8. Dallas
T he sweet and salty tang of Shelley’s most intimate scent is smeared over my lips and chin. Even after wiping my mouth on my forearm, even with the heavy onslaught of the rain, I can still smell her. Still taste her.
Arousal is a knife in my gut. Stabbing deep.
Letting out a pained grunt, I notch my cock at Shelley’s entrance, the head ruddy with need.
Meanwhile, she’s pink and swollen and still glossy with arousal, her thighs dropping wider as she coaxes me close.
On any other day, in any other circumstances, it would be this storm demanding every ounce of my attention right now.
I’d be held spellbound by the clouds, the pounding rain, the lightning strobing the sky; I’d be yanking the tarps off the crates of equipment in the back of my trunk, and hurrying to take measurements.
Not today.
Not with Shelley.
There’s nothing else in the world except the sweet, wet heat between her thighs, calling me deeper.
I grip her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh—and Christ, I’m being too rough with her, too much of a caveman, but Shelley doesn’t seem to mind.
She moans and leans forward to kiss my throat, her arms winding around my neck.
The brush of her hard nipples against my bare chest makes my heart slam against my ribs.
“Ready?” I ask.
Shelley answers with a breathy laugh and a nip to my earlobe. “Uh-huh.”
Breath held, I squeeze her hips and press forward, inch by slow inch. Wet warmth envelops me, massaging my cock, and as lightning flashes behind the clouds, my mind short-circuits too.
No more thoughts.
No more fears.
Nothing but Shelley.
Christ , she feels good. Like slipping into a warm bath at the end of a long day; like a back rub on tensed up muscles. Pleasure cascades down my spine, and I don’t even realize that I’m thrusting, fucking my way deeper on instinct, until I look down and see my own shaft disappearing inside her.
So that’s how it looks , I think madly, groaning low and gathering Shelley closer to my chest. So this is how it feels.
And I’ve waited so long for this, never willing to settle for less, that my brain can hardly compute that it’s finally happening.
A rumble of thunder vibrates through the soles of my bare feet where they meet the hard earth.
And we’re both nude, exposed to the wind and rain; both slipping and sliding against each other in a tangle of wet limbs.
Both oblivious to the storm drenching our hair, our bodies, our piles of abandoned clothes—too wrapped up in every kiss and squeeze and thrust.
“Oh,” Shelley moans, her fingernails digging into my shoulders. “Oh, oh god. Dallas .”
Every slam of my hips makes her breasts bounce and her eyelids flutter.
But she’s not passively taking it; not sitting there idle.
No, Shelley crosses her ankles behind my back and squeezes my waist with those soft, perfect thighs, then scores ten pink lines down my chest with her fingernails.
Her pants and moans spur me on, and when she yanks me down for a kiss, she bites my bottom lip between her pearly teeth.
It’s primal.
As vicious and urgent as the storm.
It’s fucking perfect is what it is.
“Mine,” I hear myself muttering. How long have I been saying that, underscoring each punch of my hips? “Mine, mine. You’re mine, Shelley.”
She grabs my ass and tugs me as close as I can possibly get, my weight tipping forward over the truck, burying me as deep as I can go inside her. My hands splay over the hood for balance as my shaft twitches, pulsing with need.
“ Yes ,” Shelley agrees. “I am.”
And then I’m shoving a hand between us, finding her clit with my thumb. I’m rolling my hips, trying to stroke all the sensitive spots inside my girl, rewarded with the best sounds I’ve ever heard in my damn life. My teeth are gritted, and beads of sweat mingle with the rain drops on my back.
When Shelley clenches around me, her whole body going taut as a wire, triumph and relief flood my chest in equal measure. God, I so desperately wanted this to be good for her. I wanted to be good for her, and I wanted to feel my girl come apart on my cock.
Now she’s clinging to me, shuddering through waves and waves of pleasure, practically sobbing at how good it feels.
Her tight channel has me in a vise grip, trying to milk me with every flutter of her inner muscles, but I hold off until Shelley slumps forward against my chest. I wait until it’s over, until I’ve committed every single one of her sounds and expressions to memory, and only then do I wedge as deep as I can go… and finally, blissfully let go.
“Mmm,” Shelley says as I flood her with wet heat.
My cock swells inside her, pumping my whole goddamn soul into her core.
My teeth are still gritted, a tendon standing out in my neck, but now it’s with pleasure.
With mind-melting, gut-churning pleasure.
“That feels so nice. But we’re gonna get spunk on your truck. ”
A laugh scrapes out of me. Could she be any cuter? “The rain will wash it off.”
Shelley hums and kisses the hollow of my throat. My chest burns with so much love, I can barely stand it.
“If you say so, weatherman.”
I’d try for a come-back, but I’m too busy kissing the girl of my dreams.
* * *
Three years later
It’s hectic in the TV studio, with runners hurrying left and right.
The floor manager storms past the make-up station, a clipboard held up in front of him, pages flapping.
Over at the news desks, bright lights shine down on the anchors as they get mics pinned to their clothes.
My own stage is lit too, waiting for me to step in front of that green screen and tell the city today’s weather.
Really, all this drama is nothing new. It’s always hectic in here, always charged with static electricity as we race from segment to segment, trying to keep up with the daily schedule.
This excitement is why almost everyone in this huge room chose to work in TV. It’s addictive—but it can take a toll.
Some folks pick up a questionable habit to soften the edges of the workday, vaping in the parking lot or mainlining donuts and coffee at the snack table.
Others let off steam with gossip, or by shopping on eBay in their breaks.
Some of the crew go running together, or weight lifts in a nearby 24-hour gym after their shifts, but out of everyone here, I have the best coping mechanism by far.
“Back again?” Shelley smiles teasingly as I sink into her make-up chair, even though I got dusted ten minutes ago.
I shrug, my royal blue suit jacket rustling against the leather, and grin. “What can I say? I’m shiny today.”
“Uh-huh.” Shelley turns to face me properly, stepping between my thighs to start brushing powder over my forehead. “And it’s got nothing at all with wanting to pester your pregnant wife.”
On cue, my hands reach out and cup the curve of Shelley’s stomach.
She’s only a few months along so far, still wearing the same tight black t-shirts she usually does for work, but the sight of her new figure from across the studio keeps making me harder than rock right as I’m supposed to go live on air.
I grin. “Would we call this pestering?”
My thumbs stroke over the hard curve of Shelley’s small bump, and my chest is filled with golden warmth. Can the baby hear us yet? Can our child recognize our voices? Will we be good parents?
Lord, I hope so. Our little family will be filled with love, at the very least.
Shelley scoffs, ignoring my question. She draws a tickly line down the bridge of my nose with her brush. “What’s the weather like today?”
“Sunny skies with a storm rolling in later this evening.”
“Oh yeah?” Shelley’s eyebrow arches, and her green eyes sparkle. “Maybe we should take the truck for a drive.”
My laugh is quiet in the middle of this crowded studio, just for my wife’s ears.
“Maybe we should.”
She blushes prettily, ducking her head to hide behind that curtain of curly red hair, and for the dozenth time today, I count myself the luckiest man alive.
“Headlines in ten,” the floor manager calls, but I don’t move from Shelley’s chair. Not yet. Hands still splayed over her bump, I stay put for a few seconds longer, soaking in my wife’s presence.
Let it be known: she was worth the wait.
* * *
Thanks for reading Geek in the Streets! I hope you liked it. :)
For another nerdy, repressed hero, check out Grump Gone Wild . I’m fake-dating the man of my dreams. But these feelings? They’re all too real.
And for a bonus instalove story, grab your copy of Something Sweet . I spend every Valentine’s Day baking cookies for my friends and neighbors. But the bad boy who just moved to town? He’s hungry for something else…
Happy reading!
xxx