I’m standing in front of Dane, at the entrance to
Elizabeth’s Drive, and I’m fucking shitting myself. Full on, heart racing,
heavy gut feeling, nervous. But, beneath it all, I’m also excited.
I think that’s why Dane
looks humored.
“You cool?” he asks, holding
my helmet in one hand and fiddling with the strap.
My head protection is
fabulous; it’s shiny and black with purple licks of color. It doesn’t go with
Ray’s bike, in terms of style, but I wanted something nice to use again and
again, and it will go perfectly with Dane’s. Though, I’m not sure when I’ll
feel ready to take on the city or get on one of Dane’s motorcycles, which I
find more intimidating than Ray’s. I love that my first ever ride is going to
be on the same bike his was. That’s what’s driving my willingness the most
right now.
“Absolutely,” I say, anxious
and eager.
Someone beeps their car
horn. Dane and I look behind him, in the direction of the sound. Gerard passes
us in a black classic style car. A blonde woman in the passenger seat waves our
way. Dane waves back and I just smile, more so because I’m astonished.
“Who was that?” I ask before
I can stop myself from being so nosey. As attractive as she was, that woman was
definitely older than Gerard.
Dane grins. “That’s Julianne
Peterson. Gerard’s mom.”
My brows pop up. Flipping
heck. “She’s stunning.”
“She sure is. She used to be
a model back in the– you’re about to meet her.” His gaze travels beyond me, his
lips curving wider. He steps to the side.
The same stunning woman
comes into view to my left.
“Julianne,” Dane says, as
his cheeks are cupped between two dainty hands with manicured nails and a
display of large, sparkly diamonds on some of the fingers.
“Hello, Dane,” she says in a
voice that’s soft, affectionate and touched with a smile. She kisses each of
his cheeks. They’re real kisses, not air kisses. “So good to see you, it’s been
too long.” Her lips, coated lightly with pale pink lipstick, show she’s really
happy to see Dane.
Now she looks at me, the
same smile remaining, though a spark of … maybe surprise appears in her sky
blue eyes. She is absolutely beautiful. Her features are delicate and her
blonde hair, fairer than her son’s, is just past shoulder length and wavy. I’m
not clued up on designer clothes, but I don’t doubt her cream knit dress costs
a fortune. She’s held on to a lovely figure.
“Is this the lucky young
woman I’ve heard so much about?” she says to Dane.
I manage to avoid frowning
in response to the “heard so much about”. Her hands rest lightly on my
shoulders before he responds. She’s more than a couple of inches taller than
me; she’s probably wearing sexy stilettos.
“Julianne this Brooklyn.
Brooklyn-Julianne.”
Her palms move from my
shoulders to my cheeks, her touch is gentle and her skin warm, but this is all
quite strange. I’ve never met someone so tactile and friendly on introduction.
“It’s lovely to meet the
young woman that’s finally captured the heart of this wonderful man,” she says.
I like the sound of those
words, and this lady is adorable. “It’s really nice to meet you, Mrs.
Peterson.”
The most delicate laugh of
surprise sounds from her. She’s super hot, super glam, and effortlessly
charming. “How well mannered you are. So beautiful, too. Please call me
Julianne.” She removes her hands from my face and looks up at Dane. “I’ll
expect to see you both soon,” she tells him, and it really is an expectation
rather than a request.
“You will, Julianne.”
“So now that you’re
finally settled, we need to do something about this son of mine.”
She slips her arm through
Gerard’s, and I literally have to put everything into not laughing so I don’t
appear rude. Gerard actually rolled his eyes. I hate to admit it, but he looked
quite cute. I wouldn’t have considered him the eye rolling type, but he’s
probably a different person in the presence of his mother. One thing’s for
sure, I can see where he gets his handsomeness from. Up this close, I can see
the resemblance he and the glamorous ex-model share. I don’t even want to think
about where his morals come from, but I’m quite certain it isn’t Julianne
Peterson.
“If you have any lovely,
single friends, Brooklyn–”
“Okay, Mom,” Gerard cuts in,
“let’s leave these two to get on with what they’re doing.”
If only she knew how well
acquainted her son is with one of my lovely friends.
She giggles and meets his
gaze. “How convenient? Is Elizabeth home?” she asks Dane.
“Not right now.”
She glances at Ray’s bike.
“My goodness, it’s been a long time since I last saw this. We won’t say how
many years,” she says with a wink at me. “I love that you still have it.
Anyway, I look forward to seeing you both
very
soon.”
Julianne bids Dane and I
farewell in the same way she greeted us and passes on her love to Saffron,
Adam, Joe and the kids. Gerard and I say a polite goodbye, and a humored eye
contact takes place between him and Dane.
I watch Gerard and his mum
make their way back to his car. It’s endearing to witness him acting like the
perfect gentleman for Julianne; escorting her rather than just walking with
her, and opening and closing the door for her. He raises his hand to Dane in a
farewell gesture as he walks around the front of the car to get to the driver’s
side.
As Gerard pulls away from
the space he parked in, I turn back to Dane. “Wow.”
“She’s something, isn’t
she?” he says, preparing to place the helmet on my head.
“Yeah, she really is. When’s
the last time you saw her?”
“A few months ago, just
before Elizabeth’s trip. It’s longer than usual, but somebody’s been
distracting me lately.”
I smirk. “I’m not sorry.”
“I’m not, either, but we’ll
be seeing Julianne soon.”
“I’d really like that.
You’re all so close and well connected. Julianne genuinely loves you.”
“Wait until you see her with
Saffron, she adores the hell out of her,” he says. “Being the only girl, she
was extra-special over all of us – not only to Elizabeth and Julianne, but Adam
and Joe’s mom, Faith. God help the first girl born to Saff or the guys. Even as
boys, being the first of the kids, Nathaniel and Jack did each other a favor
arriving so close.”
Dane lowers the helmet over
my head and a thought occurs to me. Those words were said in such a
lighthearted way, and it was probably done subconsciously, but I didn’t miss
the “Saff or the guys” reference.
Before I can process
anything further, the visor is slid down, and this suddenly becomes very, very
real, and my heart starts up a frantic rhythm.
Glancing sideways at me from behind the wheel,
Brooklyn’s trying not to giggle but fails. “You’re so sweet when you complain,”
she says. Her lips stay turned up at the corners and she’s got this look in her
eyes. She really fucking means that.
“You’re not supposed to find
it sweet.”
“You just need to be a bit more
limber,” she says, trying to sound serious. I might take her seriously if she
wasn’t still smiling. “You do make my car look good, though.”
Face stern, I look at her.
She laughs. It’s one of
those laughs she considers disgusting, one that comes from her nose because her
lips are pressed together from where she’s trying to hold it in. Now I get to
chuckle, because she hates it. And yeah, whatever, I find it cute.
I adjust my legs again,
pretending to search for more space. “Small-ass piece of shit,” I mutter.
I love getting her about her
ride. But my complaint a moment ago was genuine. We’re heading back from the
Peterson’s house and we could’ve gone there and home with Saff in her SUV, or
even taken one of the other cars, Joe’s for example, since he got a ride with
Saff and Adam. But, no, Ms. Scott wanted to go in her own. I’d prefer something
with a little more space, something way more masculine. I think I might need to
work on telling her “No” from time-to-time.
Clearing her throat, I know
by her expression that Brooklyn’s going to add some authority to her voice.
“You need to stop dissing my car, mate.”
“What is it with you
Europeans and small cars? And stick shifts?” I’m still amazed that Brooklyn
chose
a stick. I don’t know a single person in this day and age who owns a car that
has one.
“I’ll have you know this is
the most popular car in London. And there’s nothing wrong with a manual – it’s
real
driving.” She uses that argument every time I mention the stick.
“But you’re not in London.
You’re in the freaking U.S., bigger roads and bigger cars.”
“I like this. It’s reliable
and suits my budget. I’m a dancer, I’m not loaded.” The same broke-ass dancer
line. She’s not even broke.
“No worries, I’ll give you
the gas money if you go bigger.”
“I don’t need your stinking
money, I’m an independent woman.”
“Yeah, independent but
broke.”
She’s trying not to laugh.
“What I do is about passion, not money.”
“Yeah, but look at the
small-ass piece of shit you drive.”
It’s not that bad, with the
exception of the outside – that’s bad. The most important thing is that it’s
safe and reliable, or I wouldn’t let her drive it, period, but hell I really
wouldn’t mind some extra leg room.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be
your trick. I’ll buy your ride and your gas, your groceries, I’ll take you
shopping and get your hair done, as long as you back that thang up on my
command and keep up the insane head game,” I tease.
“Trick?” She scrunches her
nose.
“Sugar daddy.” I glance in
the side-mirror to see how far behind Gerard’s car is.
“Hmph! If I charged you for
this,” she gestures at the length of her body with a sweep of her hand, “you’d
be the broke one, I can tell you,” she says all sassy and confidently.
“Where do I swipe my black
card, then? But I want a free sample first.”
“You’ve got the wrong bird
if you think you can impress me with your fancy card and huge bank balance.”
“I was kinda hoping to
impress you with something else that’s huge.”
She glances at her watch,
looking thoughtful.
“You worried this small-ass
piece of shit won’t get us there on time?” Not that we have any constraints,
we’re just meeting the guys and Saff at her house.
“Nope, I’m working out if I
have time to show you exactly how spacious my small-ass piece of shit car is.”
“Now we’re talking. Decided
to give me that free sample?”
Brooklyn makes a show of
changing gears and turns into a large parking lot. She’s surprised me more than
a few times, but no way is she this brave. It’s dark and the few cars in here
are close to the store, but I’m still not convinced. Not even as she parks way
over at the back.
“We’re short on time,” she
unfastens her seatbelt, “but I’m already wet from all that talk about black
cards and huge bank balances, so don’t worry about the foreplay.”
I unfasten my seatbelt.
“What if
I
need foreplay?” Yeah, right, I was semi-erect the second she
turned into this lot. If that didn’t do it, the floaty, short skirt she has on
and the thought of easy access to the sweetness between her legs is working
just fine. I’ve been wanting to fuck Brooklyn all damn day.
Reaching over, she changes
the radio station and turns the volume up.
“Hell no,” I change it back
and turn it down so she can hear me, “I’m not listening to that trancy dancy
bullshit.” Her music taste is mostly perfect –
mostly!
“My car, my rules.” She
turns it back to some heavy-bass crap that makes me feel like I need to be
getting high on MOLLY or some shit like that. “I’m setting the mood. I’m a girl
looking for a “trick” who can give her a fast and furious ride from
time-to-time. This is your audition.” The volume goes back up.
Holy shit! With talk like
that, and the vision of her sliding down those black, lace panties, I’ll
tolerate this bullshit music.
Fuck being limber, I don’t
need to be. Not with Ms. Dancer and her bendy body. With the two front seats
reclined all the way back, and me all laid out in the middle of them with one
leg on the driver’s side and the other on the passenger’s side, as long as I keep
my legs bent I fit just right. The last time I had sex in a car I wasn’t even
legal.
Brooklyn, straddling me,
unbuttons my jeans and unzips my fly. “Looks like somebody doesn’t need
foreplay,” she shouts in my ear, before lowering my boxer briefs and curling
her palm around my cock.
Shit, yeah, positioning
herself, her warm, slick pussy tightly encases the tip of my dick. She slowly
slides down my shaft. When she reaches the base, she catches her bottom lip
between her teeth and her eyes become heavy, the long curled eyelashes
flickering. It’s dark in here, I can’t see her with full detail, but I’ve seen
that reaction many, many times.
Remaining in place,
motionless, Brooklyn pushes my button-down shirt up all the way to my upper
chest. Lowering herself toward me, she gently bites my bottom lip and starts
moving her hips, sliding up and down my cock.
I raise her shirt and the
cups of her bra and, yeah right there, I get exactly what I was looking for.
Her nipples press against my chest and with her movement they rub against my
skin, getting harder by the second. Placing my hands on her hips, I thrust up
as she grinds on me. Maybe this bullshit music isn’t so bad after all, the way
she’s moving sure as shit justifies it. I can’t hear her, but when she sucks my
tongue into her mouth, I can feel her moans. I love the way she sounds.
Lifting her upper body a
little, she presses her palms to my shoulders and her head falls back. With
total abandonment, she rides my thrusts. I’m pretty sure she’s forgotten where
she is. Brooklyn not giving a shit about anything is Brooklyn at her best.
For some time, I forget
where the fuck I am; I’m all caught up in the feel of her, I don’t even hate
the heavy crap I’m hearing. She’s kind of making me like it, in a weird,
intense erotic way.
Fuck, her pussy starts to
clench around me. With that extra pull on my dick and the vague view I’ve got
of her throat and chin as her lips part wide, I can see and feel her coming,
and that’s enough to take me with her. Fucking hell, as I blow hard inside her
I kick something. Small-ass piece of shit car.
Brooklyn becomes still at
the same time I do. Closing my eyes, I can barely breathe through the combined
scents of heat and sex. With the back of my hand, I wipe at the moisture across
my forehead. Brooklyn shifts and suddenly the music volume gets lower, almost
inaudible.
“We need to do
something about these steamy windows,” she says.
She winds down the window on
the driver’s side –
winds down!
The temptation to take matters into my
own hands and replace this car is almost overwhelming, but she likes it. She
actually
likes
it. I think it’s because it’s purple and the previous
owner put a pair of big red kissing-lips on the hood. Admittedly, it suits her.
It does
not
suit me. It’s gotta go. I think I finally have to get my own
ride, and then I can gradually get her using it more and more and before she
knows it, this little thing won’t exist and she’ll have a new one and it won’t
even cost her a cent.
The cool air sweeps through
the moment the other window, on the passenger’s side, is down too. I rearrange
my clothes, zipping up and buttoning up.
Brooklyn gasps. “Someone’s
heading our way.”
I sit up and shift into the
driver’s seat, turning my knees out enough to fit either side of the wheel, and
start readjusting the backrest.
“They’re gonna think we’re
doggers,” she says, panicked.
“Doggers?” I gaze out the
window, at the car approaching. Hell no, of all the fucking people.
“I’ll explain when we’re not
here,” she says, fixing her clothes. “Why are you just sitting there? Oh
great,” she says as she realizes the answer to that for herself. She flops back
in the seat and turns her head away from my side. “I forgot about them. This is
sooo embarrassing.”
Looking out into the car now
parked beside us, I meet Gerard’s gaze. He leans across Joe, who I know, even
though I can see what he’s thinking, will spare Brooklyn’s blushes. Gerard on
the other hand…
“Hey, man, Joe and I saw you
turning into the lot and followed. We parked up by the store entrance and
waited for you. Started to get concerned when we realized after like twenty
minutes that you hadn’t even gotten out of your car yet,” he says, sounding
genuinely concerned, but I know this motherfucker, the way his mind works and
what his tone alone translates.
We were all supposed to go
straight from the Peterson’s to Saff’s – she and Adam left right after Faith
and Matthew Williams took Nathaniel and Jack home with them. Then Brooklyn and
I left, taking Elizabeth home first. Joe and Gerard were finishing a game of
pool in the games room. They were four cars behind us. I forgot they even
existed the second I started to get hard.
“Is that a new air freshener
I can smell, buddy?” he says, making a show of breathing in deep, his scheming
gaze observing the windows, which are less steamed up now. “It’s real nice. Can
I get it in this store? Or is it only available overseas?”
“Cheeky fucking bugger,”
Brooklyn whispers to herself.
Joe coughs to hide his
laughter. It’d be nice if he could elbow Gerard in the gut for me, since
they’re in ideal proximity of each other for that.
Gerard knows I won’t
respond. Anything I say will only encourage him, and he won’t pass up this
opportunity. Even though it wouldn’t be malicious, it would embarrass the shit
out of Brooklyn, and their not-so-smooth relationship won’t be enough to stop
him. So I have to sit here and take it like a pussy. I’m gonna kick his ass for
this. I’ve got some serious ammunition with his recent stalking activities, and
a couple other things.
I key the ignition, and
allow my gaze to translate that this isn’t over.
His mouth slowly forms a
sly, but humored grin.
I reverse out of our spot
and turn to head out of the lot. “You haven’t convinced me that this car is
spacious enough, baby.”
Brooklyn pulls her brush out
of her purse and starts running it through her hair. “As I said, you just need
to be a bit more limber.”