Page 56 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

WHEN A MAN AND A WOMAN BECOME OFFICIAL, THE WORLD BECOMES A COCKBLOCK

Simon

After a week where Bea joins the boys and me for dinner several nights, along with an unexpectedly funny trip to the bowling alley and a full afternoon of the four of us playing MarioKart, finally—finally—the stars have aligned.

Even though my parents tried to ruin my day by ringing me—I sincerely need to block their numbers—I am giddy with glee.

I’m about to see my girlfriend.

Alone.

I can barely restrain my excitement as my car arrives beside Bea’s burger bus.

My boys are staying with Lana for the first time in weeks on a night when Bea isn’t also booked for a party, and so Bea insisted that I meet her at the old drive-in cinema, and honestly, it was sheer brilliance on her part to suggest a place this secluded and remote.

The large screen beyond the overgrown field glows with the moonlight, and everything is bright enough that I don’t require my night glasses.

I hand my phone to Butch with orders to not interrupt for anything short of fire, screams for help, or a random sharknado suddenly appearing in the vicinity, and I cross the short distance to climb into the back of Bea’s bus.

“Shut the door,” she says in a purring voice that makes my cock instantly hard.

We’ve seen one another at least every other day what with the dinners and play time with my boys, and we’ve texted and spoken on the phone far more about anything and everything under the sun.

She’s shared stories of her parents and told me why she’s afraid of enclosed spaces and that she’s always regretted not coming home from college to see what would be her mother’s final community theater performance.

I’ve told her stories about my career and side jobs, along with tales of my own parents that even Lana doesn’t know.

And while I feel as though I know Bea inside and out, we’ve not been alone in person together for more than five minutes here or there, stealing kisses and very little more in those moments.

I’m starving for her touch.

For her unfiltered words shared directly into my ear rather than over text message or on the phone.

For that beautiful smile with those irresistible dimples aimed straight at me and only me.

I shut the door and realize a black curtain blocks my way.

I lift it aside, step deeper into the bus, and fairy lights flicker on around me.

Fairy lights against dark curtains hung all around the interior of the bus, blocking off even the kitchen portion of the food truck and making a cocoon of the chef’s table portion of her mobile establishment.

“Bea?” I say softly. “Are you all right?”

This feels tight, and I hope she’s okay.

“I am.” The curtains to the kitchen part, and a bare leg sticks through it, mid-thigh down.

My cock strains against my trousers at the realization that I’m about to get a show.

From my girlfriend.

Now, this—this is worthy of getting out my glasses.

Which I do in a quick flash.

I grabbed them in case the moon wasn’t bright enough, but as it turns out—they’re necessary for the full, crisp, clear enjoyment of whatever Bea is about to do next.

“Don’t take anything off,” she says. “That’s my job.”

My hand drops away from my belt buckle. “How—” I start, and then I realize I don’t quite care how she managed to set up her bus like this.

“Sit on the edge of the table.” One long, slender arm pokes through the curtain, pointing at me.

“Anything you wish, madame.”

Her shoulder follows the arm, displaying a single black strap that I’m well aware is holding up something lacy and irresistible.

I may not have brought enough condoms with me.

Or possibly I’m about to come in my boxers, and this evening will be over before it’s begun.

Bea’s face pokes through the curtain, which she’s holding so that I can still only see her leg, her arm, and her face. Her gaze drifts down below my waistband, and that smile—heavens above, I could drown in that smile.

Completely lose myself in her happiness.

For the first time in my life, I don’t care if I succeed in having sex tonight.

I don’t want to have sex .

I want to make love.

I want to be so close with Bea that I don’t know where my body ends and hers begins.

I want to laugh with her.

I want to hear her tell stories of her customers and her family and anything she wishes to tell me.

I want to hold her in my sleep. I want to wake up to her sleepy face and marvel at whatever her hair looks like first thing in the morning.

I have somehow fallen head over heels, completely in love with this woman.

And it’s not the terrifying, nauseating idea that one would think it should be, given my history with relationships.

Because she makes it so easy to adore her. So easy to believe she likes me for me. That she understands my faults and finds me worthy as a whole flawed-but-good-intentioned human being.

“You seem almost as excited to see me as I am to see you,” she says.

“There’s no comparison, love. I am far more excited.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“Behind the building with Butch.”

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“Not a soul.”

“If the sex is terrible tonight, are you dumping me?”

“Beatrice. The only way sex with you would be terrible is if—” I cut myself off, tilt my head, and smile broader. “As it turns out, even my wild imagination is unable to come up with a scenario in which neither of us leaves this bus fully satiated tonight, so?—”

“Say that again.”

“My wild imagination?”

“Satiated.”

I love when she asks me to repeat random words.

I love it even more when she’s watching me with her eyes dark as midnight and her lips parted and her bare skin nearly close enough to touch.

I jerk my chin at the fabric she’s gripping. “I rather think that’s worth a bit more of a show, don’t you?”

“Take your glasses off and put them back on.”

I don’t ask why.

I merely do as instructed.

She bites her lower lip as I slide my glasses back up my nose.

“I like your glasses,” she whispers. “I don’t know why they make you even hotter, but they do.”

“You have a thing for academic men?”

“I have a thing for you.” She angles her body, and one hip comes into view.

One hip with a small black strap hugging it and disappearing behind her.

I swallow as she shifts the barest bit more, exposing a small red bow tied to the triangle of fabric covering her pussy.

My cock pulses harder and my voice goes hoarse. “I have been dreaming of your skin and your mouth and your breasts and your pussy for weeks.”

She drops the curtain a smidge more and runs a hand from her collarbone, down her breast held in skimpy black that barely covers the dark nipple that I can see outlined behind the lace, then lower, her fingers drifting over her belly and down to the better view that I have now of her lacy thong.

“This pussy?”

“Yes.”

“She’s missed you.”

“I am here for the taking, Beatrice.”

Her smile flashes brighter, deepening her dimples. “I never liked my full name until you said it.”

“I never imagined I should get so lucky as to fall for a jailbird until I met you.”

She tips her head back and laughs, exposing her slender throat, and in this moment, I would do anything to have this woman in my life forever.

Marry her.

Die for her.

Anything and everything in between.

“You’ve the best sense of humor,” I tell her.

“No, you’re just that funny.”

“I’d like to be inside you more than I’d like to be funny right now.”

“Ah-ah. Don’t touch your belt. That’s mine.”

“Excuse the paranoia, but I’m struggling to convince myself we truly do have the time to fully enjoy this.

” We thought we did three days ago at her apartment when she finished early for the days and while my boys were still occupied in a program, and we were interrupted by Hudson and Daphne.

And then there was a phone sex conversation last night that I stopped under suspicion that my children were too close, which also turned out to be an accurate concern.

The paranoia is well-founded.

Those warm green eyes crinkle as she smiles again. “I can’t decide if having to hurry makes me more or less turned on.”

“You should come closer so that I may help you make that determination.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” She wiggles the curtains.

“Unless you’ve acquired a tattoo of a scary beast on your belly since I last glimpsed that marvelous part of your body, I’m positive I can handle anything you’re hiding behind that cloth.”

She hasn’t stopped smiling.

I haven’t either.

Though I’m also quite parched, rather achy in the balls, and eager for her to strip me of my clothing as she wishes.

She takes one step forward, the curtains gliding along her body, still covering her, but covering less of her.

Her belly comes into view. Her other breast. Second leg.

I attempt to swallow and find I’ve forgotten how.

“Were you wearing this the night of our first date?”

She closes the gap between us and runs her hands over my shoulders. “Define first date.”

My hands are drawn to her hips, and I’m helpless to resist caressing her soft skin and bare buttocks. “With the red dress.”

That smile.

Were I to perish in her smile, I would leave this earthly plane the happiest man to have ever died.

“I was wearing red panties”—she leans closer to me, her breasts brushing my chest, her lips hovering at my ear—“and no bra.”

“I’d like to remove this bra with my teeth.”

She shivers against me while her hands sneak under the hem of my T-shirt, her bare touch lighting my skin on fire.

“What else do you want to do with your teeth?” she asks as she pulls my shirt over my head.

“I should like to bite your inner thigh.”

Another shiver, this one carrying the heady scent of her arousal with it. Her fingers glide down my chest and abdomen as she presses a kiss to my neck. “Why does that turn me on?”

“Because you know I’d be rather good at it.”

Her hands reach my belt, and she makes quick work of undoing both the buckle and the button of my trousers beneath. “I didn’t want to hurry.”

“I’m content to hurry. The first time.” My lips find her lace-covered nipple, and I suck it into my mouth, enjoying her soft gasp of pleasure while also enjoying the glide of her hands inside my trousers.

She strokes my bare cock with those magical hands, not chilly, but not hot either, silky smooth against my shaft, and I lose her nipple for the groan of sheer ecstasy that I cannot hold back. “Bea?—”

“Do you know I’ve seen you shirtless four times, and this is the first time I get to touch you in the light?”

“I am well aware I’ve not had the pleasure of your hands all over my body nearly enough, though that’s not what my shirt covers that you’re currently stroking.”

“I haven’t seen him yet either,” she whispers. “Is he pretty?”

“Beatrice—”

A dark-eyed, sparkly smile lights her face as she strokes me root to tip once more. “He feels pretty.”

My eyes cross.

She pushes at my trousers, and I lift my hips so that she can fully push them down.

“Oh, he is pretty,” she whispers. “I like him.”

“He likes you too,” I manage to force out. “Very much.”

“Does he have a nickname?”

“No.”

“That’s a terrible nickname, Simon.”

I’m on the edge of losing control. She’s still in her lacy undergarments. And that teasing smile coaxing a laugh out of me—this isn’t happiness.

It’s more.

It’s radiant joy. It’s peace. It’s finding where I belong in a world where I didn’t even realize I was always on the sidelines, looking in.

I cradle her face and draw it to mine to kiss her, long and slow and deep, until she’s shimmying out of her thong and pushing me further back onto the table, then straddling me with a hurried desperation, her knees on either side of my hips on the table.

I barely remember to dig out a condom and roll it on before she’s sliding her hot, wet, silky core down on me.

Next time.

Next time, I will take this bra off her with my teeth.

This time, I barely have the control to unhook the clasp.

The cups fall away, and I cradle her breasts in my hands while she rides me, still kissing me, rotating her hips in a magical way that has me uncertain if I’ll ever see straight again.

“You—amazing,” I whisper against her lips.

“I missed you,” she whispers back.

“Dreaming about this—every night.”

“It’s getting very obvious what I’m doing in the shower every morning.”

The image of this beautiful body, wet and soapy, with Bea touching herself while thinking of me—“Bea…”

Her shoulders shudder. “This is so much better—than my fingers?—”

“I’d love to watch you with your fingers.”

I shift one hand lower, between us, to press my thumb to her clit, and clearly she’s as close as I am, because her breath catches, and her eyelids lower, and her entire body trembles. “Simon?—”

“Come for me, love. Let me watch you come.”

A gasp wrenches from her core as her inner walls tighten around my cock. Her hips still, pressing down hard onto me as her climax overtakes her.

But she doesn’t look away.

She stares into my soul as I join her in tipping over the precipice and into a deep, endless abyss of nothing but sheer pleasure.

I strain into my release, panting for breath while she cries my name, still holding my gaze, fearless and beautiful in her orgasm.

Fully sharing it with me.

Holding nothing back.

This—coming with Bea, our bodies in sync, our eyes wide open, nothing between us—this is unlike anything I knew could exist in the world.

I’ve discovered my life’s purpose, and her name is Beatrice Best.

Giving her pleasure. Shielding her from pain. Laughing with her.

Loving her.

Her eyes drift nearly shut as one last shudder racks her body, and then she’s sinking against me, face in my neck, arms looped about my ribs. “Oh my god, Simon,” she whispers.

The last of my own release trembles away, and I find myself panting hard as well as I lower both of us onto the table.

“I—” I start, but I don’t know how to finish.

How does one say thank you for giving my life meaning and my soul a place to belong ?

I suppose exactly like that.

But not now.

Not when it could be swept away later as a post-orgasmic high.

She twists her neck to press a kiss to my collarbone.

I squeeze her as tightly as my satiated limbs will allow, then smile.

“Satiated,” I murmur.

Her soft giggle is every reward I’ve never known I needed. “Thank you.”

“My utter pleasure.”