Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Somehow, I manage not to hit the floor when the word “home” invades my psyche the moment I see him standing at baggage claim. My steps settle, but my thoughts scatter. His broad shoulders fill out that shirt like it was custom made for him.
Maybe it was—how would I know? That’s just it. I don’t know him. Not really. I only know the man I’ve built him up to be in my mind over the past ten years.
That man was created from a fantasy.
I mean, granted, I know some things quite well: how he fucks, how he speaks, how he kisses, how he feels, how he smells, how he tastes, how he teases. . .how he commands. Dozens of women probably know him like that.
It doesn’t make sense to trust him the way I do, but yet. . .
My whole body seizes, and I can’t take another step. I don’t trust anyone. And it’s batshit backwards to trust someone you don’t truly know. But I guess he and I have never done anything the traditionally right way.
He turns his head toward me as if my realization has beckoned his attention. He smiles, and I want to know everything about this man.
My feet move again, and it’s all I can do not to run to him.
His arms lock around my waist, and my feet abandon the floor at the intensity of his hug.
I feel like he could crush me, but I know he won’t.
My pussy clenches when I breathe in the first whiff of his cologne or aftershave or shampoo, whatever creates that alluring combination of warm spices and fresh air.
“Welcome home,” he whispers, his voice tickling my ear. “Let’s grab your bag and get on the road. I’m very much looking forward to doing depraved things to you for the next forty-eight hours.”
“You have no idea how good that sounds to me.”
“I’m going to find out when we get to the car.” With that, he walks toward the tumbling bags on the conveyor and grabs mine without me having to point it out. He pays attention to details I never notice him noticing.
He’s parked in the garage near the end of an aisle. There are closer spaces. I assume he chose this spot to avoid door dings from other cars. He quickly disabuses me of that innocent assumption.
We’re barely inside the car before he says, “Show me how wet you are.”
“Not here.”
“Right here. Right now. Undo your pants and coat your fingers with your sweet pussy juices. We’re not leaving this parking garage until I’ve tasted you.”
The things he says would hit different coming from anyone else’s mouth, and I might literally hit them for saying it. But his voice and those eyes . . . all I want to do is obey, be his sweet girl.
I unbutton my pants, slide the zipper down, and slip two fingers inside my pussy and slide them in and out a few times for him before I bring them up and rotate them so he can see how they glisten.
He taps his lips with two of his own fingertips. “Bring them to me.”
His hot mouth claims my fingers, and his playful tongue makes me shift again, roll my shoulders.
“I love when you’re needy,” he says. “Take your pants off.”
An objection materializes in my head, but it fizzles. This is harmless fun. My sweater is long enough to cover my underwear. To anyone looking into the car, I could be wearing shorts under it. All they’d see would be bare legs.
I kick off my shoes and shimmy out of my jeans.
“You don’t really think I’m going to let you keep your panties, do you, sweet girl?”
He holds out his hand and I squirm.
“If you don’t want to comply, I have no problem taking them forcibly, but that spanking you’ve already got coming won’t wait for the lake house if I have to do that.
You either slip those pretty panties down your beautiful legs and give them to me, or I’m getting out of this car and walking around to your side.
And once I open that door, your dignity won’t be taken into consideration. ”
I don’t really think he’d physically humiliate me in public like that, but I absolutely believe he knows how much the threat unnerves me, and turns me on. He takes my peach lace thong and hangs it from his rearview mirror.
“Classy,” I tease.
“Pull that sweater up and put your fingers back in your pussy. Play with yourself where I can see.”
“Anyone can see.”
“Lucky them if they do.”
“After we’re out of the garage.”
“You are feeling awfully brave today. Challenge me again, and I’ll take the sweater and the bra that I already know matches these.”
His fingers twirl my dangling panties and I want those fingers inside me, not my own.
And he’s right. I am feeling brave today. “You finger me first. And if you do a good job, I’ll do what you want for the rest of the ride.”
He laughs. “You know I’m going to punish you later for challenging me like this. But if that’s what you want.”
I’d only meant for him to reach his hand over the console but he leans his entire upper body across it instead and stares into my eyes, making us much more conspicuous than a couple sitting in their respective seats, possibly just having a conversation.
No, now it’s glaringly obvious we are doing something more than talking. Though his filthy mouth is definitely delivering as he parts my seam and strokes me, taunts me, but refuses to plunge a finger inside and give me all of what I want.
“Mmm, this tight, tasty little pussy is sopping. Did you think of me while you fingered yourself in your hotel room?”
“Yes.”
“Did you think of anyone else?”
I hesitate, swallow, and try not to look away from him.
His laugh rolls out with a sinister satisfaction. “For such a bold girl, you get shy quick. How many men do you fantasize about at once? What’s the number that hits your sweet spot, sweet girl?”
“Three.”
His smirk is skeptical as he pushes his fingers inside me. “Three, huh? That’s your number? You want three?”
These three fingers, yes. Fuck, yes. I nod and close my eyes. His thumb circles my clit and the twitch in my core becomes the epicenter of a quake. I gush on his hand, and when I open my eyes, his are stormy, just the way I love them.
“God, I want to pull you out of this car, bend you over the hood, and fuck you for the whole world to watch. You’re lucky the possibility of children walking through here has occurred to me.”
“Not to mention the possibility of security seeing us.”
“That show would be the highlight of their day.” He presses his fingers to my mouth. “Clean my fingers so I can drive us out of here.”
When I’m done, he hands me napkins from the console. “Sorry, this is all I’ve got. Unless you want me to use my mouth to clean you, too.”
“I most definitely want you to use your mouth, but not here. I’ll make do.”
I reach for my panties when I’m done, and he gently slaps my hand away.
“You know better.”
When I pull my sweater down to cover my bottom, he shakes his head. “No, not that either. Sit your bare ass on my seat.”
My sweater bunches at my lap and falls around my hips, anyway. It doesn’t matter that I’ve pulled the hem up this high. No one can see anything. When we reach the highway, he takes his cock out and tells me it’s my turn to lean across the console.
As a teenager, the thrill of maybe getting caught was the catalyst for a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have done. Not everything changes about a girl when she grows up. I’m not down to fuck in a busy parking garage, but head on the highway?
Yeah, that’s a thrill I’m still willing to chase.
I get on my knees, facing him, and lean down to lick the precum from his tip, grateful my sweater is long enough to cover my ass so no one gets the money shot through the passenger window.
Until Gareth grabs a fistful of it and yanks it up to my midback.
If I protest, I know he’ll make good on his earlier threat to take it all the way off.
And the truth is I don’t hate this, the not knowing if anyone is watching and how much they can see. I swirl my tongue as I sink my mouth down over his cock. He groans, and I say a quick prayer he keeps us between the lines.
His dick pulses in my mouth, and I know he’s close, but then the car slows, and I feel us exit the highway.
Please tell me we are not being pulled over.
I attempt to lift my head, but his hand forces it back down. The car changes direction again, and then once more before we abruptly come to a stop. Gareth pulls me up by my hair. All I see are trees on either side of a narrow, unpaved road.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Somebody’s private property would be my best guess.”
“You’re going to get us shot.”
“No.” He grins. “They might shoot me, but they’ll keep you.”
“Way to be reassuring.”
“Get out.”
“No way.”
“The longer you delay, the greater the chance we’ll get caught.”
“I’m not bending over the hood out here.”
“Because I care, I’ll give you the option to climb over the seat. Make your choice by the time I get to your side. Whichever seat you’re in will determine which door I open and where we go from there, but I can’t wait any longer to fuck you.”
He gets out and starts walking.
The door opens and cool air rushes over my bare skin. He shoves his pants and underwear down his thighs. As soon as he frees it, his erection lurches like it’s dowsing for pussy.
“When was the last time you got fucked in the backseat of a car?”
“So long. Before I moved away.”
He pushes me onto my back and spreads my legs with his knee, leaving the door wide open behind him. “Sounds like too long to me.”
His first thrust is hard enough that we both gasp. Every stroke that follows is hard, too. Backseat sex. Just like I remembered it, but with the added bonus of an orgasm.
“Hey,” I say between uneven breaths. “You wanna know the first time I came in the backseat of a car?”
“You trying to flatter me?”
“No, just being honest.”
He laughs. “Honesty’s good.”
His face clouds as soon as he’s said it, but he tries to cover it with another smile. My own smile falters and he sits up, reaches for the console and brings out more napkins. His movements are methodical.
“We’re going to go to the club for a while. I want you to see it on a Friday night. It’s a whole different place on the weekend.”
“Okay, sure.”
He feels so far away all of a sudden. I want to know why he retreated like that, but I know he won’t tell me, or won’t tell me the truth, anyway.
I take my panties from the mirror when I get back in the front seat, and he doesn’t say anything. He starts the car and all the intimacy we’ve just shared is swept into the past.
No matter what happens at the club, there is nothing that’ll make me forget the way his face changed at the word honesty. I tell myself I’m making too much of it.
There is nothing he could’ve lied to me about because I haven’t asked anything of him.
* * *
Gareth puts the car in park, but he doesn’t kill the engine.
“Jewel,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue too slowly and in a guarded tone, as if he’s about to say something I might not want to hear. All I can think is if he’s about to end things between us, this is a weird fucking choice of locations.
“Have you looked over all the paperwork for your dad’s holdings?”
“No. I sent everything to my attorney. She said she’d be in touch next week sometime. Why?”
“We need to talk about one of them. Gardon, LLC.”
“What’s Garden, LLC?”
“Not garden. Gar. Don.” He stares through the windshield, straight at the front of the club.
“You cannot be saying what I think you’re saying.” I shake my head, never taking my eyes off him, waiting for him to clarify before I get carried away. But he doesn’t say anything, so I swallow hard and ask the question outright.
“Is Gardon an acronym from Gareth and Donovan? Please tell me I’m jumping to conclusions here and you and my father were not goddamn business partners, Gareth!”
“Only in this venture. Nothing else.” He makes direct eye contact, but his hypnotic blues are caged in cold gray steel right now.
“What is it? What exactly does Gardon do?”
He looks puzzled, like I’ve spoken in a language he’s never heard before, and then his gaze flits from my face to the building and back again, and I get it. That’s why he looked toward the door before. He was trying to tell me without having to say it. This.
This is what it is.
I grip the door handle. “You’re telling me I own this place?”
“No, sweet girl. I’m telling you we own this place.”