“Maybe I don’t want saving.” Her mouth trailed up my neck, teeth grazing. “Maybe I want one more thing to lie about later.”
Michelle took my hand, and in the biggest, most shocking twist, guided it to her breast, her eyes holding mine like a dare.
“I think I can help you with that.” I obliged, cupping her breast and gently teasing it with my fingers. She caught her lip between her teeth and tipped her head back. A shiver rumbled through her. My dick shot to attention as I bent in and kissed her exposed neck. She smelled good. Expensive. And her skin felt dipped in lotion. But her hair—holy shit, it was like silk. She was my goddamn fantasy. How in the hell had I nabbed her? I almost felt bad for taking what she was offering, knowing what I was hiding from her. But how could I not?
My fingers traced the silk of her slip, dipping lower until I found the heat between her inner thighs. Michelle’s breath caught. She gripped my hand and I paused. Our eyes met, and I saw the conflict in hers. I pulled my hand away. She put it back.
“You wanna—?”
“Yes,” she cut me off. “But not on the top of your truck.”
I wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to, but I’d take whatever I could get.
“She’s got a bench inside.” I patted the rusty exterior. “Would that be acceptable?”
Michelle laughed. “Truly, Scott. How could I possibly resist?”
So agreeable. I was a big fan of this version of Michelle. I slid off the roof of the appropriately titled Shaggin’ Wagon and offered a hand. Once we were both on solid ground, Michelle pushed me against the door and kissed me hard—so bold. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve a night with this trophy of a girl, but I wasn’t going to waste it.
I wrapped my arms around her, grabbed her ass, and pulled her into the cab with me. It was tight quarters and Michelle ended up on my lap, her slip riding up her hips. She raised herself a couple of inches to allow me access, and suddenly her small, round breasts were warmly cupped in my hands again. I caught her nipples between my fingers and her breathing stalled. But my touch emboldened her, and Michelle edged her fingers under my shirt and pulled it over my head. My hands slipped further, to her thighs and then down, just a thumb’s breadth from her mound. She shifted her legs slightly but didn’t say a word as my erection stiffened between her legs. I took a deep breath, hooked my fingers carefully under the elastic of her pink undies, and that’s when the fantasy ended.
“Scott.” Michelle stopped me. “I can’t.”
My brain was still catching up when it all flipped. And yeah, it was a total letdown, leading to my inspired response: “You sure?”
She tugged her dress back into place, her cheeks still flushed. “Very sure. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you all…”
We both looked down at my jutting hard-on, and then away. The awkward silence stretched long enough that I figured this was it—the night was done, and I’d probably never see heragain. Despite my warning, I wanted Michelle more than I was willing to admit, and because she did dangerous things to my better judgment, I took one more shot. “You hungry?”
Her head snapped up; eyes wide. “Starving. But no place is open this late.”
“Maybe not in Rolexlandia, but back in my zip code, you just gotta know where to look.”
Twenty minuteslater we were crammed into a red vinyl booth at Denny’s. Michelle sat across from me, twirling her fork through a stack of pancakes drowning in syrup, a delicacy she hadn’t discovered until today. When the plate was first placed in front of her, I watched her upper-class taste test with amusement. One tiny fork prong dipped into the sticky substance, followed by the most delicate probe imaginable—a microscopic droplet touched to her tongue, then a cautious nibble, the kind usually reserved for radioactive materials.
“Mmm,” she’d said, deciding she liked it and pouring a generous helping onto the pile of pancakes. Since then, she’d been enjoying her late-night breakfast like it was the finest indulgence she’d ever tasted.
Me? I was fully committed to my Grand Slam.
“This,” I said around a mouthful of hash browns, pointing my fork at her, “is the real five-star dining.”
She arched a brow at me. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
“Don’t need to when I can get this for $2.99.”
“What exactly isthis? Sausage grease floating in gravy?”
“Biscuits and gravy,” I corrected. “Respect the classics.”
I skewered a piece of biscuit, dunked it in the river of gravy, and held it out across the table. “Here. One bite and you’ll understand.”
Her nose wrinkled. “That looks like wallpaper paste.”
“C’mon. Live a little,” I said.
She opened up reluctantly and then closed her lips around the fork. A streak of gravy slipped down her chin, and I caught it with my finger before sliding it back between her lips. Her laugh broke free mid-bite, and I got caught up in the sound, watching her. Our eyes met, the humor still there, softened now by something warmer.
“Admit it,” I said. “You love it.”
