Page 39 of Goode Vibrations
“Fuck yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Not everyone does. Had someone tell me it was selfish.”
I snorted. “What a fuckwad he was, then. As far as I’m concerned, if you’re doingthat,Iwantyou to make yourself feel good at the same time. If I could have reached, I’d have done it for you. Alas, in my experience sixty-nine is more awkward than it is sexy.”
She bit her lip, huffing a laugh. “Same.”
Her hips flexed, pumped, and I couldn’t take it anymore. “Hands on the wheel, Poppy.”
She grabbed the wheel in both hands, slid her thighs apart, one foot on the gas pedal. I leaned over, found her slit with two fingers, and she moaned. Leaned back, slouched low, head against the headrest, gripping the steering wheel in clenched fists, eyes darting from the road to my fingers to the road. Took my time, this time—teased her. Slow. A fingertip up, down. In, swirl and slide, out. Gathered her sweet juices—I pulled my fingers out of her and slipped them into my mouth, licked every last bit off while she watched, biting her lower lip, groaning. Smeared her essence all over her clit, swirled soft slow delicate barely-touching circles until she started bucking in her seat, against the seat belt.
“Fuck…Errol, I’m so close,” she murmured. Louder, then: “Fuck it. I can’t take it anymore. I need your mouth on me.” She saw a dirt road ahead on our right, and jammed the brakes and yanked the wheel around, sending us into a sharp, tire-squealing, leaning turn, hitting dirt too fast so the back end skidded around, and then brought us to a jolting stop. Yanked her seat belt off, pivoted in her seat.
Mine was already off and it was my turn to kneel in the cramped space between seats, reaching for her. I yanked her ass toward me so she slouched backward, sliding lower, sideways in the seat so her head thunked hard against the glass.
“Ow,” she laughed, rubbing her head.
And then I had her thighs hooked over my shoulders, soft as silk against my ears and cheeks, strong and thick and solid, and her sex was lush and wet and salty and tangy on my tongue. No more teasing, now—I devoured her, hungry, ravenous, eager. Tongue needling her clit, then flattening to lap at her, two fingers and then three slicking in, squelching out through her arousal. She flew over the edge almost instantly, screaming loud, one hand knotting in her hair as she arched up off the seat, thighs levering onto my shoulders, squeezing my head until I thought it might pop like a watermelon in a hydraulic press. Flexing, thrashing, driving, grinding, her other hand clutching at my head, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me hard against her slick wet slit, moving with my rhythm as I licked and lapped and swirled my tongue on her.
“Fuck oh fuck oh fuck, Errol, fuck, Errol fuck, Errol, oh god oh fuck oh god, Errol…” Her breath caught, her voice broke, and then I felt her coming, felt her channel squeeze impossibly hard around my fingers, and her voice lifted in a scream, which broke into a hoarse whimper as I tongued her through her climax, past it, not slowing, fingers driving, tongue lashing, demanding another. “Again? Oh shit, oh fuck, Errol, god yes…please, god, please don’t stop—again, Errol make me come again—”
I got hard all over again at the way she talked through her orgasm, the dirty, wild things she said.
“Eat me, Errol,” she growled, as the second orgasm built up in her. “Eat me so fucking good, Errol…yeah, just like that—ohmyfuckingGOD!” That last syllable was a shrill scream as the orgasm broke over her, and she was just wordlessly screaming, clutching my hair with both hands, riding my face like a cowboy breaking a bronc.
Whoooop-WHOOOP! The warning burble of a siren behind us.
“Shit!” Poppy shouted, yanking away. “Sit up, sit up.”
Thinking fast, she shoved her hand into her purse, came up with her phone, and tossed it into the footwell, far forward near her feet, under the pedals, righting her skirt at the same time.
“Wipe your face,” she hissed.
“Why,” I said, grinning. “Have I got something on my beard?”
She choked back laughter, reaching out to wipe at my mouth with her palm. “Let me do the talking.”
A uniformed officer bent over at the driver’s side window. Poppy rolled it down. “Good morning, Officer.”
He was young, stern-looking, clean-shaven. “Good morning, ma’am. Sir. There a problem here?” He was wearing mirrored aviators, but it was obvious he was searching the interior. “Funny spot to stop, this early. Seems I saw some…unusual movement in here as I passed.”
“No, no problems,” Poppy said. “I just dropped my phone, and pulled over to try to grab it.”
“That why neither of you are seat belted?”
“Yeah,” Poppy said. “I actually dropped it over here between the seats, so he went to grab it, then it slid under my feet, so I figured I’d better pull over to get it.” She leaned forward, angled to extend her reach, made a face of concentration as she hunted by feel, and straightened with her phone in hand. “There. See?”
I wondered if he’d say something about the beads of sweat still dotting her forehead and upper lip, or the way she was still short of breath—she was disguising it well, though.
He obviously wasn’t entirely sure he believed her. But, without anything else to go on, he just frowned. “Well. This road here is a dead end onto private property, so I’d keep a move on.” He tipped his hat. “Ya’ll have a nice day. Drive safe.”
“Thank you, Officer. You too.”
A moment later, tires crunched behind us, a motor revved, and the patrol car pulled around and drove away—thankfully in the opposite direction we were headed.
“Some quick thinking there,” I said. “Good on ya.”
She grinned. “I think maybe we’d better put the sexual hijinks on pause till we’re somewhere…private.”