Flash Drive

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  “Easy,” he murmured, like a rider would calm his horse, and the full power of his aura washed over Laurel. The waitress was mesmerized, and Laurel was sure that if she hadn’t been with Garrett, the restaurant would have had one less server for the rest of the afternoon. Except that she seemed very young. And Garrett had said he was exceptionally careful about that.

  The restaurant was getting crowded now. People were hanging around the stairs on each level and also on the landing, so he wasn’t about to take her down by the stairs. He walked her to the elevator and pushed the button.

  When the door closed and they were the only ones inside, he pulled her to him, kissed her on the lips, and with her in front of him and both facing the door, he pulled her skirt up to caress her bare ass. Her loud moan fueled his erection as his fingers explored lower and found her wet—delightfully, wickedly, and incredibly wet. He was kissing the side of her neck and intimately touching her when they reached the bottom level, but he managed to pull her skirt back into place before the doors opened.

  He smirked at her, enjoying her dazed expression, then took her hand and led her to the truck. He had thoughtfully parked on the marina side, and had also backed in, so that now they were hidden from view on the passenger side of his truck. He looked down at her beautiful face as he lifted her onto the seat, leaving her legs hanging over the edge. Keeping his eyes concentrated on hers, he parted her knees and inserted his hand between her thighs. Worked it slowly to the apex, tugged at the moist curls he found there. With deft fingers he explored her as he leaned in to kiss her with a desperate and needy tongue. Her moan joined his as he thrust two fingers inside her. After a few suggestive stabs he withdrew them, brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. She let out a long low moan, and her eyes closed. He ran his damp fingers down her cheek and saw her eyes flutter open. He closed her legs and eased them around front so he could close the door.

  He went around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the truck.

  “We’re not going to make it home, Laurel. I’m going to find a place to pull over and take you. When we get to the main road, I want you to pull your skirt up and let me watch you play with yourself until I can find a place where

  I can fuck you.”

  Her eyes popped wide. He was afraid he might have blown it, that he’d cooled her ardor with his crude pronouncement. But then she surprised him as he pulled off Piggott Road, by shifting on the seat and raising her skirt. He was hard as a pike; he felt precum wet his briefs. If he watched her toy with herself, he’d be no good to her. He’d be unmanned before he could get inside her.

  He turned left onto Brick Landing Road and found a pull off just past Goose Creek Road. He followed an overgrown dirt road that didn’t look as if it got much use, as it led back into the woods. He followed it for a hundred yards, then nosed his truck off to the side into a small clearing.

  She turned to face him and the lust he saw on her face spiked his temperature. God she was hot. And so uninhibited. He groaned as she turned to him, one knee cocked, showing him that her fingers were doing what he had instructed. He looked at where her dainty hands were rubbing and foraging. Even in the shadowed interior of the truck he could see her fingers glistening from her juices.

  “God, Laurel, you are so hot. So beautiful. Lovely.” He leaned in and kissed her, plunging his tongue inside her mouth and claiming her. He kissed her long and deep, mating his tongue with hers as his hand wrapped around her neck and he held her face to his. His other hand went to her waist and delved under her knit sweater, hiking her bra up and shoving the lacy blue cups aside to expose her nipples. His fingers drew on the tips, tugging and twisting. He died a new death with each one of her cries, then whipped off her sweater, tossing it onto the back seat.

  She protested when his lips left hers, but was instantly appeased when they found her hard, long tips and suckled.

  “Garrett . . . I can’t wait. I need you.”

  “You’ll have to wait. I want to see you before I fuck you. I want to watch your fingers play with your sweet cunt,” he whispered between her breasts. Then he bit down lightly and stretched out her nipple, grazing it with his teeth. She keened and sobbed. “Please Garrett . . . I need you to fuck me. Now.”

  “Soon baby,” he breathed against the long column of her throat as she arched her back against the door of the truck. He had turned her to him, and was leaning over the console fondling her, pinching her, and tugging on her long, needy nipples. The sounds of her breath catching with each escalating touch were causing his penis to strain and jump against his zipper. He had to get some relief.

  “Show me,” he said. “Show me your pussy. Spread your legs wide and let me look at you. I want to see that secret place where I’m going to be fucking you.” She sobbed and leaned her head back against the window. She hesitated only a moment before she opened her thighs wide for him.

  He hissed his pleasure as his eyes took her in. “Wider, spread your knees wide. As far as they’ll go.”

  He took each of her hands, damp from her arousal, and placed them on her knees and then urged her to push them wide for him. The truck was filled with her essence, and his blood heated with her intoxicating scent as he stared at her womanhood, now fully displayed for him. He tore his gaze away from her sopping wet slit and looked into her face, saw her eyes filled with lust. Saw that she was going under.

  “You are so beautiful. Your pussy, so lovely.” His eyes left hers and he watched as more pearly liquid leaked from her tiny, flared opening. He knew his words pleased her and that she was as aroused as she could stand it right now. He knew he was. He leaned in and put a finger inside her vagina and watched as he moved it in and out of her. He joined it with another. Then another. He shoved them all home and she screamed with pleasure.

  He looked up at her, saw her half-lidded eyes, her slack mouth, her shallow breathing. He ran his hands over her breasts, her fullness popped out under the confines of her bra strap, her nipples pebbled and tight. He reached up and pinched one with his free hand, hard. “I’m going to fuck you now. Is that what you want?”

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Please.”

  “Okay baby. Just give me a moment.” He undid his belt, pulled down his zipper and pulled his erection free. It stood tall, grazing the steering wheel. With his left hand he reached down beside his seat and powered the seat all the way back. Then he reclined it partway. He took a condom out of his pocket, tore the foil and rolled it down onto an angry looking, purple-veined erection any man would be proud of.

  “C’mere you,” he said as he reached for her and lifted her from her seat and placed her on his lap.

  Once she was settled, he held her head between his hands and kissed her thoroughly, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth in the same fashion that he was going to be thrusting his penis into her vagina. He tugged on both nipples until she was frantic, then he lifted her and easily impaled her.

  She sobbed and cried out, then immediately took her due, riding him as if she were running a race, and eclipsing his capacity for restraining her. She was fucking him like a banshee and nothing he murmured against her neck slowed her pace.

  Afraid she’d either break his penis or get so wound up she’d lose her climax, he gripped her ass and took control, taking her from an agitated state that accomplished little, to a rhythmic rhapsody that drove her higher. Her breathing slowed, her sighs bloomed and expanded her chest as she hissed her pleasure. He smiled as he looked into her face, at her tightly closed eyes, her lips turned in and clasped together.

  It did his heart good to know that in moments like this, he owned this amazing woman. He alternated lifting her, jamming her down onto his penis and feeding every inch of his straining cock into her as completely as he could, holding her still and grinding against her.

 
He could not remember when he had wanted a woman as he wanted this one. He heard her breath hitch, saw her chest flush, and then he felt her insides quiver as she rose and slammed back down onto him. He lifted up from the seat, changed his angle and probed at her g-spot. He wasn’t sure he’d found it until she screamed a fierce string of obscenities. He relished her shudder, her screams, and her out of control spasms as she dug her nails into his shoulders and let everything careen away. The floodgates came, she drenched him. Then she cried, cried so hard she soaked his shirt within a matter of seconds.

  He held her as she unwound from her release. He stroked her back as she sobbed with something primal fighting its way out of her. He knew what she was going through, knew she was experiencing a cleansing like no other. Knew she had to come out on the other side of this all right for them to continue.

  G-spot climaxes were devastating on both a physical and emotional level. He knew they moved through a woman’s body like tiny scrubbing bubbles, collecting unresolved emotions and intensifying them before dispelling them. They could purge her in a way that left her ready to deal with what life dealt next. One of his girlfriends had equated them with a massage times twenty. They had awesome power . . . that sometimes backfired. He hoped this hadn’t been one of them.

  Her shame had to be quelled, tamed, and reckoned with. She had to know everything they did was acceptable, allowed—kinky maybe, but permissible and sanctioned—at least by him. Oh God, she was so needy, he thought as he held her to him. And what man didn’t long to be needed?

  He needed her now. But he could wait. This was about her. He had olive oil at home, he reminded himself, and a very experienced fist.

  She surprised him a minute later.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Unwrapping from his arms and climbing off his lap, she slid back into her seat and fixed her clothing. As he removed the condom he was surprised to see her open her door and get out. At first, he thought she needed to use the woods for a personal matter, but instead she came around to his door and opened it. He was fighting to tuck himself back inside his pants when her hand stayed him.

  “Don’t,” was all she said as she kissed him. He kissed her back, pleased with her recovery, and then double pleased when he felt her hand encircle him and begin a tried and true up and down motion. Her hand was so soft, her fist so small and tentative that at first he wasn’t sure she’d be able to bring him off this way. Then her fingers loosened, became like a maestro’s as she played his lengthening “keyboard.”

  He sighed and let his head sink back to the headrest. She pressed the button on the side bolster and lowered the seat to its last setting. Then she pressed the lever on the seat back until he was fully reclining. Her fingers never stopped their slow torture. Her hand dove into his pants to seek out and to gently caress his balls. He moaned his pleasure as she manipulated and cupped him, stroked and felt him. He closed his eyes and allowed her to work her magic. By now, she’d established a goal and he aimed to see her meet it.

  From the open door he could hear the sounds of bees buzzing and lawnmowers running in the distance. If she hadn’t been fingering his balls and tugging on his dick so expertly, he thought he might have been able to drift into sleep. He felt her shift and then he felt her lips on him and all thoughts of a leisurely nap in the sunshine vaporized while she jerked him off. Spear jerked to attention and searched out the cavernous warmth of her mouth. Her deep-throated moan, the reflex of taking him past her uvula, established her as being seasoned in the art of fellatio and he praised the gods with nonsensical babble. He was big, he knew that, but she had no trouble taking him to the back of her throat and sucking. And sucking. He was giddy with unabashed joy and greedy for more of the same. He thrust up, she took what he offered . . . and sucked. She literally went down on him as he opened his eyes and watched her head vigorously nodding into his crotch. She sucked, she licked, she kissed, and as she did all this she continued to caress his heavy sac. He felt as if his head was going to blow from the pressure, every muscle in his body tightened, and then with one final tug with her wrapped lips she sucked the life out of him. He discovered that in addition to sucking, kissing and licking, she also swallowed. There wasn’t a happier man in the universe at that moment. And by his long heartfelt groan he conveyed it.

  Her head rested in his lap and he idly stroked her hair as he wavered in and out of lingering bliss. “Oh that was special. Very special. Remarkably special,” he murmured, lifting his head to meet her eyes.

  She smiled up at him with a smug smile.

  “You’ve had some experience with that,” he whispered, still trying to get his bearings.

  “Some. It’s what you do when you aren’t sure whether you want your date to fuck you, but he’s hell bent that he is.”

  “Well I’m surprised you have any experience with fucking if that was your first salvo. I don’t know any man who would turn that down. And I am somewhat pleased that you allowed me to fuck you before offering me that truly amazing alternative.”

  She took the handful of tissues he handed her from inside the console. Wiped her lips and under her eyes, then disappeared from view as she ducked around the door and closed it. He watched her over the hood as she walked around the truck and got back in her seat.

  “I need a nap,” he moaned, and she laughed delightfully.

  “This was my first inside a vehicle experience,” she boasted and beamed at him. “I really had a good time.”

  “I know,” he said with a grin. “I was there.”

  She waggled her brows, “You sure were. I wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime.” He heard the hesitancy in her voice, and something else . . . the contrition of a submissive being forward enough to voice her desires?

  He sat up and adjusted his seat and his clothing. Looked in the rearview mirror and ran long fingers through the tousled strands of his dark chestnut hair.

  He reached over and wrapped his hand around her neck and brought her head to his. He kissed her hungrily. “I wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime either. But I have a whole playbook I want to run through before we start doing reruns. As an aside, I like car sex too, just not in the ‘vette. My back can’t handle that.”

  “This was so wicked,” she said with big grin, and he had to laugh out loud when she hugged herself and shivered with happiness.

  “C’mon,” he said, “buckle up. I’d better get us out of here before we have a Dueling Banjo’s scene.”

  “That was a pretty amazing duet. I once heard that it was spontaneous. That Ronnie Cox, the actor, was just strumming his banjo when a hillbilly boy started playing his, and then it just went from there.”

  “That’s an urban legend. In fact, the original composer, Arthur Smith, sued for credit and royalties and won. It’s a great piece of music though.”

  “How do you know these things?”

  “I know a lot of useless things. For instance, do you know who Judith, Rachael, Argine, and Polas are?”

  “No, never met ‘em.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you have. They’re the queens of hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades. Their husbands, Charlemagne, Caesar, Alexander, and David are the kings. And their knaves are LaHire, Hector, Lancelot, and Ogier. LaHire and Ogier are the one-eyed Jacks.”

  “Hmm. Not so useless.”

  “Okay, try this. What’s the name of the numbness you get when your foot or your hand goes to sleep?”

  “It has a name?”

  “It does. In English, everything has a name. It’s called obdormition.”

  “Okay, that’s pretty useless.”

  “And would you happen to know what a mumpsimus is?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Everything has a name . . . a mumpsimus is something I try never to be.”


  “What is it?”

  “Someone who keeps making the same mistake over and over again despite being corrected.”

  “Okay, I cede, you do know some useless stuff. You should go on Jeopardy.”

  “Not much for making a fool out of myself on TV. But back to dueling banjos, they have dueling pianos at Broadway, you want to go sometime?” he asked.

  “Sure, but what I’d really like to do at Broadway is see the WonderWorks upside down house.”

  “Really? I’ve been looking for someone to go with me to see that.”

  “Well, when we’re finished with that playbook of yours, we should venture out. See the sights.”

  He laughed hilariously as he pulled out onto the

  main road.

  “You’re very good for a man’s ego, you know that?”

  “That’s because you’re very good. Period.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “Well, you’re a crack shot. I’ll tell you that.”

  “Hmmm, is there a double entendre there, Miss Laurel?”

  She flushed as she remembered his fingers, his thumb especially . . . in her crack. “That was all pretty new to me,” she said in a soft voice.

  He smiled over at her, “I know.”

  He patted her thigh. “I think we’re going to have a lot of surprises for each other.”

  “Do you really have to go to Baltimore this week?”