Page 32 of Goode Vibrations
“I’d like what I feel a hell of a lot more if it was naked and in my fist.” I bit his earlobe. “Or better yet, inside me.”
He growled, palming my tit, lifting it, the bulk of my breast still behind the ribbed fabric of my tank top; he hadn’t even bared my boobs yet, and I’d come twice, harder than I’d believed it was possible for any human being to come—standing up, fully clothed, to boot.
Yeah, I needed Errol to fuck me the same way I needed my next breath.
At that exact moment, tires crunched to my right, brakes squealed, and a car door opened. “The hell are you two doing on my land?” A deep, irritated male voice, with a distinctMissourahtwang.
Errol pivoted to put himself between the other man and me, surreptitiously withdrawing his hand from under my skirt, tugging my shirt in place, and then turning to face the pissed-off owner of the pond—I knew he had to be sporting a visible erection, but if he felt any embarrassment over the fact, he didn’t show it.
“Sorry, mate,” Errol said, keeping me entirely shielded with his body. “We were driving late last night, got a bit lost and ended up here. It was late, it was pitch dark, and our phones had no service, so we just parked the campervan and stayed here for the night. We weren’t aiming to trespass, and we didn’t even light a fire. We’ll be gone straight away, alright?”
The man towered even over Errol, but was skinny as a flagpole, hunched forward as if his height was too great a weight for his spine to support. He was wearing baggy overalls stuffed into knee-high muck boots, a flannel shirt unbuttoned and flapping open to show a bare chest behind the overalls, with a dirty green-and-yellow John Deere hat sitting high and back on his head to show tufts of graying blond hair. He had a double-barrel shotgun broken open over his elbow, and a battered brown Chevy pickup truck that been old the year I was born idling behind him.
“Well, I guess there ain’t no harm in that, but I’ll thank you to get a move on.” He eyed Errol up and down. “Looks like I caught you at the wrong moment, didn’t I?” he asked with a crooked, teasing grin.
Errol laughed, good-naturedly. “Yeah, you did, at that.” He glanced over his shoulder at the pond. “Sweet spot you’ve got here, though. Beautiful.”
“Sure is. And now, this bein’ private property, ya’ll better get along.”
“Sure thing, mate,” Errol said—and I had the impression he was playing up his accent a bit. “We’re good as gone. Have a good one.”
He turned to put his back to the man, still keeping himself between the shotgun-wielding property owner and me and pushed me gently but firmly to precede him into the van. I climbed into the open sliding door and slid into the passenger seat, fastening the seat belt as Errol slammed the slider closed, hopped behind the wheel, ignited the motor, and did a three-point turn. The property owner was in his truck already, pulling forward into the clearing to make room for us on the narrow track through pine forest.
Neither of us spoke a word, tension from the encounter rattling in the van like a marble in a soda can. Radio off; the only sound our breathing, the tires, and the hum of the engine. Despite his story about being lost, Errol navigated back to the highway without error, and without consulting GPS. We hit the highway, paused with our front tires on the paved road and our rear tires in the gravel. A brief glance left and right—the highway was empty at this hour, just past dawn—and then he hooked left to continue on the way we’d been going before making the turn-off.
“You put yourself between me and him,” I said, eventually.
He glanced at me, seeming a bit confused, if anything. “Well…yeah. Of course I did. He had a gun and I’d no way of knowing how friendly he’d be.”
“I just…thank you for that.”
“Don’t make it out to be some kind of great act of chivalry. It was instinct.”
“To protect me.”
He nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah. I mean, I protect things that I value.”
“Most guys I’ve known wouldn’t have done that—stood between me and the threat.”
“Then you’ve never met a proper man, have you? Only a sissy-fuck little boy would do anything but shield you in a situation like that. I’m not sayin’ this to sound like I’ve got antiquated notions of gender roles or anything, but it’s a man’s job to protect a woman. You can handle yourself just fine, I see that clear as anything. But if there’s danger, I’m not gonna sit around with my thumb in my mouth, I’m gonna nut up and take it on so you don’t have to.”
That was fucking hot. I shifted on the seat; now that the danger was past, the heat of what had been interrupted came flooding back through me. “I’m sorry we got interrupted the way we did,” I said, letting my gaze drop to his groin, hoping he’d still have that hard-on going. Sadly, he didn’t.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek, glanced at me. “What are you sorry for? Wasn’t anything you could’ve done.”
“No, I mean…it was shitty timing.” I scraped my teeth over my lower lip. “I’m a firm believer that turnabout is fair play.”
His gaze went heated. “That so?”
“Yeah, absolutely.” I kept my eyes on him as he alternated between looking at me and at the road. “You made me feel…reallyfucking good, Errol. And I was looking forward to returning the favor.”
He let out a tight, short breath. “Well, let’s just keep one thing straight, Poppy—what I did, I did because I needed to touch you. Needed to know what you look like, sound like, feel like when you come.” He held my gaze as long as he dared while driving. “Not because I was thinking about what you might do in return.” A pause. “When I give you an orgasm, all I want you to do is sit back and focus on enjoying it. Nothing else. Once it’s over, if you feel like there’s something you want from me, you just feel free to go about getting it. But don’t ever doanythingbecause you think you’ve got to because of what I did. Only greedy, selfish children bother with immature shit like keeping track.”
I laughed. “You’ve got quite an opinion on that, huh?”
He smirked, chuckled. “Yeah, guess I do.”
“Well, Errol, rest assured that I never do anything out of a sense of obligation. I’m a girl who knows what she wants, okay? And I’m not at all shy about taking what I want.” I reached out and rested a hand on his thigh.