through his gut.
Her smile faltered then withered completely as her forehead pleated. “Something wrong?”
It was then he realized he stood staring at her. With a mental head slap, he closed the door with his foot and walked to the dresser. “Kinda. The corner market didn’t have the fresh pastries I remembered. We’re stuck with store bought.”
She uncurled her legs and stood beside him. “Ernie’s wife has been sick lately and not up to doing much baking.” She took a sip of coffee as he opened the box of donuts. She snagged one, then sat back on the bed. “This is great. Thanks.”
He sat beside her with a wink. “I want you to know I spared no expense.”
“I can tell.”
He popped a stale donut into his mouth and chewed. “What’s on your agenda for today?”
“Well.” She paused to lick the icing from her fingers. He instantly envied her fingers. “Try not to be jealous, but Mr. Peterson needs his carburetor rebuilt.”
“Oh, baby,” he teased back. “You know how to live.”
“Don’t I?”
After the shared laugh, his grin faded and he cleared his throat. “I meet with the lawyer again this morning about Nonie’s will.”
She nodded, her gaze on her coffee.
“I’m not contesting the will,” he said to fill the quiet. “Got any plans for the money she left you?”
Mic stood and moved to the dresser, her shoulders rigid. She placed her cup next to the TV with a slight thud. “No, because I’m not taking the money.”
That snapped his eyebrows down. “What you do mean?”
She faced him, her jaw set. “Just what I said, I’m not taking any money. She was my friend—” Her voice cracked. He jumped to his feet and wound his arms around her. She buried her face in his shirt. “I’m gonna miss her terribly.”
Scott squeezed his moist eyes shut. “Me too.”
For a moment, they simply held each other, drawing comfort and strength. Finally she slipped from his embrace and wiped her fingers across her cheeks. “I was Ester’s friend because I truly cared about her and not for any money.”
“I know that, but couldn
’t you use some extra money on the garage?”
Her short laugh lacked humor. “Absolutely, but I still won’t take it.”
He focused on her stressed tone rather than her refusal—again—to take the money. “Business that bad? What’s the problem?”
“The problem is Tatum is dying. In the last census, our population dropped by over twenty percent. Young people are moving out and our older citizens are, well, getting older. For me to have customers, I need people who own cars. By the look of things, that’s not going to be the case in another ten or fifteen years.” She shrugged. “You should take all the money. You know better what charities or causes were important to Ester.”
“What about Brooksville?”
A furrow appeared on her forehead. “Brooksville? You’re gonna donate the money to the neighboring town?”
“No, silly. Didn’t World Books relocate one of their distribution warehouses to Brooksville a couple of years ago?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, I’ll wager the population of Brooksville hasn’t dropped. In fact, I bet it’s increased with new support businesses like diners and such.”
“Even if that’s true, I don’t see your point.”
“My point is people in Brooksville have cars. Cars that need a good mechanic.”
She sighed. “If you’re suggesting I move to Brooksville, I’ve already thought about that, but finding a new building would be tough. Even though Brooksville’s only twenty miles away, their real estate market is ten times Tatum’s. I can’t afford to relocate.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I’m suggesting. Probably a good portion of the people who have moved from Tatum have moved to Brooksville, wouldn’t you agree?”
She rubbed her forehead in the manner he was recognizing as frustration. “I’ll say again, so?”
“So,” he repeated, taking her shoulders in a tender grip, “my little, beautiful mechanic, what if you entice all your former customers, who moved to Brooksville, to take the short drive back to Tatum to have their car cared for in the way they’re used to? What if you make Anderson Automotive the premium service garage in three counties?”
She stared at his shirt buttons. He could almost hear the wheels in her head whirling. “You know, if we bought the vacant building behind the garage, we could have a transmission shop, a body shop, whatever we needed, without having to subcontract all the work to Lincoln.” She looked up at him, excitement shining in her eyes. “We could do most, if not all, the work in house. It’d save customers time and money, while we increased our business in the process.”
Scott hugged her close, pleased by her use of the word “we.” While she probably meant her and her crew, he liked to think it included him. “It’d be great, babe.”
After a moment, she pulled away with a frown. “Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t be able to manage all that. I can barely manage what I have now.”
“I could help.”
Another laugh escaped. “Right. Take time away from your busy New York life to talk me though all the problems I know I’ll end up causing myself.”
Scott searched her face. “Who said I’d be in New York?”
Mic stared at him, her eyes wide. “You’re staying in Tatum?”
He tugged her braid. “I’m thinking there might be one or two reasons for me to stay.”
In less than a blink, her expression went from surprised to panic. “Well, uh…” she edged away so they were no longer touching. “This shouldn’t be a hasty decision on your part.”
His heart clutched. Obviously she didn’t want him as desperately as he did her. “I see,” he murmured.
“See what?”
“Nothing.” He turned away, the pain in his chest crowding his heart. “I just thought we had something special between us.”
Her hand brushed his arm. “It’s very special, but is it enough for you to give up everything in New York?”
“Give up what? Air pollution? Bad traffic? People always nasty because they’re always in a hurry? An over-sized, insanely expensive apartment I rarely see because I’m so crazed at work?”
He grasped her hand and led her to the bed. Somewhere in this conversation, he’d stopped even considering going back to New York. He wanted to stay in Tatum.
With Mic.
He sat next to her, his gaze again searching hers. “With you, I can breathe. I can…live. It sounds stupid, but I feel at home. Only three other people have ever made me feel that way. My mom and dad and Nonie.” He swallowed hard and dove over the cliff-of-no-return. “I feel my home is with you, Mic. Whether in Tatum or New York or Timbuktu.”
Her wary expression remained. “Will that be enough?”
“I don’t know, but it’s a start.” He studied her hand, knowing he had to be honest. “Please understand, I’m not proclaiming some undying love. But I like you an awful lot and believe I could easily fall head-over-heels in love with you.” He forced himself to meet her gaze. “If you’re willing to meet me halfway.”
She gave a small shrug. “This is all so sudden.”
His heart sank further as he stood. “I understand.” He tried to speak past the lump of sorrow in his throat. “You need more time.”
“Yeah. I do.”
A moment later, her dainty hand on his shoulder urged him to turn around. “Time’s up.”
His eyebrows jerked down. “What?”
“Don’t you know that I’ve had the biggest crush on you—bordering on love—since high school?” Her smile warmed his soul.
“Really?”
“Really. Now if you’re done thinking that I’m a lesbian, I’m thinking I need to call work to tell them I’m taking the day off and you need to cancel your lawyer appointment.”
He raised his eyebrows in mock puzzlement. “But whatever would we do all day?”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him down onto the bed so she straddled his hips, her mouth a scant inch from his. “I’m sure we’ll think of something. Might even include pantyhose.”
Chapter Twelve
The next afternoon, Mic drove the Comet to Ester’s house. Her spirits soared higher than the wispy, white clouds. She was surprised the wheels of the car managed to stay on the ground. She giggled at the silly exaggeration, though her heart did feel like it could fly.
This had to be a fairy tale. A magical, Cinderella fairy tale where the handsome prince defies tradition to marry the grimy garage mechanic. Her face seemed frozen into a permanent grin. But as joyous as she felt, she tried to keep all this newfound happiness in perspective.
While Scott had claimed to care about her, he never said he loved her. In spite of that niggling detail, Mic knew there was a real chance for her to have the family she’d always dreamed of, with the man of her dreams. Scott. Her Prince Charming.
She turned onto Ester’s street, reflecting on how quickly circumstances could change. Had it just been last week when she’d visited Carmen in Denver? Then, she couldn’t have felt lonelier. Now, the idea of being alone was as foreign as the Japanese in the Toyota manuals. And this was all possible because of the tragic death of Ester Trehune.
While she would never, ever, be grateful for Ester’s passing, Mic had faith her dear friend was looking down from Heaven, a smile on her face, pleased that she and Scott had found each other. Pulling to a stop in front of the two-story house, she was out of the car almost before cutting the motor. Though she’d been with Scott that morning, she bounded up the porch steps, her heart racing in anticipation at seeing him again.
The big wooden door stood open and she grasped the screen door handle just as his baritone voice reached her ears. “I completely understand your position. But right now I don’t have a choice. I’m obligated.”
Something in his tone sent glass shards into her belly. Though she knew it was wrong, she stepped to the side and listened.
“Of course it’s feasible for things to change…I don’t think that’s likely—now
why would you say that? You know how I feel about you…”
The floor creaked near the door. Mic’s heart froze. She pressed tighter to the rough wood siding. How could she explain eavesdropping on Scott?
“All right. No more stupid talk about leaving, agreed?…Good. My responsibilities here are almost done so I’ll be flying back tomorrow. My flight’s scheduled to arrive around six in the evening. Can you pick me up?…Great, Snookie….You know I love you, too.” The floor squeaked again then faded. “Now, about the Coolidge report…”
Once she was certain the coast was clear, Mic bolted off the porch. Tears streaming down her face, she ran as fast as she could from the house, and the betrayal that slashed her chest. What had she thought? That circumstances could change in a snap? How true.
Everything had been a lie. All of it. Scott didn’t care for her, wasn’t fond of her, never felt like he could grow to love her. Whatever “responsibility” he had was over and he was going back to New York. And she was going back to being alone. No fairytale ending for her.
After sprinting six blocks, she slowed to a jog, then a brisk walk. Sweat mingled with her tears and stung her eyes. She wiped at them then tugged her Reds cap lower over her face to hide the evidence she was crying. She rounded the corner and saw the street sign.
Heartache Avenue and Hopeful Drive.
She leaned against the building and covered her face with a hand. A most desolate sense of wretchedness ate her alive. Heartache and Hopeful.
No truer words could describe her life. Mere minutes ago, she’d been hopeful, traveling in the direction she had always wished. Nothing was left now except bereft heartache.
She pivoted and started on a slow walk home, head down. None of the guys were expecting her back at the garage this late in the afternoon, so why return? All she’d get would be curious stares and whispered comments about her swollen eyes and red nose, and the reasons she had them.
