“Tingle-making,” I said, wiggling delightedly whenhe hit an exquisite spot in my intimate parts. “Oh dear god, man, what you can do with just two fingers and a thumb!”
“I’d be happy to show you what my mouth can do in addition to my fingers.”
“Another time,” I said, biting back a groan of purest pleasure. “Would you mind if we did foreplay later? Right now I just want to do an internal measurement of how much bigger you’ve gotten.”
“No, but I warn you that I won’t be good for long,” he said, his body moving beneath my thighs, his hands moving around to my back, positioning me where he wanted me.
“Good, because that little twirl with your thumb just about pushed me over the edge. Dear god, you are bigger!”
“It’s just the angle,” he said, panting, his hips moving jerkily while I tried to find a rhythm that worked for both of us. “And if you continue to squeeze me when you sink down, you’re going to be very sorry!”
I laughed. “You’re the only man I know who can threaten to make me sorry while thrilling me to the tips of my toes.” I swiveled while I moved, enjoying the sensation of him so deep inside me, all my little muscles clinging to him, unwilling to let him go, and yet rejoicing with the movements. I leaned down to kiss him, feeling an overwhelming sense of lightness and happiness that I’d found this man. He was everything I wanted, funny and caring and smart. He wasn’t the least bit needy, but his comfort with himself didn’t lead to arrogance or narcissism. If anything, he was too modest, not realizing just what a wonderful, warmhearted, sexy-as-sin man he was.
“I love you more than anything,” I murmured into his mouth just at the moment when his fingers gripped my hips, his body arching underneath me. The short, buckingmovements sent me flying into my own orgasm, and it was only when I managed to kick-start my mind a long, long time later that I realized that he hadn’t responded.
Dammit, what was wrong with the man? Why couldn’t he admit his feelings.
Unless I was totally wrong about what he felt for me.
Oy.
JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY
9 August
6:20 a.m.
Warsaw, Poland
There was a flood in Latvia, one that made it impossible to drive over what was evidently the only bridge in existence, or at least so you would have assumed, judging by the reaction of the local population.
“I’m not saying that I would have wished to drive through flooded areas,” I told Paulie that night when we were lying together in the car. “But it is irksome to be here wasting time.”
Paulie made a noise of agreement. She was warm and soft and lay draped over me like a delicious woman-scented blanket, the car blanket over top of us. I had a horrible feeling that my left buttock was glued by body moisture to the leather bench of the backseat, but other than making a little wiggle to see how hard it would be to shift the cheek, I decided not to worry about it.
Outside the tractor enclosure in which the Thomas Flyer was parked, the wind periodically gusted, making the thin material of the enclosure’s sides flutter in the night. The lights of the house began to extinguish as we snuggled, and despite the fact that I was sleeping in the backseat of a 1908 car, with one butt cheek glued to the seat and Paulie’s right elbow digging into my pancreas, I was happier than I ever remembered being.
“I guess I’d feel more like that if the Esses and Antonweren’t trapped here with us. At least we’re all on the same footing,” she murmured sleepily into my collarbone.
I wrapped my arms around her, feeling like the luckiest man alive. Just being with Paulie made me happy, and knowing she reciprocated all those feelings I’d been hesitant to express filled me with a sense of peace that I hadn’t realized had been lacking from my life.
“Now I know what I’ve been missing,” I mused into the top of her head, and gave it a kiss.
“Hmm?” she asked, scooting over until she was half on me and half in the space between me and the seat back.
“Nothing, love. Go to sleep.”
“I like it when you call me ‘love,’” she said, yawning hugely, and then snuggled into my side and promptly fell asleep.
I had vague notions of staying awake during the night just to make sure no one would try anything with the Thomas Flyer, but lack of sleep, long driving hours in horrible weather, and incredible lovemaking took their toll, and I drifted off without realizing it.
“Hrn?” Something clanged nearby.
“Mrrf?” came the answer from behind me.
I opened my eyes to find that at some point I’d rolled onto the floor and was lying stark naked on top of an oilcloth sheet that we’d used when changing tires. I sat up and met Paulie’s blinking eyes. Her hair was standing up on end, sleep creases on one cheek. She squinted at me, and asked, “What are you doing down there?”
“Sleeping. Something woke me up.” I grabbed my trousers, which were underneath me, and hurriedly got into them and my shoes before emerging from the car. The flaps of the enclosure moved gently, and I parted them to reveal daylight and a pale blue sky. From thebarn emerged the form of a man, who waved and shouted something I didn’t understand.
