The entire fucking night.
I could imagine a world where I’ve had her enough times that a quickie would suffice. A strong imagination I was blessed with, because five or ten minutes wouldn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what I need from her right now.
My hand drops away faster than a car backfiring and the two of us separate instantly, turning to face the open bay door, the thick silver chains that control the garage doors hanging vertically along the concrete block walls, framing either side of the middle bay.
Van Gogh comes to a stop on the gravel just outside the garage and my brother hops out of the front seat and down to the ground. In his trademark dark Henley with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, engine tattoo on display on his forearm, he runs a hand through his nearly black hair and gives a small tilt of his head. That’s about as much enthusiasm as we’ll get out of Wyatt, unless his wife or daughter are involved.
“She’s all good?” It’s nearly a squeal from Amelia.
Wyatt nods his head once. “Yep.”
I watch in a flurry of motion, some strange mix of slow-mo and fast forward that doesn’t feel real, as Amelia gets her keys from Wyatt, pays the final invoice (a thankful smile my way when she sees the reduced total), and he waves goodbye to her. Like she’s just another customer, like the town will continue to go on just fine without her in our midst.
Part of me wonders if when my time here is done, if I could follow Van Gogh. Hit the road and find work town to town, following adventures wherever they go, as long as it’s her I get to curl up with at night.
But that’s insane. It may have been a month of getting close to her—strangely close for two people who were so recently strangers—but we haven’t even hooked up yet, for crying out loud.
Besides, I have jobs I’ve committed to here through the rest of spring. And she’s clearly in solo mode, in a one player game.
What is with me? Am I the one catching feelings for once?
That’s ridiculous, right? This is just what weeks of anticipation looks like instead of instant gratification like I’m used to. It’s all culminated in a thrumming, uncontrollable desire.
Best not to let my mind wander on things that could never be beyond that.
I know all too well that the familiar itch of boredom will creep under my skin as soon as the fascination with her wears off. Probably about an hour after I’m out of her bed. It always does.
But first, I have a different itch to scratch. One particular to a petite woman with a fierceness that pulses just beneath her skin, pulling me to her, and I’m ready for her to unleash it all on me tonight.
I head to my truck as Wyatt closes up the garage, probably eager to stop working extended hours and get home to his girls. Amelia thanks the both of us, like this is goodbye, but I jump in the cab of my pickup before I hear the words come out of her mouth. I’m not ready for them.
Waving before pulling out of the gravel lot like it’s any other regular old night, I play it cool for the last of our audience—likeI’m not leading her somewhere private to get her all to myself before she’s really gone.
I lay a path for her to follow to an overlook point that’s always empty. A gorgeous grassy field of wildflowers with the perfect view of the nearest ridges of the Smokies, where she can park her van for the night and no one will bother us. Hell, no one will even pass us, much less notice us.
Practicing patience, something my brother thinks I don’t have a drop of in my blood, I wait by my truck door, one leg bent, foot flat on the door, as she backs Van Gogh up and lines up with my truck in the perfect spot to be able to open the back doors of the van and watch the sunrise come up from behind the peaks, right from her bed. Like camping, but better because she’s got A/C, power, and all the creature comforts of a portable home.
Once she’s got herself situated just how she wants, the van’s engine turns off, but the low hum of the house batteries that power her residence stay on. Painfully slow seconds later, the side door slides open.
In a throwback I didn’t know I needed, Amelia is standing in the doorway, topless. The dark, star-studded night sky as the backdrop to my latest fantasy, this woman stands there, hands on the edge of the door, backlit by the dim under-cabinet lighting, casting a nearly white glow around her perfect form.
Her wavy brown hair tickles her shoulders, feathery bangs framing her delicate face, ring through her nose, all making her look like that sweet, dark angel I’ve become so enamored with.
But as my gaze travels down her slim form, catching on her chest, the metal in it glinting at me in the low light, her flat stomach, and the gorgeous pussy I know is hidden beneath her short shorts, it’s the devilish side of her that I want to get to know right now.
“Fuck, darlin’.” One hand drops down to readjust my boys, my cock that’s getting a little too excited this early in the game. “You look absolutely edible.”
“So come have a taste.” Amelia raises one shoulder in a way that moves her breasts, too, and it’s impossible not to trace their motion with my eyes. “One night only, it’s all you can eat, Boy Scout.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. The only thing covering her delicious frame from my eyes, or the rest of me, is a tiny pair of hot pink athletic shorts that barely come down past her ass. I’ll have them gone in a blink.
My hands come out of my pockets as I push myself off the truck door and stalk toward her. She backs up with each step I take, not in fear, but to draw me closer. This might’ve been the trap she set for me all along, and I’m the prey who’s going to walk willingly into it.
One foot onto the stairs and the van rocks with my weight as I step into her home. It’s not the only rocking it’ll be doing tonight. The door slides shut on the rollers with a simple tug, and we both watch it latch shut, the lock clicking into place with one touch of a button on the fob in her hand, before I hook the secondary lock into place. She places the remote on the counter, then rests her hands on the edge of the butcher block surface behind her, arms bent as she watches my approach.
I tear my shirt off, grabbing hold of the back collar and ripping it right off my body, letting the white cotton fall to the floor in the front of the van, near the driver’s seat. Then, I pounce. Springing forward, I close the distance between us in one final motion that has her gasping when it happens so suddenly. But it’s her web, I’m just the lucky fucker who got caught.
Smile on my face, I grab hold of her hips and pull her up onto my waist. Her legs wrap around me instinctively, knees grippingthe bare skin on my back to hold herself upright. My hands stay on her ass, just to be sure. Safety first, and all that shit you’re taught when you’re working on motors and moving parts from a young age.
