No Regrets (13 page)

He rooted around in my bag until he found the condom packet, and then he moved over me again. “Are you sure, Leslie?” His eyes searched my face, momentarily losing the pulsing excitement.

I nodded, so he knew I was serious. Then I said, “Now who’s getting nervous about backseat sex?”

“Nothing to be nervous about, unless I make you come so hard you can’t keep quiet.”

My pussy clenched at the words. “I’m sure I can resist the impulse.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He kissed me again, and it was really good. My arousal built up quickly until I was rocking beneath his weight and trying to wrap one leg around his hips.

But I was deeply conscious of the fact that the car door was hanging open.

We were far away from the other parked cars. Far away from the runners and dog-walkers. But it wasn’t impossible that someone might come over in this direction.

It wasn’t impossible that we would be seen.

If anything, that knowledge made my arousal pulse even harder. And more so when he pulled off my shorts, freed his cock, and rolled on the condom.

He was looking at my face when he positioned himself between my legs and pulled aside my underwear. I knew he was checking yet again to make sure I really wanted this.

So I said, “I knew you’d chicken out at semi-public sex.”

He made a choked sound and slid himself very slowly—torturously slow—inside me.

I was gasping and flushed all over as I tried to soften my body against his, wrap myself around him.

“Oh, fuck, Leslie.” His head had lowered slightly, and he was breathing erratically. “Sometimes I think…”

“You think what?” I grabbed his shirt with both hands and hung on.

“Oh, fuck. It’s just too good.”

I didn’t know if that was what he’d originally intended to say, but it sounded pretty good to me, and I wasn’t in a fit condition to sort out anything else.

I squeezed around him with my legs and inner muscles until he groaned again.

“And you were saying
I
was the one who couldn’t keep quiet,” I teased.

“Just wait.” He reared up, the dominant look returning to his eyes.

He started to fuck me then, hard and fast and so good. I could feel the fresh air from outside against my skin. I could hear faint sounds of voices and cars across the park.

And Josh. Hard and big and hot and intense. On top of me. Between my legs.

“Oh, God,” I choked, feeling an orgasm start to develop.

“I knew you’d like it like this.” His voice was hoarse and choppy—but even sexier because of it. “I knew you’d like the chance of being seen.”

“That’s not…it.”

But it was it—at least partially. Of course, it was. I could picture a stranger walking by, witnessing how good Josh was taking me in the backseat of my car.

“You want them to see you,” he rasped, his hips working fast between my legs. “You want someone to see how hot you are, how wild you are, how hard I make you come.”

“That’s not…it.” I was clawing at his back as the pressure of a climax built up unbearably. I could hear our ragged breathing. Hear the seat beneath us squeaking slightly.

I couldn’t help but wonder what the car looked like from the park, whether there was any way for someone to know what we were doing.

The pleasure kept tightening until I was humming to stifle the sound.

“That’s right, baby,” he gritted out. “Let me hear it. Show me how much you like it when I take you this way.”

With a broken sob, I arched and bucked. “Oh, God, it’s gonna be good.” Then I had to bite my lip as it got almost too good to handle.

“That’s right. That’s so good. You’re going to come so hard for me.”

Suddenly, I was terrified that I might actually scream, so I stuffed my fist in my mouth to smother the sound.

“There it is. You’re so close now.” He lifted up enough to play with one of my breasts with his hand. “Show me how good it is. Now.”

On the word, as if he’d released a switch, the pressure exploded inside me. My body shook through a hard orgasm as I kept stifling my cry of release with my fist.

He came too, almost immediately, as if he’d just been waiting for me.

And then we were slumped together in the backseat, the door still hanging open.

Panting helplessly, I kept muttering a repeated refrain of “Oh God.”

When he pulled himself together enough, he leaned down to kiss me softly.

“I can’t believe we did that,” I said hoarsely, tangling my fingers in his hair. It was damp around the edges from his perspiration.

“Yeah.”

I felt relaxed and sated and strangely happy. Also a little uncomfortable. I peered up at his face. “I guess you’re a pro at having sex in places you might get caught.”

“Not really.”

Something in his expression prompted my curiosity. “Had you ever done it before?”

He hesitated. Then he gave me a rueful grin. “No. Not really.”

“Really?” I don’t know why I was pleased, but I was. I liked that he hadn’t done every sort of sex known to man already. Before me.

“Yeah.” He pulled himself up and out of me, and then carefully pulled off the condom. He tied it off and then looked at a loss, so I reached over to grab a plastic grocery bag that was floating around in my backseat for emergency purposes.

This was a reasonable emergency.

As he reordered his clothes, I pulled my shorts back on. “So you didn’t have sex in the backseat of a car when you were a teenager?” I asked.

“No. I didn’t have sex until I was in college. Then we used our dorm rooms or apartment.”

“Seriously?”

My surprise must have been obvious because he frowned at me. “Why are you so astonished?”

“I don’t know. You just seem…”

“Like what?” he asked, almost defensively.

“Like you’d have had sex in high school.” When he continued to frown at me, I added, “It’s not an insult. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having sex in high school. I had sex in high school. I just figured you’d be really popular as a teenager. Like the king of the prom or whatever.”

He leaned back against the seat. We were both sitting up now. “I wasn’t all that popular.”

“Really? I figured you were an athlete.”

“Yeah. I ran track, but no one in my high school cared about that. I had friends and everything. I wasn’t a loser. But girls didn’t seem to be overly interested in me.”

I stared at him, still surprised but kind of pleased by this admission.

“What?” he demanded.

“Nothing. Just those girls must have been crazy.”

He smiled, looking rather pleased at the words. “So did you want to still run today?”

“Yeah. I guess we can, as long as you didn’t fuck me so hard I can’t stand up.”

***

It turned out that I could stand up, and I could run, at least for a while, so we stayed for about a half-hour.

We went back to his place afterwards and, over dinner, we got into a huge fight.

It was the first fight we’d ever had, and I still don’t know how it happened.

We’d both showered, and we were sitting on his bar stools at the kitchen peninsula, eating salad and leftover pizza—I’d stopped on my way over for the salad stuff and he offered the pizza.

We were having a perfectly normal conversation about work, and both of us seemed to be in a pretty good mood.

Then I asked, “So whatever happened to that poor dog?”

“What dog?” He’d just taken a bite, so the words were slightly muffled.

“That poor dog you were telling me about a while back. The one that was beat up. I never heard whether she made it or not.”

“Yeah. She made it. It was touch and go for a couple of weeks. She’s actually still in the office.”

“What do you mean?”

“We still have her. The technicians couldn’t bear to send her to the shelter, so she’s still hanging out in the office. We’re trying to adopt her out.”

“Ah. Poor little thing. So no one wants to adopt her?”

“We’re working on it. No one can make it work yet.”

“You should adopt her.” I was finishing up my salad, scrounging for the last bite with my fork, so I didn’t see his face.

Maybe, if I’d seen his expression, I would have dropped the topic, but I didn’t.

So, when he didn’t answer, I prompted, “Josh, why don’t you adopt her?”

“I told you before, I can’t have a pet.”

I was surprised by the cool note in his voice, and I looked up at him, widening my eyes. “I know you said it before, but you could have one if you wanted. And if that poor dog needs a home, then—“

“Then what?” His face was tight, guarded, very unnerving.

My back was stiffening now at his unreasonable response—like he was angry with me for bringing up something so minor. “What’s your problem? It’s a logical suggestion. You certainly have the time and resources to have a dog, and you seem to care about this particular dog, so why wouldn’t I suggest it?”

“Because I told you before that I don’t want a pet.”

“But people sometimes change their minds about that. What the hell has gotten into you? Why are you acting this way?”

I was really annoyed now, so I got off the stool and picked up my plate, taking it over to the sink to rinse it off. Mostly because I didn’t want to sit there and look at him, and it made me feel better to be doing something.

“Exactly what way are you talking about? You asked me a question, and I answered it.” His tone was still clipped, cold. He picked up his plate and brought it to the sink too, so I couldn’t get away from him. He hadn’t finished his last piece of pizza.

“You answered me very rudely, acting like you were mad at me for even asking.”

“By asking the question, you were pressuring me into something you know I don’t want to do.”

I stared at him, baffled and angry. “I was not pressuring you. What the hell is wrong with you today? If you don’t want to take care of that dog, then you can just say so.”

“I shouldn’t have to say so.”

His phone rang, and he picked it up to glance at it. He didn’t connect the call, and it went to voice mail.

I planted my hand on the counter beside me, pressing against it as a channel for my surge of frustration. “What kind of attitude is that? So I’m supposed to tiptoe around you somehow and never say anything that might make you uncomfortable?”

He took a step closer. My instinct when angry was to get distance. His was obviously the opposite. His tense face, stiff shoulders, and intense glare were all radiating barely suppressed anger. “I never asked or suggested that you should tiptoe around.”

“Then what the hell are you so mad about? I wasn’t pressuring you. And you wouldn’t have reacted that way if you didn’t already feel guilty.”

If I’d wanted the argument to settle, then that was the very worst thing I could have said. I wasn’t trying to placate him anymore, though. I felt like clawing that cold tension off his face. I’d spoken the words because I knew they would get to him.

They did.

“Guilty?” he demanded. “What the fuck am I supposed to feel guilty about?”

“About not taking care of that dog. You wouldn’t have reacted that way if you hadn’t felt guilty about it. You know you might be the best person to adopt her, but you don’t want to let even that much of a commitment into your life. So you feel guilty. And now you’re taking it out on me.”

He stepped even closer. He was almost shaking now with reined-in feeling—deep and strong and hot. His tone was low, almost dangerous. “I don’t know what kind of fantasy you’ve concocted about me, but you’d do well to let it go.”

I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t intimidated by him, despite his brewing anger. I was just plain out of patience. “Is that what you think? That I’ve made up all these silly fantasies about you? You think I’m secretly hoping that you’ll fall desperately in love with me or something? How dare you think something like that?”

“I didn’t say that. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re the one being ridiculous. I’ve never once—not once—put any sort of pressure on you. About anything. You’ve chosen to be with me voluntarily, as much as I’ve chosen to be with you. And I’ve never asked anything for more than you’re willing to give. If you feel some sort of guilt or pressure, about that dog or about anything else, then that’s all on you. Don’t you dare put the blame for it on me. It’s on
you
.”

“It’s on me.” The words were gritted out, and it wasn’t clear whether they were a statement or a question.

“Yes. It’s on you.”

We stared at each other, both of us almost panting with the intensity of the emotion.

I suddenly had the ridiculous desire to grab him, pull him toward me, and kiss him. To make love to him right here, right now, right against the kitchen counter.

He felt more real, more human, than he’d ever felt to me before.