Bend (22 page)

“Maybe if they were both just focused on getting me off,” she muses. “I wouldn’t want two Ds in my P, though. Maybe if I’d had kids I could handle that, but now, no way.”

Pressure builds inside my head. I still have a hard-on. Even though the scene she’s describing is not appealing to me. Not even a little bit. In fact, it’s kind of pissing me off.

She continues with, “Plus it’d be kind of weird. I think I’d be worried that they’d start enjoying it a little too much, if you know what I mean.”

I look sideways. She’s watching me with raised eyebrows, but I keep my mouth shut. Yeah, I do know what she means. And she’s given this whole thing a lot of thought, apparently.

“Oh,” she says, pointing a finger at me, “and I definitely wouldn’t want to be giving one guy head while the other one’s fucking me. For the same reason I don’t like doing a sixty-nine.”

Okay, enough. “I don’t think this is an appropriate topic of conversation for the car.”

I glance at her long enough to catch her giving a shrug as she says, “You’re the one who asked.”

She’s got me there. We drive in silence for a while. Raindrops start splattering the windshield as we catch up to those storm clouds, picking up in frequency until they’re drumming and pounding on the glass. I turn the wipers on high.

From the corner of my eye I see Mia scoot her seat back, kick off her shoes, and raise her white-sock-clad feet up to rest on the dash, crossed at the ankles. I’m so glad she’s able to make herself comfortable.

Meanwhile I’m sitting here with an iron grip on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, driving on the freeway toward her parents’ house in an epic downpour, and all I can think about is Mia getting screwed by two guys at the same time. Neither one of them being me. Goddamn her.

Then I mentally replay the last thing she said, and before I can stop myself, the question is coming out of my mouth. “What’s wrong with a sixty-nine?”

“I told you,” she says nonchalantly. “I’m not great at multitasking.”

Okay. That’s fine. She can just sit on my face then.

And there’s another mental image that makes me twitchy.

“Besides,” she goes on. “A blow job is an art form. It takes skill and concentration.”

I take my eyes off the road long enough to toss a doubtful look her way. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“And how would you know?” she challenges teasingly.

“Dicks just aren’t that complicated. I know because I’ve got one.”

She lets out a laugh that sounds breathless and sexy. Bracing a hand on the emergency brake, she leans closer to me, so close her arm is up against mine. Her voice sounds husky as she says, “I guess you just haven’t been with the right women then, Jay.”

My pulse starts pounding. What the hell is she doing? I get that she’s flirting, but right here and right now? What’s her endgame?

“Yeah,” I fire back at her, “guess I should’ve been hooking up with
art
majors.”

“Nah,” she responds with another throaty laugh. “Just girls who know what to do and aren’t afraid to.”

I frown in her direction just as she reaches over and puts her hand on my thigh.

Aw, shit.
I tense up, my back going ramrod straight. “Mia…”

Tugging on her seat belt to loosen it, she shifts even closer. With her breasts pressed into my arm and her teeth grazing my earlobe, she murmurs, “You want an art lesson?”

Is she seriously doing this to me? My brain is sounding all kinds of alarms while my dick is happy dancing. Somehow sanity prevails and I manage to grind out, “Not while I’m driving seventy-five miles an hour on the freeway. In pouring rain.”

“Pull over then.” She sucks my earlobe into her mouth, and her hand slides up my thigh, up and up until she meets resistance.

My breath hisses out. “We’re on the
freeway.
”

“I’m pretty sure this qualifies as an emergency.” Her words sound like a seductive song in my ear, and I smell the faintly floral scent of her shampoo, which sparks memories of her naked in the shower. And me in there with her.

Without further ado, she grabs my crotch. Pushes down firmly but gently with the ball of her hand. A groan escapes me. Shit, that feels good. I should tell her to stop. There’s no way I’m telling her to stop. This would be one hell of a way to die, and right now it almost seems worth it.

But just almost. So with a sharp turn of the wheel, I steer the car onto the shoulder. Slam the brake too hard, and when we start skidding on the slick asphalt, I ease up and let us slowly coast to a halt instead, at the bottom of a slope in the middle of a long and gentle curve. The wipers are going too fast now that we’re stopped, scraping back and forth on the windshield with a squeaky, rubbery whine.

My heart is thumping, my breaths coming out in harsh, panting gulps. Mia moves away to unsnap her seat belt, next doing the same to mine.
Goddamn.
I’m staring at her as she leans over and undoes the belt on my shorts. Button and zipper follow in one, two, three seconds. Drawing my underwear out of the way, she wraps her hand around the base of my cock, and then she takes it into her mouth.

A choked moan comes out from deep in my chest. Holy mother of— Is this actually happening? I look down for visual confirmation. One hand supporting herself on the emergency brake, she’s bent over my lap, and all I see is her mass of brown hair fallen down to hide her face. Her mouth is so damn hot and so damn wet, and she slowly slides it down my length, her tongue stroking the sensitive underside.

Muted music plays through the speakers, a hoarse voice crying out unintelligible lyrics above the muddy, dissonant sounds of electric instruments. Rain whips the windows all around us, and the rubbery grating of the wipers swinging swiftly back and forth is the loudest noise in here, next to my rasping breaths.

Running her mouth up and down my erection, Mia reaches in to cup my balls. I’m panting, gasping. Through the windshield I can see cars shooting past us. Feeling like my hand is operating independently, I reach up and twist the lever to turn off the wipers. Immediately rivulets of water cover all the windows, and we’re hidden from the outside. And I can relax just a little bit.

Resting with her right arm above my knees, Mia tilts her head back and releases me, pushing her hair away from her face. While locking her gaze onto mine, she touches the head of my dick with the tip of her tongue. Swirls it around, tasting and teasing. Her eyes are dancing, sparking with a dark fire and something else—something that seems almost like possessiveness.

Holy hell. She’s enjoying it. Loving it. And she wants me to see it, that she’s not doing this because she feels she has to or as a favor or to score points. She’s doing it because she wants to. It’s stupefyingly amazing, so arousing that any minute now I’m going to crack and burst.

Closing her eyes, she plunges down again, drawing me all the way into her slippery mouth. As my cock hits the back of her throat, my breath rushes out with a groan. Arching up into her, I bury my hand in her thick hair, curling the smooth strands around my fingers as her head slowly bobs.

She takes her time, using her mouth, tongue, lips, hand, and even her teeth—carefully, leisurely. Over and over she pushes me close to the edge, pulling back at the last moment, driving me crazy. Just as I’m about to lose it and start begging, her movements change.

Grasping me tightly, she starts rubbing in a twisting motion, her mouth following along each time she dips down. No more teasing. She sucks faster, clenches my shaft with firm confidence, her other hand tugging gently on my balls, and just like that, I lose control. The pressure boils over. She slows down and eases her grip as I’m coming, coming so fucking hard, first with tingly, shooting sparks, and then with a hot surge deep into her mouth.

She stays there while my brain goes numb and that sense of utter and complete release is coursing through me, that feeling of everything being right with the world. Then she lets go and pushes herself up so she has one hand braced on the emergency brake and the other on my thigh. My eyes still blurred with hazy euphoria, I see her watching me with a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. And I notice her throat working as she swallows.

Holy shit.
What the hell did she just do to me? If that was art, she’s Picasso. It’s like the ground has shifted below me, my perspective now skewed. I’ll never be the same. I have a new definition of ecstasy, and Mia’s mouth on my dick is going to haunt my dreams. Forever.

Inching up so that we’re face-to-face, she tilts her head and presses her lips against mine, nudging with her tongue until I open my mouth and let her inside. I put my hands on the curve of her hips, pull her close as we kiss slowly and thoroughly.

She breaks it off and pulls back far enough that her face comes into focus—the pale-green eyes, the long and straight nose, and the wide and full lips, swollen a deep dark pink.

Her voice a strong, provocative whisper, she says, “That’s what you taste like.”

Hearing my own words echoed back at me brings me back to the first time I saw her naked, the first time I had my face between her thighs, the first time I heard her high-pitched whimpers while my fingers stroked inside her.

And I’m gutted by the realization that I want her more now, more than ever. She really is like an addiction. She’s in my veins. Wild, uninhibited, carefree Mia. They almost gush out of me, the words that are ballooning up from my chest and into my mind, where they take on a recognizable shape.

A recognizable and terrifying shape. I catch only a glimpse of the feeling before I push it away, bury it deep.

And because I need to make sure it stays there, I grip her by the upper arms and grind out, “You’re a fucking menace.”

She jerks back, her eyebrows knitting. “Are you actually mad at me?”

“No.” The admission escapes before I can pull it back. Then I amend it with, “Maybe a little bit.”

She tugs on her arms, and as I let her go, she shoves herself back into her own seat. Where she sits and stares at me, her eyes big and naked. “I’m sorry. I guess. It won’t happen again.”

“Okay, that’s not what I—” Heaving an aggressive sigh, I start putting my clothes to right again. “If a cop happened to drive by and decided to stop and check on us, we could’ve been arrested. Do you understand?”

I give her a hard look as I slide the end of my belt into the loop and let my shirt fall down over it.

Her gaze flashes with annoyance and obstinacy. “Why didn’t you stop me then?”

My breath rushes out with a humorless laugh. “You made it kind of difficult to think clearly.”

The irritation leaves her expression, replaced by smugness. “Told you it’s an art form.”

Yeah, and she’s a freaking master artist. I have to look away from her. Because I’m not sure if I stand a chance of getting through to her, and it’s making me want to punch something.

“You know,” I say, reaching up to flip on the windshield wipers again, “you’ve never been arrested, so take it from me. It’s not a joke.”

In fact, it’s terrifying, confusing, and humiliating. You have no idea what’s going to happen to you, how long you’ll be locked up, or if you just made the one stupid choice that’s going to ruin the rest of your life. I can still remember how I couldn’t stop shaking, can still smell the rank bodies in the crowded holding cell and the mix of disinfectant and shit and piss from the toilet in our midst. Can feel the pain of my bladder about to burst because there was no way I was going to relieve myself in front of that audience. Can taste the “food” on my breakfast tray.

So, yeah. Getting arrested is definitely not a fucking joke.

She’s quiet for so long that I have no choice but to turn back toward her again. Somberly, she repeats, “Take it from you? What do you mean?”

Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.

I can’t believe I said that. She noticed, and she’s curious, and my mind is flailing, searching frantically for a good cover-up. Kind of like when she asked me about my tattoo.

“It’s a no-brainer, isn’t it?” I say quickly. “That getting arrested would suck?”

Regarding me with narrowed eyes, she says nothing at first. And then she mumbles, “I guess.”

Okay. She doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but as long as she lets it go, it’s not a problem.

And I can leave it at that. She understands. Innocent Mia, inexperienced with all the shit. And that’s perfectly okay.

But my inner asshole isn’t done. He takes over. Opens my mouth, engages my vocal cords. Pushes the words out, darkly and nastily. “At some point you might want to consider if it’s time to start acting like a grown-up.”

Her face goes blank. I see her jaw flexing as she clenches her teeth. “All right,” she says in a toneless voice. “Got it. No more blow jobs.”

We stare at each other. Time stops. The back of my neck feels like it’s on fire. I don’t need to see her silent hurt and disappointment to know I’m being a jerk. Don’t need to do any deep soul-searching to know I should apologize. But I just can’t do it. Can’t make myself say the words and leave myself that vulnerable, not right now.

Swallowing hard, I decide to take the less painful route. Softening my voice, I say, “That seems a little drastic. How about no blow jobs in public.”