According to the map… #2
“So, what’s your point?” I squint my eyes, trying to make out from the expression on his face why he is so insistent on his point. And suddenly, I get an epiphany. “You are afraid of losing control.”
No comment. Bull’s eye.
I approach him cautiously, with a friendly expression on my face, so as not to scare him. Jan follows my every step.
“You don’t trust me.” I stand right in front of him and lift my head.
“That’s not the point.”
“What is it then?” I slide my hand over his shoulder. He shudders.
Shit.
“Maria, get in the car.” He looks into my eyes.
“I’ll get in if you give me the keys. I’ll return the favor.”
“How?”
“You’ll find out when we get there. There are about sixty miles left.”
“Sixty point two,” he corrects.
“It’s an hour away.”
“Forty-two minutes to be exact, assuming we maintain our current speed.”
“All the more reason. In forty-two minutes, I’ll park your car in a secluded spot, unzip your zipper, and make it so good that you’ll remember this trip for the rest of your life.”
He momentarily lowers his gaze to my lips. I see him swallow.
“Provided that you don’t put a cigarette in your mouth until the end of our trip.”
Persistent bastard.
“How long are we staying there?”
“Until the New Year.”
My heart leaps for joy, and immediately sinks heavily like a rock.
On the one hand, I’m excited at the thought of spending a whole week with Jan.
On the other, the thought of not being able to have a cigarette after sex or after a delicious dinner at the inn or after mulled wine makes me want to cry.
Unless I cover myself effectively. Since my parents never caught me when I ran down to the cellar for a secret smoke, nor did any of the teachers catch Nina and me when we were smoking in the window of the girl’s bathroom at school during recess, Jan certainly won’t guess either.
All it takes is a lot of perfume, peppermint toothpaste, fruity chewing gum, floral hand cream and an innocent expression. It can work.
“Agreed,” I reply and hold out my hand for the keys. “Please take the passenger seat.”
Oh. My. God. I’ve never driven such a beast. I’m not driving, I’m cruising.
The gears change effortlessly, the acceleration is like in a rocket ship, we’re going eighty miles per hour, and I don’t feel it at all.
My leg is getting heavy, heavier and heavier.
I pick up speed, my heart beats faster and faster, and I tighten my hands on the steering wheel. Eighty-five. Ninety. Ninety-five.
It’s the same feeling as when an airplane accelerates down the runway.
“Maria.” I hear the warning, but I ignore it. I’m not about to take my foot off the gas. I am a pilot who will raise the silvery (in this case, black) bird off the ground and soar toward the sky any moment.
One hundred miles an hour, one hundred and five…
“Maria, that’s enough.” I hear a sharp growl from my right.
I glance in Jan’s direction. He’s holding the handle over the window, his gaze is fixed straight ahead, and he is as pale as the snow on the fields we pass.
I restrain myself not to snort.
“You look like you are about to pass a kidney stone.”
“There is nothing wrong with my kidneys.”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
“Another illogical metaphor that does not reflect the actual state.”
“I’m not sure. To me, it’s obvious: you’re pale, you’re sweating, and your face is like you’re about to go into labor.”
“Again, an erroneous juxtaposition of words whose transference does not at all reflect my mood or my facial expression. Slow down.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” I press the gas pedal down.
One hundred and ten. One hundred and twenty.
I look at Jan—his breathing is accelerated, his hand with white knuckles is holding the handle for dear life, and he has a thick oak log up his butt in place of the usual stick.
He’s about to kick the bucket. I tighten my hands on the steering wheel, press the pedal to the metal. One twenty-five!
“Holy crap. This machine is a torpedo. What was your top speed when driving?” I say conversationally.
He answers nothing. He’s frozen.
“Probably eighty-five, according to the speed limit,” I state. “Now we are doing about forty above it. How does it feel?”
“It’s like we’re going one hundred and twenty-five miles per hour,” he says, all tense.
“So, how do you feel about it?”
“Like I’m breaking the rules. Slow down.”
“No. Tell me what you have planned for us for this coming week.”
“I won’t talk to you when you’re driving at this speed.”
“Unlike you, I have no problem with multitasking. You can speak. Where are we going to eat when we get there?”
“Nowhere. We’ll have dinner at my house.”
“Peachy keen. So I take it you know how to cook?”
“Yes. I am an excellent cook.”
“Modest as usual. What will we have?”
“Let’s see what products we can buy at the all-night store.”
“I like spaghetti Bolognese. Do you like it?” I glance in his direction and see that the paleness of his complexion is slowly giving way to a normal skin tone.
“Are you asking about pasta or sauce?”
“Uhh… spaghetti is, after all, pasta with sauce. How can it even be separated?”
“The pasta has its flavor. And the sauce has its flavor. The latter must be prepared solely out of fresh tomatoes.”
“We can’t get them at this time of the year. We will have to settle for canned ones,” I conclude.
“I avoid canned foods.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t taste good to me.”
“I see, and what else don’t you like?”
“Mixed dishes. I like each ingredient to be served separately.”
“So you don’t eat hamburgers or hot dogs?”
“No.”
“No tortillas, kebabs or pizza either?”
“No.”
“You don’t even make yourself sandwiches for work?”
“No.”
“What about salads? I love salads.”
“No.”
God, it’s awful! How many delicious things he misses.
“What else don’t you eat?” I ask, and for the next thirty minutes, as we are driving on the expressway, I listen to Jan enumerate the various foods and compilations of ingredients he doesn’t eat.
The list includes fish and seafood (because they reek of sludge), nuts (because they crunch too loudly in his mouth), lamb (because its odor is too intense), he also doesn’t eat anything that resembles jello or pudding in consistency (because he associates it with mucus), and has an aversion to ripe pears (because they smell of urine).
“And what don’t you like?” he asks.
“Giblets and cheesecake,” I reply briefly.
“What else?”
“That’s all.” I point to a sign that says ‘Szczyrk’. “We are here. Safe and sound.”
“Hmmm.” Jan seems surprised that we are already here. “Go straight now. In about a mile and a half past this forest, you will see a grocery store.”
“OK.” I signal and turn left, crossing a small blue bridge.
“Where are you going? I said straight on.”
I smile under my breath, enter a narrow bike path, stop on the slope of the woods and unbuckle my seatbelt.
“What are you doing?” He looks at me questioningly.
I reach for the belt buckle of his pants.
“I did promise you something, didn’t I?”
His eyes widen, and his breathing speeds up as I unzip his zipper. He follows my every move. I slide my hand into his boxers, pull out his penis, lean over and take it into my mouth.
I hear a long sigh. Jan pulls my hair away from my face, and then I take his cock in as deeply as possible.
“God Almighty, Maria.” He instinctively lifts his hips.
I raise my eyes to him. His eyes are burning, his lips are slightly parted, he devours me with his gaze.
I pleasure him with my hand, I’m sucking, licking, bobbing up and down with increasing speed, then slowing down. His breathing gets faster and faster, he tightens his hands in my hair, starts to set a rhythm.
“Oh yes, baby. You’re great at this,” he growls and presses my head down, and I let him go in so deep that I nearly choke. “I’m about to come.” He slides out slowly. I see him glance at the dashboard.
“Do you need something?” I slide my hand over his erect manhood.
Jan’s body shudders.
“Kleenex,” he replies, panting.
Well, of course, after all, it would be doomsday if he soiled his pants and the upholstery of this clean car with his cum.
“You won’t need them.” I smile playfully and, looking into his eyes, take his penis in my mouth.
He squeezes his eyes and tilts his head back.
He looks so sexy that I myself am about to come just from looking at him.
I caress him with my tongue, satisfying him the best I can, until finally I hear a deep, long murmur.
Jan’s body tenses, his hips rise and he comes.
He fills my mouth, tasting the same as when I did him in the office.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I swallow the whole lot, then lick his member like the most delicious ice cream, while looking into Jan’s eyes.
The intensity of his gaze overpowers me. He follows me with his eyes, his lids half-closed, increasing my excitement.
“Not a single drop wasted. It’s clean and neat, just the way you like it.” I wipe my lips with my hand and lean back to return to my seat, and then Jan unexpectedly grabs my neck, pulls me close and presses his lips to my mouth.
His kiss is sincere and so passionate, as if he had not come at all just now.
He reaches down to my pants, undoes the button and slides his hand into my panties.
A shudder runs through me as his fingers touch my pussy.
He rubs my clit impatiently, then slips inside.
I arch my back; his lips trail down my neck.
He fucks me with his fingers, and I get closer and closer to an orgasm with each of his movements.
“Oh, yes. Don’t stop.” I wriggle on the seat, pushing my hips out to feel him even deeper.
“Pull down your pants.” I hear the excitement in his voice.
“Why?”
“Pull them down.” He doesn’t stop fucking me with his fingers.
I reach for the top of my pants, lift my bum and pull them down to my knees.
“Stick your ass out.”
“How?”