SECRET Revealed

by L. Marie Adeline

  I let my mind wander. Maybe I was heading to some out-of-the-way bed-and-breakfast. Or some secluded mansion near Slidell where a handsome stranger was already pouring drinks. All I knew was that the day’s events, the nomination especially, had made me, well, horny, and this was a fantasy I was going to let myself enjoy. After all, wasn’t this one all about Generosity?

  The highway morphed into Pontchartrain Drive somewhere over the Bayou Sauvage. If not for the driving rain, I would have enjoyed my slow build of arousal. But the weather was so bad that on a particularly steep bend I had to cut my speed in half, my visuals now down to a few yards in front of me. I started to get that “mom panic,” that sense that I shouldn’t be putting myself in jeopardy because there was more at stake than my life—no matter how much I wanted to accept this Step. I imagined the reports: … and no one knows why local news anchor, Solange Faraday, was driving a rented Rolls-Royce on the outskirts of the city on this cold, wet night …

  I was on the cusp of turning around when my tires hit a bump on the road, instantly sinking the car on the front right side. I clenched the wheel and eased off the accelerator so I could steer down a gravel side road. I came to a tricky stop on the shoulder. The rain was torrential by now, but I left the headlights on and threw my trench coat over my head to check the damage. Sure enough, the front right tire was flat.

  Shit, shit, sonofabitch. There goes my Step Four, I thought, collapsing back into the front seat and fishing out my phone. I punched auto-dial on my AAA number.

  Nothing.

  “You have got to be kidding!” I muttered. No cell service. I was in a dead zone.

  Seconds later, things went from bad to scary when a set of headlights approached me from behind, inching closer and closer, until I could make out the front of an old, white pickup truck.

  Outside my windshield it was pitch black. Behind me, the only light came from the reflection of the truck’s headlights on the wet road. I heard the engine shutting off. I watched the driver’s silhouette exit the truck and slam the door. It was a man. He ran in the rain towards my car. Shit.

  I hit the button to lock my doors.

  Tap tap tap.

  “You okay in there?” the driver yelled through the streaming wet glass.

  I couldn’t make out his face, but his forearms and wrists were covered in vivid, black tattoos. The sight of them against his pale skin sent a chill up my spine.

  “I’m okay!” I yelled. “Just a flat. Someone’s on the way! Thank you! Bye!”

  He hesitated, his torso—the only part of him I could see—turning left, right, taking in the blackness that now surrounded both of us. His head was over the top of the car. His white T-shirt was soaked through, clinging to his muscles, more tattoos apparent through the increasingly translucent material.

  “Okay then, just checking!” he yelled through the window. “I just don’t want to leave you out here alone. I’ll go wait in my truck ’til someone gets here! No worries!”

  Oh god. Will he follow me when I peel away? How far is Mandeville?

  Through the rearview mirror, I watched him trot back to his truck, so wet his jeans hung low on his narrow waist. I started up my engine and blasted the heat, and was getting ready to drag the Rolls in its current state to the nearest anything, when I saw him struggle with his door. After a few seconds, I could see him run around to the other side, making the same full-body effort with the passenger door.

  This isn’t happening. Why is this happening?

  He seemed to stop and think, for maybe three seconds, before running back to my car, defeated, his arms wrapped around him.

  Drive away, drive away, Solange. This is how people get killed. They’re stupid. They don’t react fast enough.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you again!” he yelled. “I locked myself out of my truck!”

  “Sorry to hear that!” I yelled, moving the gearstick into drive.

  “Wait! Stop! Don’t be scared! I’m harmless—a lover not a fighter! In fact … shit, okay! If you accept the Step, I might not catch pneumonia!”

  Relief flooded my body and I fell back into my seat, the engine still running.

  “I’m supposed to ask you later,” he yelled, “but I think I’m freaking you out. I’m not a threat, I swear! So can I—?”

  “Of course! Yes! Come in!” I yelled, unlocking the doors.

  He hopped around the front of the car to the passenger side, opened the door and plopped down next to me, sending a spray of water in my direction.

  “I’m such an idiot,” he said, grinning. “I can’t believe I locked my keys in my truck! With my coat inside. And no cell service. And it’s fucking cold out.” He placed his open palms directly on the dashboard heat vents. “Every fantasy, I fuck something up.”

  The rain was finally letting up a bit.

  “Well?” he said, rubbing his hands furiously.

  “Well what?”

  “The Step … do you accept it? I know I probably don’t look too savory, so if you’re reconsidering, I’d totally understand.”

  He was wrong about that. I was not reconsidering. I had noticed the way his jeans draped around his lean hips, and how his wet shirt clung to a well-formed torso covered in tattoos. Not my type, normally, but there was something so damn sweet about this guy. And he was funny. Whoever really loved him was in a lot of trouble.

  I could hear his teeth chattering. “You’re really cold.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay. I accept the Step, at the very least to help you get warm.”

  “Thank fucking god. Whooo. Okay. Crank that heat higher. I need to get my circulation going before I lay my hands on you.”

  Alrighty then.

  “This was supposed to be a lot sexier. There was this whole gas station seduction thing that was supposed to happen. GPS lady was about to warn you that you were on empty, right—?”

  I looked at the gas gauge and sure enough it was on empty.

  “And when you pulled up to the gas station up near Mandeville and noticed that your wallet was missing, I was going to offer to pay and …”

  “My wallet?”

  “Don’t worry. Matilda has your wallet. She took it at the restaurant. And you’re not on empty. I messed around with the gauge. But then the fucking tire blew. And that wasn’t in the plans! Speaking of which—pop the trunk,” he said, suddenly turning efficient. “You have a coat?”

  He opened the glove compartment while I fished in the back seat for my trench.

  “Yesss!” he exclaimed. “In the history of the fucking world, this might be the first time a pair of gloves is actually found in the glove compartment. Sit here, sweetheart. When I’m done with that tire, I’m gonna start in on you. Trust me. This fantasy ain’t over.”

  He was adorable. It took him less than ten minutes to change the tire, and he insisted I stay warm in the car. When he finished, he found Handi Wipes under the front seat and scrubbed his fingers before rubbing his hands vigorously in front of the vents again.

  “Done. Drive. I’m your GPS now, darlin’. Just go slow. I need to warm up more.”

  I threw the car into drive and peeled away from the shoulder. He leaned towards me again, his hand heading straight for my knee. I shuddered, not from repulsion, but from the chill. Poor guy! He began firmly rubbing his hand up and down my inner thighs, stealing heat for himself and creating it for me.

  “You are hot in many, many ways,” he murmured.

  Next, his fingers found the edge of my underwear, and I gasped. He stopped, waiting for a sign from me, his mouth at my ear. I squirmed, wordlessly shifting so he could inch his fingers under the elastic.

  Yes.

  “Ever wonder what it would be like to have an orgasm while going sixty-five miles per hour?” he whispered.

  “Is that even possible?”

  “Anything’s possible in this car. With me.”

  He reached down between my legs and pushed
my seat back a few more inches, though I could still reach the gas, the brakes. My back pressed against the warm seat, I felt his fingers trace my grooves, already damp from anticipation. I let out an involuntary sigh, wanting to close my eyes, but I had to keep them on the road.

  “Now kick off that pump,” he whispered, “and bend your left knee against the door.”

  I released my left foot from my shoe and raised my knee, my skirt rolling up my thigh towards my waist. He bent his head down until it was practically resting in my lap. He kissed my inner left thigh as his fingers tugged my panties aside. His head dropped lower, and I laid one hand on his damp hair. For a brief second, I felt his breath on my clit as his tongue teased it. The rain, which had been pelting sideways on the blackened road, had subsided. My whole body throbbed as the tip of his tongue did a little dance, and his fingers gently prodded, sliding in and out while I was driving! I concentrated on the road ahead, cracking my window to stay alert. He lapped at me and finger fucked me at the same time. I had never felt such a delicious rush: the adrenaline from the speed, and this man’s face in my lap, his tongue lashing me as the dark night whipped past us.

  On a wide bend, he stopped and tilted his face up. “Turn down the next side road and go faster,” he said, his fingers pressing deep into me as he brought his mouth down to dazzle me some more. The reflection from the dashboard played across his hair; I wanted this delicious man inside of me, and I wanted him now. The headlights illuminated a crossroads, and I signaled to no one my turn down a darkened, tree-lined road, gravel spattering against the bottom of the car. I momentarily panicked about divots and scratches, but shook away those thoughts as I turned up the volume on a sexy jazz station.

  “I want more of you,” he whispered.

  He yanked himself away from me, then wrestled, arched and bent as he began the difficult and near-comical task of removing wet jeans from his cold legs and pulling on a condom. He sounded like a man fighting another man in a phone booth. And yet, the more clothes he removed, the more aroused I became, such a revelation for me. Maybe I was more prone to being visually aroused than I thought.

  He felt around for my right hand and placed it on his cool chest.

  “Pull over. Kill the dash lights, Solange. I’m going to need you to warm my whole fucking body up,” he said, adjusting his seat back.

  I slammed on the brakes and skidded to the shoulder of the empty road. Throwing the car into park, I cut the dash lights but left the engine running for the heat. My hand traveled over his stomach, his erection meeting my palm. This man was blessed. Or I was.

  He perched a condom on the head and I unraveled it down his thick shaft, warming it as I went. He thrust up and into my touch, groaning in pleasure. I looked out the front window. The road was dark and empty, not a light for miles. His hands were behind his head and he was taking this in.

  “Get your panties off,” he ordered. “I’m so fucking hard for you.”

  As I frantically yanked them down and pulled my skirt up around my waist, all I could think was: What is happening to me? This bratty stranger gets in my car and goes down on me while I’m driving, and now I can’t get him inside me fast enough?

  I was incredibly wet by the time I rolled over the middle console, my chest pressed against his, my head gracing the ceiling despite the fact that he’d pushed his seat back almost ninety degrees. He cupped me, letting one finger release more slickness. I looked down and watched him part me, the tip of his cock kissing, dipping up into me as my knees dug into the sides of the seats. I sunk onto him and oh how exquisite he felt, his fists at my hips. I gripped and tightened around him as he filled me up.

  His hand at the back of my head, he took my hair in a fist and pulled my mouth down to his. He kissed me roundly, beautifully, as he thrust up into me, gently at first, his muscles undulating beneath me. But then he turned into a machine, hips gyrating, abs flexing and pumping, my knees now up alongside this torso, fucking up into me, my hands traveling to the car’s roof to stop my head from hitting it.

  With both hands he unbuttoned my blouse and released my bra, so my breasts were loose under the lacy cups. He gathered them in his hands, a tangle now of fingers and breasts and lace and such beautiful fucking, shallow then deep, then deeper still. His mouth found a nipple and he sucked, locking his eyes on mine. Slick pleasure shot through me. He pressed a hand between my breasts, up my throat, encircling my neck. His other forearm gripped my lower back, pulling me to him. His thrusts grew more urgent; the groans came quicker. He was close and I was going to surpass him, my orgasm now a tight ball, my throbbing clit its very center; I could feel it nearing. I pressed the roof of the Rolls with my hands, fucking him back down onto the leather seat, taking my pleasure from his cock until I couldn’t stop it anymore. I came loudly into the dark night, the windows steamed and dripping with the sweat of our combined heat.

  “Oh god,” I screamed.

  “Fuck yeah,” he said, his hips moving faster. He came, too, his fingertips marking my flesh with every pulse of his cock as it emptied into me, sliding in and out, and in, and then out, as he subsided.

  “Holy Mother of Mary,” he said, breathless, his voice an octave lower.

  “You could say that,” I murmured, easing up and off him. I rolled back onto my seat, tugging my skirt down half-heartedly. I lay there splayed, reveling in that feeling of being utterly disheveled by an excellent fuck. I didn’t care that my flesh was exposed, my breasts peeking out of my loosened bra and unbuttoned blouse. I needed to catch my breath.

  “Well, that was … I’m very …” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

  Minutes later, bra clasped, blouse buttoned, skirt smoothed out, I patted down my hair and cleaned up a bit of the eyeliner that had drifted in our sweaty tussle. I started up the Rolls and threw it into drive, turning back down the highway where we’d left his truck.

  “Should we call a tow truck to unlock your door?” I asked. “Happy to wait with you until it gets here.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” he said, pulling on his jeans and reaching into his pocket for a set of keys. “But I’m good.”

  “So that was all …”

  “Yeah, it was a sympathy play.”

  I smacked his arm.

  “I was desperate! Oh—this is for you,” he said, pulling out my Step Four charm from the same pocket. He held it in front of me, pinched between his thumb and forefinger: Generosity.

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling a little undeserving. “I sure didn’t start out feeling all that generous towards you. You really scared the shit out of me.”

  “Yeah, but you eventually came around.”

  “I have a feeling most women do. You have that thing.”

  “And what thing is that?” he asked, turning to face me.

  “That thing that makes women want to give … and give.”

  “Oh, if only that were true. But right now I’m still doing the giving.”

  He took my right wrist in his hands and in the dark of the car, while the gold glinted in the glow of passing headlights, he secured my new charm to my bracelet.

  CASSIE

  I was true to my resolution. I became a woman about my work, throwing myself into the task of owning and operating a restaurant with the same delight and fervor I saw Tracina throw into being a new mom and Dell throw into running the kitchen. I didn’t have much time for Jesse, and I had nothing beyond professional chatter for Will.

  But resolutions are made to be broken. And when I stopped by the Coach House just before Mardi Gras to talk to Matilda about a possible S.E.C.R.E.T. assignment that I’d been putting off, a peek at the fantasy board confirmed that Jesse had played more than just a passing part in Solange’s most recent adventure. There it was, a Step Four Generosity card with Jesse’s name on it, “Completed” stamped across it in vivid red.

  I had to steady myself against the table.

  “Cassie?” Matilda’s eyes darted from me to the board and back to me. �
�Why don’t we go to my office for a chat, shall we?”

  Sulkily, I followed her. As we passed Danica, Matilda asked her to bring us coffee—and just like that, I was all about a guy again.

  I wanted to know everything: what they did, where they went. But one look at Matilda’s face and I knew she wasn’t about to divulge details. Committee members weren’t kept informed of fantasies they weren’t working on directly. This ensured anonymity and greater privacy. And Matilda had a zero-tolerance policy on gossip. I shook my head. You are a woman about your work. S.E.C.R.E.T. is part of that. Get over it. Fast.

  “You saw the board?”

  “Yes,” I said. Here it comes. A lecture about not getting emotionally involved with Jesse, about dating in S.E.C.R.E.T. and sparking complicated feelings of jealousy and possession and blah, blah, blah …

  Danica popped in with our coffees.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Matilda said, easing mine in front of me. “So you saw that we’re planning Solange’s Step Seven fantasy already. We decided we’d try Ewan, Dominic’s friend. The one you recruited last year?”

  Ewan was the sexy redhead I’d seen playing pickup soccer with one of Matilda’s recruits. I couldn’t resist his bratty smile, so when I asked for Dominic’s number, I was thrilled when Ewan threw his in too. Okay, so she either wasn’t going to bring up Jesse’s Step with Solange, or she didn’t think I had seen it.

  “But wasn’t Ewan rejected?”

  “He was rejected by last year’s Committee. But his sole naysayer has retired, and with you on board this year we’d have unanimity. Now, Step Seven, as you know, involves something a candidate’s curious about. Turns out Solange is curious about trying something that I think might also intrigue you.”

  “Oh?”

  When Matilda said the word, I nearly spat my coffee across her desk.