Authors: Vanessa Stone
"And
then, you just turned and walked away. For years, no word from you! You just
erased us! Forgot about your family, your—" She clamped her mouth shut and
shook her head. Stomping down the steps to the parking lot, she walked away.
Her back stiff, her steps sure, she made her way toward her pickup truck, not
far from mine. Frustrated, I walked after her. Catching up with her halfway
across the dirt parking lot, I reached out and grabbed her arm. I spun her
toward me, her mouth open with protest as I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms
around her shoulders and pulling her in for a kiss.
Chapter 10
Memphis
I
resisted, but only for a second. Everything flew out of my mind as his lips
touched mine. I forgot about the past, the pain, and the anger and reveled in
the warmth of his lips on mine. Of their own volition, my arms wrapped
themselves around his waist, pulling him closer. His hands grasped my shoulders
and held me tight. I hated to admit it, but at that moment I felt safer than I
had felt in years.
Anchored.
Donovan had always been
my anchor, and since he left I
’d been adrift, always looking
for something that I knew I would never find in any other man.
He lifted
his head and gazed down at me and I saw the heat in his gaze, the pulse
pounding in his throat, a glimpse of his own pain. I moaned and leaned my head
against his chest, listening to the thudding of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
He made a low sound in his throat, and then grasped my arm and guided me toward
his truck. To my surprise, he stopped near the bed. I started to ask a
question, but then he grasped me around the waist and lifted me upward. I felt
his bulging biceps as he helped me into the bed of the truck, and then he
climbed in after me.
What was
he doing? Why did he—
“Lie
down,” he whispered, a wicked grin on his lips.
I don’t
know why I followed his directions, but I did. I wanted him to kiss me again. I
wanted him to touch me, to make love to me. So what if I was in the bed of his
old beat up F250. No one could see us if we
laid
down.
Still, a part of my good sense yelled at me that we were in the parking lot of
the Chit Chat, that at any moment we could be spotted. I didn’t care. I didn’t
care about repercussions. I didn’t care about anything at this moment than
getting as close to his heat as I possibly could.
The nighttime
air was cool against my face as I lay on my
back,
Donovan
quickly laid down beside me. Neither one of us said anything. For now, the
closeness was enough. His heat and harsh breathing was enough.
God, how I had missed him.
It literally took my breath away.
I tried to
prepare myself for the feel of his touch, my body aching for the familiarity
while at the same time wondering what it would be like. Unable to halt the
momentum of anticipation of my own desire, I slipped my hands under his shirt,
amazed as always at how warm and solid he felt. Tugging at my own shirt, I
didn't have to be told what to do, as Donovan silently kissed me. Then, one
button at a time, he unbuttoned my flannel shirt. He grasped at the bottom of
my tee-shirt and peeled it upward, up over my breasts. My flesh tingled with
the kiss of warm air against my bare skin. For a moment, I realized that the
bed of the pickup truck was softer than I would've thought, and then saw that
the truck liner beneath had smoothed out all the bumps and ridges of the truck
bed. Moments later, I had shoved Donovan’s tee shirt upward as well and reveled
at the difference.
His skin, tan, smooth, and rock hard, mine
nearly alabaster white where my skin rarely saw the light of day.
I sucked
in my breath at the look in his eyes as he swept his gaze from my face to my
breasts, his eyes heavy with desire and both of us now heaving with excitement.
His left hand followed his eyes, touched what his eyes gazed upon. I reveled at
the solid weight of his fingers as they caressed and gently squeezed my right
breast through my bra, and then traced lightly down my side, causing my
abdominal muscles to tense as he stroked my skin. I remembered his touch, his
caresses, and the thrill that only his touch had ever invoked in me.
He made a
noise low in his throat, and the timbre of that noise made me shiver. His rock
hard muscles pressed against the softness of my breasts and stomach, and I felt
his burgeoning erection against my groin.
"I
haven't forgotten how good you feel," he breathed.
He leaned
closer to nuzzle his lips against the base of my ear. He kissed me slowly, his
lips making his way down my throat to the swell of my breasts. Before I knew
it, I was gasping his name, my breasts anticipating not only the touch of his
hand, but the anticipation of his lips caressing and suckling my nipples.
I relaxed
completely, feeling more at home now than I had felt in years. I lay on my
back, he on his side, his right arm cushioning my head from the bed of the
truck while his other roamed freely over my body. Everywhere his hand touched,
my body responded. He teased every inch of my breasts, my skin burning with an
increasing heat and hunger that took my breath away. Finally, he unhooked my
bra from the clasp at the front and my breasts bounced free. I instinctively
arched my back, offering their tight, desire-filled peaks in invitation toward
the warmth of his mouth. He obliged. His lips and tongue caressed one breast,
and then the other, lapping and circling with his tongue as if he were eating
an ice cream cone. Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, his hand moved
downward toward my thighs, first caressing them through my jeans, and then,
impatiently, we both scrambled to unbutton buttons and unzip zippers. He eased
his hand down into my pants, provoking and teasing every nerve in my body,
which hadn't felt this way in years. I was aware of everything, and the hunger
within me continued to grow, flair, and beg for release. Though my left hand
was trapped under his right hip, my right hand was free, and I stroked his body
with much the same passion in which he stroked mine. My hand inched its way
inside his jeans and felt his erection. He groaned softly as I grasped his
warm, throbbing hardness, and then my fingers carefully edged lower to cradle
his balls. I squeezed gently,
then
returned to
stroking his dick, which grew even harder with each stroke.
By now
we'd both grown a bit frantic with desire, and of one accord, we maneuvered the
jeans down far enough to provide greater access. In another moment, he lay on
top of me, breathing heavily as his lips once again returned to mine. His
tongue swept the inside of my mouth as our tongues tangled with each other,
both of us uttering soft moans as our passion grew.
His hand
stroked the apex of my thighs, his thumb gently swirling through my dark curls
as his other fingers probed, pressed, and dipped ever lower. I soon grew wet
with desire
.
He
continued to probe with his fingers until my body pulsed with anticipation.
Finally, placing one arm around my waist, he maneuvered himself between my knees
and then entered. I sucked in my breath at the feel of him delving deep inside
me. I hadn't realized until this very moment how completely and utterly I
belonged to Donovan. At this moment, I knew that I would never be happy in the
arms of any other man. For the briefest of moments, I felt an overwhelming
sadness surge through me.
For now
however, I was going to enjoy the moment, his touch, and the sensational
feelings coursing through me. With his legs nestled within mine, his arms
curled beneath me to bear his weight, his torso in close contact with mine. He
thrust, filling me up as completely as I remembered. He slowly withdrew and I
maneuvered my hips upward, urging him back again. Finally, after several slow
and teasing strokes, he settled into a steady rhythm, while with each thrust my
senses were filled with nothing but sensations. Our breathing grew ragged and I
felt my body grow enflamed beyond belief as his thrusts increased in power as
well as tempo.
It was
easy to find our rhythm and I moved my hips in conjunction with his, both of us
so familiar with each other that we had not forgotten how to join as one. I
moved with him, giving as well as taking, wanting more. Through his movements,
I could tell he felt much the same. Then, with a shudder, I reached my peak and
a white haze filled my mind as wave after wave of pulsing pleasure nearly
caused me to scream. His grip on my shoulders tightened, and I wrapped my arms
around his hips, locking him even closer, tighter against me as he reached his
own orgasm. We rode the waves together until the pleasure-filled contractions
reached a crescendo and then slowly ebbed, both of us gasping and shuddering.
His lips
found mine one more time and I responded with the same passion. My shirt and
bra were pushed up over my breasts, his hand back to cupping one and gently
stroking and teasing my nipple. We lay there for several moments, both of us
breathing hard, when suddenly I stiffened. The sounds of rocks crackling
underneath footsteps were getting closer and closer.
"What
is it?" he asked, lifting his head.
“
Shhhh
!”
I hissed. “Someone's coming!"
I had
barely managed to yank my shirt down as Donovan adjusted his position so that
no one could see that my pants were shoved down around my ass. Still, no one
could mistake what we were doing, still locked in a passionate embrace. The
footsteps grew louder and I realized that someone was heading toward the truck.
I froze and caught my breath, not sure what to do.
"Don't
move," Donovan whispered.
I hadn't
intended to, but in the several seconds that had passed, he had done his best
to make sure I wasn't too outrageously exposed. Suddenly, I saw a person
approaching the back of Donovan's truck, and though it was a high bed, I
recognized Violet. Unfortunately, she was quite a tall girl and would have no
trouble seeing into the bed of Donovan's vehicle if she happened to glance this
way— she did. I would've laughed at the expression on her face if I hadn't felt
so horrified.
Violet
stopped stock still, her mouth dropping open as she recognized me, in the bed
of the truck, disheveled and obviously wrapped passionately in Donovan’s arms.
While Violet had worked at the restaurant for only a couple of years, we
weren't that close, and she would certainly have had no idea who Donovan was.
Her mouth closed and then she suddenly burst out in laughter, shaking her head
as she continued past the bed of the truck toward her own vehicle.
"Jarrod’s
not going to be happy with you, Memphis," she commented as she
disappeared.
Several
moments later, I heard the sound of her unlocking her car door, opening it,
getting in, and then the car door slamming. While my heart continued to pound
and I scrambled to pull my pants back up around my waist, I heard the car
start. Moments later she pulled out of the parking lot, gravel crunching under
her tires. "Shit," I muttered, quickly trying to assemble my clothing
back where it belonged.
Donovan
did the same, and then, without letting me up, leaned over me. “What was that
all about?" he asked.
"Jarrod?”
I shook my
head. "What does it matter?"
"Because,"
he said. "Who's Jarrod?"
"None
of your business," I snapped, regretting not only my attitude, but in
allowing myself to succumb to Donovan's charms so easily.
"Memphis,
considering what just
happened,
I think I might have a
right to know—"
"You
don't need to worry about it," I disagreed. "You'll be gone in a few
days anyway, and probably won't be back again, so it just doesn't matter."
With that,
I sat up, and he let me. I quickly scrambled out of the back of the truck and
stomped off toward my own car, wondering who I was angrier at – him or myself.
Nothing like a wham, bam, thank you ma'am after eight long years to
shake my senses loose.
Then again, I guess it really didn't matter. As
quickly as he had blown into town, it was just as likely that Donovan would
blow out, and I'd never see him again. Nope, didn't make a big difference at
all. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that, I knew
I was only fooling myself.
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This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright
© 2015 Vanessa Stone