According to the map… #3
Jan slips his fingers out of me, grabs me around the waist, and then, with his help, I twist and kneel on the seat with my back to him.
“Good girl. I like this view,” he says with satisfaction in his voice, then he spreads my buttocks and presses his lips to my pussy.
I hear his growl as he enters me with his tongue. I feel a shiver run all over me. I rest my forehead against the cool glass and thrust back, pushing my ass against his face. I want to feel him deeper, more intensely.
“Please tell me that you are hard again,” I pant.
“I am hard.” He sucks on my clitoris, and an electric shock goes through my body.
“So get it inside me.”
“I won’t fit. I’m too big.”
Is he stupid or what?
“But we’ve already done it from behind. I won’t crack, no worries.”
“I can’t fit in that position in the car,” he explains.
Well, yeah, right.
“So, sit down.”
“What?”
“Sit down.” I turn around and push him into the passenger seat.
There is a gleam in his eyes. He smiles, pushes his seat back and lowers his pants. I hastily pull my jeans and panties down all the way, move over to his side and straddle him.
It’s a little tight and uncomfortable, but screw it. The sight of Jan’s penis standing at attention and the prospect of having it in me right now makes up for any inconvenience.
“Ready?” I grab his hard manhood and rub it against my wet slit.
“For you, always.” He puts his hands on my buttocks.
I lower myself onto him slowly, until he fills me completely. Shivers run through me; my heart rate speeds up.
“Oh, this feels so good.” Somehow, I take it all the way in, and I feel so utterly full.
“Better than good.” Jan tightens his fingers on my ass, and I cling to his lips as I grind against him.
I ride him slowly, rubbing my clitoris against his crotch. I’m getting closer and closer to coming. I speed up, my muscles protesting, and I know that tomorrow I’ll have trouble walking, but now all I can think about is that impending orgasm. With Jan. In his car.
“I’m close now,” I murmur, my lips against his mouth. I feel my legs getting weaker and weaker, but I don’t give a damn. I want to come. Now. Right away.
Jan slips his hands under my blouse, unhooks my bra and squeezes my breasts.
His touch, the way he looks at me, how wonderfully he smells, the way he sighs when I impale myself on him, it completely blows me away.
He gently pulls my nipples, pinches them, and rubs them with his fingers, giving me goosebumps all over my body.
A tingling sensation spreads from my most intimate place, increases with every second, moves to my thighs, belly, and nipples and suddenly a hot wave hits me.
My vaginal muscles tighten on his hard penis, every part of my body tenses up, and a cry of fulfillment escapes from my throat.
I throw my head back, and my pulse throbs in my ears.
“Look at me.” I hear as if from afar.
I return my gaze to Jan’s eyes, which bore into me with desire. I hold still as I come, intensely, my fingers clutching tightly to his shoulders. Jan lifts me by my buttocks and thrusts into me, vigorously, several times.
“Oh yes, oh yes.” He breathes quickly. He penetrates me with his gaze. “I love to fuck you. I love to watch you come and I love to come inside you.” A growl escapes his lips, he enters me deeply one last time and freezes. A shudder runs through him, shaking his body. He tilts his head back…
“Look at me,” I repeat his words.
He lifts his eyelids slightly and looks into my eyes. His nostrils are dilated, his eyebrows are drawn together, sweat shimmers in his silver hair at the temples. He looks straight at me, biting his lower lip. He comes hard and long.
He is vulnerable and so appealing that I wish the human brain could take pictures. Memory can be deceptive, and I want to keep a picture of this Jan forever, in case we ever have worse days, or I feel like killing him, for example.
And I feel like killing him already twenty minutes later. Perhaps it’s because I could eat a horse and want to smoke like hell, but mostly it’s because Jan is standing over our shopping cart reading the ingredients of all the products I’ve thrown into it.
“Put it back.” He hands me the bread wrapped in plastic.
“Why?”
“Because it’s not real.”
“It’s not a hundred-dollar bill, Jan. Who would want to counterfeit bread?”
“Dishonest manufacturer. I presume that when you took this product, you thought it was whole grain bread, based on its color.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. Real bread should contain only four ingredients: flour, salt, water and sourdough. In addition to having only five percent rye flour, yours contains caramel, which gives the light wheat bread a golden color. The manufacturer has deliberately misled you.”
“OK.” I take the bread and I’m about to take it back when Jan gives me an egg carton.
“Put that back, as well.”
“Why? They are, after all, zeros, organic. From happy hens, which run free in the range, eat healthy feed and peck on grass.”
“But with a use-by date of tomorrow. Unless you’re going to eat ten scrambled eggs for lunch today?” He raises his eyebrows questioningly.
Grrrr…
“Give it to me.” I take the carton from him, and he looks into the basket again. “Is there anything else I should put back?” I throw him an irritated look.
“Did you want to buy butter or margarine?” He reaches for the stick in the gold package and reads the composition.
“Butter.”
“It’s definitely not butter.”
“What are you talking about? After all, it says, ‘Delicious butter.’”
“It’s not real butter.”
“What?”
Jesus, is he suffering from paranoia? All the food manufacturers want to fool him!
“Real butter contains more than eighty percent milk fats and zero vegetable fats, which means it should be made from full-fat cream,” he explains in an academic tone.
“Yours has sixty-two percent vegetable fat in its composition. I can assure you that it will not taste like butter because it is not.”
“Fine, have it your way.” I take the stick from his hand. “Should I go and put it back, or are you going to continue making a fool out of me and treat me like I can’t read?”
Jan looks at me, surprised.
“You are not stupid.”
“I know, but after your nutritional teachings, I feel like I am.”
“That was not my goal. I wanted to ensure the quality of your purchases.”
“That’s very nice of you, but I’m an adult and can bear the consequences of my consumer choices.”
He frowns. He analyzes my words.
“So I shouldn’t have pointed out to you that these products are defective? Would you rather not know that this bread is not rye, the eggs will expire tomorrow, and the butter is not real butter?” he asks quite seriously.
I close my eyes; I take a deep breath. I’m hungry as hell (and I really have a fucking desire to smoke!). I wish I had already eaten something and rested after the trip.
“I don’t think I’ll die from the caramel in the bread, and I’ll make apple pie for dessert from the eggs and butter.
“I don’t eat pies with fruit. I prefer apples separately and cakes separately.”
“Today you will make an exception. I’ll have the dinner you will prepare, and you’ll have my dessert. Do you have anything else to buy?”
“Two peppers, four carrots, seven mushrooms…”
“Then be quick and get me about four and a half pounds of apples. I’ll be waiting for you at the checkout.”
I put the products in the cart and walk away.
On the way, I grab cane sugar and soda. Just as I approach the counter, my gaze falls on a display of cigarettes.
Nicotine hunger stabs me in the very center of my solar plexus and tempts me: “Buy them! Buy them! Go and buy them! Light one up, come on, light up, take a drag…”
I glance into the aisle to see if, by chance, Jan is lurking somewhere nearby and ask the young saleswoman for a pack of ciggies.
I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m doing something wrong.
My heart is beating fast, I keep looking to see if Jan is approaching.
The woman puts the pack on the counter. I wince because she couldn’t have chosen worse.
The packaging features a photo of a woman spitting blood.
“Can I have that package with the sleeping man?” I point to the display behind the girl.
She smiles with understanding, and I already know that she smokes herself. Only a smoker can smile that way at a smoker. High-five. She puts the ciggies away and reaches for another pack.
“No, not the cancer guy.” I shudder at the sight of an older guy with a tube in his larynx. “I’ll take the handsome one on the gray sheet.”
“The one with the heart attack?” She laughs, takes the pack and puts it on the counter, and I immediately hide the cigarettes in my purse.
“Also, a pack of mint and fruit gum.”
“Which ones?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She hands me the first two cardboard boxes from the edge.
“Payment by card or cash?”
“Card.”
I pull out my wallet, pay with a contactless card and…
“How much did the total come out to?” I hear a voice behind me and I jump at the sound of it.
I turn around and see Jan behind me, putting the vegetables on the conveyor belt.
“Yyy, I haven’t paid yet.”
“You paid. Just now. By card.”
“Well, this.” I laugh nervously. “I got some chewing gum.” I shake the packets. “I was waiting for you to total it up. We’ll go halfsies.
The cigarettes are weighing down my purse. I feel like a drug smuggler who is lying to the customs officer at the border.
“Maria, calm down. After all, you’re not doing anything wrong, it’s just Jan, not a tax collector, and you’ve got smokes in your purse, not two pounds of heroin,” assures the nicotine hunger that can’t wait for me to finally satisfy it.
“There is no need for that. I’ll pay for all my purchases.” Jan’s gaze follows the display behind the saleswoman’s back. He squints. “Are you interested in something from that shelf, Maria?”
My heart rate shoots up.
“No. Where did you get that idea from?” I hastily unpack the products on the counter.
My cheeks are burning. I feel dryness in my throat. Holy crap. Why do I care what Jan will think of me when he finds out (or maybe he already knows?) that I just bought cigarettes?
“Nevertheless, I will take something, in case you get the urge,” he adds.
Stunned, I look at him. What? Has he changed his mind or what?
“Sauvignon Blanc, the one from the top shelf,” he says to the saleswoman, and at the same moment, I shift my gaze to the rack and smack my hand on my forehead (only in thought, of course).
Right next to the cigarette display are two rows of booze—vodka, wine, beer, cognacs…
I definitely need a drink.
“Take two. I’m suddenly in the mood,” I chuckle and continue to unpack our purchases.