Is she feeling rejected?This is a little more hot and cold than I’ve seen from her so far, which I can blame on Dallas for overserving her, but I doubt she’s the kind of woman who gets turned down often. She needs to know that my waiting has nothing to do with her.
“Aw, darlin’. If it isn’t clear to you, I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I just think this plan we have of it happening on your last night is the smartest thing for both of us. We both have our reasons.”
“Ugh,” she practically squeals the word. I can’t tell if it’s excitement, frustration, or some blend of emotions I can’t decipher. And then I catch a faint whisper that I’m not sure she realizes she said aloud. “Two more weeks.”
My fly feels abnormally tight at the thought, and I remind myself I’m being chivalrous here. Putting her to bed, as much as I might want to join her in it.
I shut the van door behind us and look around as she turns on the lights. It’s a gorgeous setup she’s got in here. The finishes look bespoke and damn near brand new, even though I know she’s had this thing for nearly a decade at this point. She upkeeps it well.
Is it weird for me to say that’s hot? A woman that takes care of her vehicle is a turn on for me. Let’s not talk about the state of her engine by the time I found her on the highway, but the fact that she’s kept this van going as well as she has for as long as she has, it’s impressive.
She plops backward, falling onto the bed, arms out in a full starfish.
“What do we have to do to get you ready for bed?”
“Please just let me sleep off the shame of being rejected by you yet again. Hopefully when I wake up, I don’t remember this. I think I deserve that little bit of grace from the universe, don’t you?”
“I have never, and—for the record—would never reject you. There is no shame here, darlin’. But let’s go ahead and get you set up for sleep. What do you need to do?”
“Shower,” she mumbles the word into her shoulder.
“Can you… can you do that here?”
Her arm flops up to point at the mystery door along the side of the van and then falls back down again. I open it up, peer in, and see a wet room complete with a small toilet, a handheld shower wand above it, and a sink in the opposite corner of the tiny room.
I turn on the knob for the water and she jumps out of bed, reanimated instantly at the sound, and damn near runs into me in her haste.
“’Scuse me. Gotta get in, not much water.”
She grabs a towel from some hidden cabinet behind me and shuts herself in the wet room.
Committed to making sure she gets to bed safely, I wander the van, waiting for her, inspecting what I can without invading her privacy by opening drawers or doors.
Several moments later, the water stops, there are more noises from behind the door, and then it cracks open. One tiny, dark-haired enigma of a girl steps out, wet hair down past her chin, nothing but a tan towel wrapped around her body, a few droplets of water still dripping from the ends of her hair onto her bony shoulders.
She looks up at me almost shyly, then squeezes past me to get back to her bed. Amelia pulls the covers back and faces me. “Turn around,” she says quietly, and I do without question.
I hear a soft swish, and the unmistakable sounds of her climbing into bed before there’s a soft, “’Kay.”
When I turn around again, she’s nestled beneath the covers, towel on the floor at the edge of the bed.
“You good to go to sleep now?” I ask her, and she nods sleepily, eyes still on me.
“Can I tell you something before you go?” she asks softly.
“Sure.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Her eyes haze over as they fall down my body and land on my package, and her meaning becomes clear as the midday sky above the Smokies.
“I want to ride it. Just once.”
If I could bite my knuckle, I would, but I need to keep it together. At least while she can still see me.
“I want that too,” I tell her, the simplest confession of my own.
The fantasies my mind has been racing with starring this woman don’t start or stop with her riding my cock, but that’s certainly going to be the main attraction in tonight’s prime time feature when I’m behind a locked door.
