I opened the glovebox. Maps. A sunglasses case. A plastic dinosaur. “Nope. No napkins.”
“Fuuuuuck.” Levi looked down at his shirt, and his dismayed expression was so funny to me, I completely dissolved into giggles.
“Thanks a lot,” he said wryly. “This is all your fault, you know. Here I am taking you out on a nice, classy outing, courting you properly, and you caused a big mess. Are you even the least bit sorry?”
“No. Oh my God, that shirt…” I put my hands over my stomach, which hurt from laughter. “It’s everywhere. It was like dynamite or something.”
“It was all you.”
“Um, I’m not sure I want the blame for that splatter-painted shirt.”
He gave me a menacing look. “Looking for birthday spankings early, little girl?”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
He smiled and kept his focus on the road.
The look on her face when I threatened to spank her was hilarious—part scared, part intrigued, part wondering if I was teasing her.
I wasn’t. I had plans for tonight.
But fucking hell. What was I going to wear? I had a couple extra t-shirts in my bag, which would actually be fine for food and drinks at the Journeyman Distillery, but she didn’t know that.
I decided to play with her a little. “I need a new shirt. We’ll have to find somewhere to buy one.”
“Seriously? Let me look in my bag. Maybe I have some tissues.” She scooped up her purse from the floor and set it in her lap.
“Tissues? I need a shop-vac for this shirt. Fuck tissues.”
“Oh, come on. Here.” She took a girly little packet of Kleenex from her bag and pulled one out, fluffing it up. “Let me try.”
“I can do it.” I reached for the tissue, but she held it away from me.
“I’ll do it. It was my fault, like you said.”
She bit her lip like she was concentrating hard, but swiping at the jizz on my shirt with one piece of Kleenex was like trying to soak up Lake Michigan with a cotton ball.
“Maybe I need two,” she said, and her expression was so adorably serious, I wanted to fucking pull over just to make out with her. Tell her I loved her face. Tell her how goddamn happy I was right now, ruined shirt and all. When had I last fooled around like this with a woman?
“Forget it, babe. I’ll buy a new shirt. It’s fine. I’m sure the place we’re going isn’t that dressy.”
“Oh. OK.” She took a couple more swipes at my shirt with a clean tissue but eventually gave up. “I feel bad now.”
“No, don’t feel bad. Are you kidding me?” I took her hand and kissed the back of it, held it in my lap. “That was awesome.”
A few miles down the road, I saw what I was looking for—a sign for a gas station that catered to truckers and road trippers. “I’m gonna get gas.”
I exited the highway and pulled into the station. Before getting out of the car, I ditched the blue shirt and tossed it into the back seat, glad I was wearing an undershirt with no holes or pit stains. I had plenty of those, but since I’d been seeing Jillian I’d actually invested in some new ones. She wore such beautiful underwear, I figured the least I could do was wear t-shirts without yellow underarms. Look at that, less of a caveman already. Mom would call her a good influence.
I liked that.
After pumping gas, I poked my head into the car, willing myself to keep a straight face. “I’m gonna run into the store and see if they have a shirt. Want anything?”
“No.” She cocked her head, pressing her lips together. “You’re going to look for a shirt at the gas station? Don’t you want to look for a nicer store?” She looked over her shoulders, like maybe there was a Nordstrom hiding behind the Quick Save BP.
“No. It’s fine. I’m sure there’s something in there.”
Five minutes later, I came out wearing a light blue t-shirt that said MOTHER TRUCKER on it. Jillian stared as I got in the car. “That’s the shirt you bought for tonight?”
“Yeah. Like it? It’s badass, right? I was tempted by the one that said ‘My Girl Is Dirtier Than My Truck’ but I thought that might not be nice enough for where we’re going.”
“Um, it’s fun.” She chewed her lip all the way back to the highway. “Is…is the place where we’re going really nice? I feel bad about your dress shirt.”
“I guess you’ll find out.” I couldn’t even meet her worried eyes. I could tell she thought maybe I really was a caveman and I was going to wear a shirt that said MOTHER TRUCKER into a fancy restaurant, but I loved the look on her face too much to tell her the truth.
I loved everything about her.
• • •
She saw the sign before we actually arrived. I knew right when she figured it out because she gasped, clapped her hands, and stomped her feet. “Journeyman!”
I grinned. “You guessed it.”
“I love it! I’m excited!” She slapped my shoulder. “You should have told me!”
“I like surprises. And I don’t get to give them much.”
We pulled into the parking lot a few minutes after six, and Jillian was bouncing up and down in the front seat like—well, like a birthday girl. I think she was glad when I threw my jacket on over my new t-shirt, although she was too nice to say so.
We went into the distillery and took the tour, admiring the former factory’s nineteenth century maple floors, the brass, stainless steel and oak equipment, and the passion and precision with which the makers created their product. Later we sat at the concrete bar tasting whiskey and marveling that the original owner of the factory, who’d made his fortune manufacturing featherbone corsets, had been a prohibitionist. We raised our glasses.
“To EK Warren, misguided fool,” I said. “Although I think you’d look good in a corset.”
She laughed and we tipped back the shots. “Ah, that’s good,” she said. “I like that sign over there—I’d rather be someone’s shot of whiskey than everyone’s cup of tea.”
I looked where she was pointing. “I like that too.” Dropping a kiss on her shoulder, I added, “You’re my shot of whiskey, cup of tea, slice of pie and scoop of ice cream.”
She gave me a coy smile. “I thought you didn’t eat ice cream.”
I whispered in her ear. “I do when it’s yours.”
The expression on her face was better than a million dollars. Making her happy felt so fucking good.
• • •
We shared the crisp pork belly appetizer, a plate of roasted vegetables, and the whiskey barbecue chicken, and we drank a little more whiskey than we probably should have. Every time she looked at my shirt, she burst out laughing, and I threatened to wear it the first time I met her parents—or better yet, buy the one about the dirty girl.
“I am dirty,” she whispered as we wandered through the parking lot, hand in hand. “I can’t believe I did that in the car. I’ve never done that before.”
“Good.” I walked her to the passenger side of my car and backed her into it. “A car virgin. I like it.” I kissed her, finally. It felt like I’d been waiting all day.
“A car virgin,” she said, her hands running up my chest inside my jacket. “But not a closet virgin.”
“Nope.” I kissed my way down her neck. “I took care of that when I had the chance.”
“Did you ever do it in a closet with anyone else?”
I picked my head up and tried to think.
“You don’t know?”
“I was not a well-behaved or responsible person for many years, Jillian. If you want the real answer, I have to think.”
She shook her head. “OK, forget it. I liked what you were doing before better.”
“Me too.” I put my lips and tongue on her throat again, tasting her sweetness—vanilla tonight. And something flowery. Lavender? “You smell so fucking good. I have to get my mouth on all of you.”
“No argument here. Where are we staying tonight?”
“A bed and breakfast. It’s not
far.”
“A bed and breakfast!” She took my face in her hands and kissed me. “You’re so mother trucking romantic, I can’t stand it. Let’s go.”
• • •
We pulled up at the bed and breakfast, a big nineteenth century Victorian home that was called A Night to Remember.
Jillian giggled at the sign hanging out front. “I like the name.”
“That’s why I chose it.”
She got out of the car and admired the house while I went to the back and unloaded our bags. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “When do you think it was built?”
I studied it for a moment. It was dark, but I could make out the lines and materials well enough. “Probably the eighteen seventies.” My knowledge of historical architecture wasn’t all that comprehensive, but because of the area where I lived and worked, I did have some familiarity with different Victorian styles. This one was French-inspired, with a mansard roof and shutters on the windows, its bricks painted a light yellow.
“I love it.” She threw her arms around me. “This is so nice, Levi. No one’s ever given me such a great birthday surprise.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go in.”
The owners of the house, Bob and Jenny, a couple in retirement age with matching pear-shaped bodies and welcoming smiles, greeted us at the door as if they’d been waiting for us. It was my first inclination that this might not be quite as private as I’d like. Here we were entering this lovely old home, the owners graciously giving us a tour, inviting us to sit on the antique furniture, sip cordials in the parlor, or drink tea off grandmother’s china, and all I could think of was taking Jillian upstairs and spanking ass her before fucking her senseless.
Clearly I hadn’t thought this all the way through.
We were shown our room, which was large with high ceilings, a fireplace, and an antique queen-size bed. Jillian spun around, a huge smile on her face, and I was happy I’d chosen this place. Hope you have earplugs, Bob and Jenny. Or you’re gonna be up all night.
I locked the bedroom door after they left and took off my jacket and the trucker t-shirt. Jillian took her bag, went into our private bathroom, and came out five minutes later wearing the sexiest fucking lingerie I’d ever seen. It was dark red and strappy and lacy and sheer and rendered me completely speechless.
“You like it?” she asked, hands behind her back.
“I fucking love it. It’s not even my birthday.” I went over to her and ran my hands down her arms, up her chest, brushing my thumbs over her nipples. They perked up, and I kept rubbing them lightly. Jillian’s eyes closed and she swayed toward me. I lowered my lips to where they just barely touched hers but didn’t kiss her.
“You’re teasing me,” she whispered.
I smiled. “Ready for your present?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
I pulled it out of my bag and handed it to her. She took it over to the bed, which squeaked when she sat down on it. Looking up at me in alarm, she bounced on it a few times, and the squeaking continued, even louder. “Holy shit, Levi,” she whispered frantically.
I grinned. “Hey. What can we do? It’s an old bed. Open your gift.”
She began to unwrap the package, and I suddenly felt nervous.
“It’s nothing big.”
“Stop it. You didn’t have to get me anything—you arranged this whole night for me.” She took the lid off the box and gasped when she saw the framed photo. “Oh my God.”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.” She lifted it out of the box and held it up. “I haven’t even seen wedding photos yet—how did you get this?”
The picture was of Jillian and her sisters, Skylar in the middle, an informal shot taken sometime after the ceremony. It was a close-up, and they’d leaned in toward each other, arms around waists, matching blue eyes and huge smiles. “I contacted Sebastian this week, and he put me in touch with Skylar. She’d just gotten digital proofs and sent me this one. I thought you’d like it for your counter.”
“Yes!” She put a hand over her heart. “It’s perfect, because I don’t have a recent one. And it’s beautiful—look how happy we are.”
“You do look happy. And I know how important family is to you.”
“It is.” She looked up at me. “You’re important to me, too, Levi. Thank you so much for doing all this for me.” She set the photo aside and stood up, wrapping her arms around me. “I’m so happy tonight.”
I smiled and hugged her back, wishing more than anything I could make her happy like this all the time. Here, in this beautiful room, only the two of us, it almost felt possible. But it wasn’t real life—it had all been planned and arranged, everything from the distillery tour to the bed and breakfast reservation to childcare. If I asked her right now to run away with me, she’d probably say yes, because she’d think it could be like this all the time. But it couldn’t…I couldn’t. She didn’t know what she was giving up to be with me.
Her hands were sliding up my back, her lips along my throat. “I love you so much,” she whispered.
I slid my fingers into her hair and kissed her ravenously, possessively. She lifted my shirt over my head and unbuttoned my jeans, but I couldn’t bear to take the beautiful lingerie off her yet. When I was completely naked, I caught her behind the knees and shoulders and laid her on the bed, stretching out above her.
It groaned under our weight, and she smiled. “Oh, dear.”
“I don’t care,” I said, kissing my way down her body. “Let’s keep them up all night.”
I’d planned on spanking her, teasing her, tormenting her—making her “pay” for being such a bad girl in the car. But I didn’t feel that way now. I simply wanted to worship her, adore her, devote myself entirely to her pleasure in bed the way I couldn’t in real life. Once we left this place tomorrow, I couldn’t give her all of me.
But tonight I could.
And I didn’t give a fuck about the noise.
She sighed and moaned as I undressed her, then devoured her breasts one at a time. When one hard nipple was under my tongue or between my teeth, the other was between my fingers. She arched and gasped, whimpering as I fucked her with my fingers, and then my tongue, and then used them both on her at the same time, my mouth sucking greedily at her clit as her pussy tightened and throbbed. And she cried out when I slid my cock inside her, my name on her lips, my hands in her hair, my body rocking into hers with deep, powerful strokes.
But nothing was louder than that fucking bed—it whined and groaned and creaked and squeaked, louder and quicker, perfectly matching the rhythm of my hips as momentum built. It went finally, blissfully silent when we came together, the climax paralyzing every muscle in my body, my awareness centered only on the pulse shared between us.
If we hadn’t been so carried away, we probably would have laughed.
Instead she cried, tears dripping from the corners of her eyes as she clung to me, her hands pulling me in tighter to her, as if she couldn’t get close enough. And I understood her tears, fought hard against my own.
I brushed her temples with my fingertips, kissed them, tasted the salty sweetness of her tears. Resting my forehead on hers, I whispered her name like a prayer, desperately wishing I could have this, have her, every single day of my life.
But something inside me wouldn’t believe it was possible.
We went from the bed—which screamed louder than I did—to a chair by the fireplace to a rug on the floor, and only when the clock said three-thirty did we fall back into bed, happy and exhausted and laughing that we’d probably kept everyone else up too.
“No more bed and breakfasts for us,” Levi said, pulling my back against his chest, his knees tucked into mine.
I giggled. “At least not until we’re old and don’t care about sex anymore.”
“Bite your tongue. I will never be too old to care about sex with you. When I’m ninety, if you’re still around, I’ll be trying to get in your pants.”
> “Of course I’ll be around.” I snuggled back against him, trying not to let my feelings get ruffled by the comment. He’s teasing. It was a joke.
“Good.” He kissed my head once more and we fell asleep, our breathing synced like I wished our lives could be.
• • •
We woke up so late we missed breakfast, but I didn’t care. Waking up next to Levi was even more amazing than I thought it would be. He lay on his back with his arms around me, and I cuddled up against his side, one leg thrown over him, one palm on his stomach, my cheek pressed to his chest. I felt warm and peaceful. Happy. Loved.
“Probably better we don’t have to face anyone down there anyway,” he said.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “We wouldn’t even have to introduce ourselves. They all know our names because they heard us shouting them all night long.”
“Totally.” His hands stroked up and down my back. “And they’d be angry because they didn’t get any sleep.”
I burrowed in closer. “Let’s never leave. This is like a dream.”
“I don’t want to go back to real life yet either.”
“Maybe they’d let us stay all day.”
He sighed. “I wish I could.”
“Hey.” I picked up my head and looked at him. “We can have this feeling in real life, you know. There’s nothing magic about this room.”
“No? Felt like it.”
“No. The magic is you and me together, and we could have that anywhere.”
“You’re right, sorry. I’m being grumpy about everything I have to get done today. Come back.”
He tugged me back down, and I nestled against him again. “Why don’t you let me help you out today?” I asked. “I’d be happy to do something for you.”
“You sound like my mom.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ew. That is not romantic.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that you remind me of her, just that she’s always wanting to do things for me. She thinks I’m incompetent or something.”
I sat up again. “It’s not the same, Levi. I don’t want to do things for you—and maybe she doesn’t either—because I think you’re incapable of doing them yourself. I’m trying to help you. Accepting help from someone who cares about you doesn’t mean you couldn’t do it all yourself; it means that you’re willing to let someone share the burden who wants to.”
Some Sort of Love: A Happy Crazy Love Novel Page 16
