Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Silas
The second she plowed through my boutique headfirst like a linebacker going after a quarterback about to throw the winning touchdown in the Magnolia Bowl I should have known.
Betsy Mae will be the death of me.
Okay, that’s dramatic. She won’t be the death of me, but she certainly seems to knock the breath out of me on a regular basis.
Even knowing all this, I take her hand and follow her outside her nana’s house, too intrigued by this messy woman to deny it any longer. She gets me in the driver’s seat before climbing on my lap, her back to the steering wheel.
“We can’t out here either,” I start. Betsy puts her finger over my lips, silencing me.
“This is the beauty of having big lots. Neighbors can’t see what we do.”
I look outside. She’s not wrong. There’s a fence on this end, shielding us from the neighbors on one side.
The neighbors on the other side would have to have binoculars to see what we’re doing in here, but I wouldn’t put it past someone.
These old folks don’t have much to do except be the neighborhood watch.
“Live a little, Silas,” Betsy sighs. Her hands land on my chest, and when she leans in to kiss me, I let her. If she wants truck sex, I’ll be damned if I don’t give it to her.
Her hands expertly work at my buckle, getting my pants unzipped in record time.
When her fingers sneak inside and wrap around my dick, my head flops back against the headrest. Goddamn, she’s a temptress.
She strokes up and down, pressure just right to have me harder than the gold-lined streets of heaven.
Which is why I pull her hand off me and pin it behind her back. She rolls her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout I can’t resist. I lean in to nibble on it. “Always in such a hurry,” I mutter.
Her only response is a frustrated huff. I grin against her mouth and reach under her skirt.
My fingers slide up her silky thigh until I reach her panties.
She’s got on something lacy again, but she’s already soaking the material clean through.
I release her wrist and hit the button to turn on my truck.
Air-conditioning blasts through the vents, not exactly cold while we sit here idling, but the breeze is necessary.
“Lift up, honey.”
Betsy does as I say, which is shocking. I reach in my back pocket and take out my wallet. There’s a condom in there, on the off chance Betsy and I got a chance to recreate our first time together. Didn’t think I’d be getting to use it so quickly.
“Take me out and roll it on.”
Betsy reaches back into my shorts and does as she’s told. I think I might be developing a fetish. I bark out a command and this ornery woman actually does it. Her desperation for my cock drives me out of my mind.
While she’s busy with the condom, I tug her panties to the side, unable to see with the flap of her skirt in my way. I let me fingers explore, focusing on each area that makes her breath hitch. When I get a full-on moan out of her, I stay right there, applying constant circular movement.
“Silas, please.” Betsy drops her head to my shoulder.
I grin like a madman. Fuck, I love to hear her beg for it.
“What do you need, honey?”
She lifts her head and glares at me. She knows what I’m doing, but she’s desperate enough to give me what I want.
“Give me that dick right now,” she snaps.
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod, still grinning.
I lift her hips, and while she directs my cock to her opening, I lower her down slowly.
Each inch of me that gets swallowed by her body makes my muscles lock up with pleasure.
Betsy doesn’t give me time to fully enjoy it though.
She takes control by lifting and rolling, her hands using my shoulders for leverage.
Her little grunts and gasps fill the truck.
She’s working me over like we’re on a time crunch.
“Oh God. Silas. Oh. Yes. Uhh…” Betsy freezes, her whole body shaking like a leaf. Her forehead clunks to my shoulder.
Maybe I should feel used, but considering how much I like it, I don’t complain.
I can feel her muscles clamping rhythmically around me as she shakes and pants.
I have to grit my teeth to keep still so she can ride out her orgasm.
She lifts her head from my shoulder again and smiles at me wickedly.
I open my mouth to ask what’s going on, but then I feel it.
She’s purposely flexing her muscles down there.
She starts rocking her hips gently, her eyes sparkling with wicked delight.
“Come on, frat boy. What do you need?”
I roll my eyes. This woman.
“Just…shut up,” I manage to grunt.
Then I take her hips in mine and start thrusting up into her hard and fast, chasing my own orgasm.
Betsy, being Betsy, can’t leave well enough alone and decides to help me.
Except her ass hits the steering wheel, setting off the horn right as I feel my entire body locking up with an orgasm to beat all orgasms.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I moan between clenched teeth, spilling into her. I couldn’t stop right now even if there was a gun to my head.
I’m spiraling somewhere in the heavens, oblivious to everything else for a few glorious moments.
Then I feel Betsy shaking again and it takes me longer than I’d like to figure out what’s going on.
She’s sprawled across my lap, her head ducked down and jammed between my ribs and the door. She’s laughing her ass off.
“We hit the horn!” she laugh-screams.
I look around, thankfully not seeing any neighbors or her nana. “Jesus, Betsy Mae.”
It’s always an adventure with her.
“Wait!” Betsy grabs my hand before I can click the buy button on the order we have pulled up with a fantastic wholesale place I found out of Alabama.
We loaded up the cart with all the rest of the clothes we’re stocking for the start of the season and the Battle of the Boutiques. I think the fact that I had to call my credit card company and find out how much space I still had left made her doubt her choices.
She shoves herself between me and the laptop, her hands gripping mine tightly. “Seriously. Let’s think about this.”
I dip my head and kiss the tip of her nose. “Betsy, we already went over this. Like, five times. We need more clothes and these fit all the things the women of this town have been saying they want to wear. Let’s give them what they adore and charge them a pretty penny for it.”
Her wide eyes search mine, back and forth, back and forth. Then she lets go of my hands and steps away from the computer. “Okay.”
I hit the buy button with far less concern than I had a few weeks ago before Betsy started working here. I trust her instincts, along with the research we did. I don’t know what it is, but I have a good feeling about things.
Might be because my father hasn’t called in a few days. He’s always quick to make me feel like I am teetering precariously on the edge of shaming the Winthrop name and causing us to have to leave town during the middle of the night.
Might also be because I feel like Betsy and I are a team.
No one likes to go through life or business alone.
Not that we’re a couple. No, she’s quick to remind me of our agreement every chance she gets, but since I offered her that bonus, she also dove in headfirst on getting this boutique in the black.
And I can appreciate that kind of partnership.
“Two weeks ’til the fall season starts, storm cloud,” I remind her as she spins to open a box of new gift bags to store under the register. “All the mamas and their sorority daughters will be descending on the four boutiques.”
“Don’t forget twelve days ’til Battle of the Boutiques.” Betsy claps the dust off her hands and begins to twist her fingers together.
“We need to start finalizing what our models will wear.”
“Oh!” Betsy spins to her purse, taking out her phone and swiping until she turns the screen to me. “Last night while Nana and I watched a movie, I screenshotted some things I saw on social media.”
She flicks through quite a few photos of nicely dressed women. It feels weird to call them middle-aged when they’re the same age as me, but I guess that mythical middle age has crept up on me without me noticing.
“South Carolina had some sort of inaugural golf thing over the weekend,” Betsy is explaining, though I already know.
Deuce and I watched most of it while finishing off a six-pack of beer he brought over to my place.
“Unlike most golf events, this one is a bit like the Derby. Everyone dresses to the nines.”
See, this is why I appreciate her help so much, and why I think my father might have a valid point. I watched the same tournament and didn’t think to look at what the women were wearing, but Betsy did.
“These are fantastic,” I murmur, flipping to several that showcase dresses and skirts that look a lot like what we just ordered, except these clothes aren’t coming from a luxury brand name.
“Right?” Betsy sounds enthusiastic, as much as she’s able when her standard tone is mostly deadpan.
The bell above the door rings out and two women enter.
I greet them and Betsy shoves her phone back in her purse so she can help them get a fitting room started.
The rest of the morning is busy, which is a great sign of things to come.
Between the two weeks leading up to the start of the fall semester and Christmas, we do most of the sales for the whole year.
I’m hopeful I can turn this ship around, proving my father wrong, carrying out my mother’s legacy, and earning Betsy her bonus.
My stomach starts growling just before one, so I sneak out and grab some burgers, returning just as three women leave Harp and Hemline with multiple bags full of purchases.
I wipe my forehead just inside the doorway and relish the feel of air-conditioning blowing on my overheated skin.
Damn, it’s hot as blazes out there. Betsy looks up from the register, giving me a broad grin.