Cream of the Crop
Page 54
I could think of worse things to happen.
He advanced. We were packed into the bar, too many people squeezed into too small a room, but it didn’t matter. He found the space, pinning me to the back of a chair behind me.
“I can throw you down onto the bar if I want,” he promised. It was just that, too. If I pressed any further, the whole town would be getting an eyeful.
“You wouldn’t dare. These are just for you.” I slid the hem of my skirt up enough to draw his eye down. “You wouldn’t want anyone else to see them, would you?”
His nostrils flared and my favorite eyebrow raised.
“Get a room!” someone called out, and the fog lifted. We were giving the bar a show, with part of my thigh exposed and Oscar’s giant hand gripping the fabric of my skirt.
He turned, seeking out the jackass who just poked the bear. When they made eye contact, the guy took one look at him and bolted for the door. Oscar made a move like he was going to go after him but I pulled at his belt. Not that it would hold him in place if he really wanted to kick the guy’s ass, but the little effort made me feel better.
“Let it go,” I said.
He grunted. Such an Oscar thing to do, but the sound of it nearly gutted me. He ran hot all the time and it was something that I was drawn to.
“Caveman,” I murmured, running my hands over his shoulders, feeling the muscles bunching beneath his shirt.
Slowly, he turned, and practically growled, “I need a beer.”
“Make that two.” I smiled, pulled him down to me, and kissed him.
It was supposed to be quick, but something snapped when our lips touched. He pushed while I pulled, and we crashed somewhere in the middle.
The catcalls and whistling egged us on and then his lip was between my teeth.
“I’m done here,” he barked, pulling out his wallet. He threw money onto the table and grabbed me around the waist, lifting me off my feet and damn near right out of my come-fuck-me heels. I glanced back over my caveman’s shoulder to a bar full of people applauding and Roxie cheering louder than anyone.
I could only giggle in the most excited way, clapping my own hands along with the town.
I had a feeling the heels were about to earn their name . . .
The cool air blew against my overheated skin when we walked out of the bar. I half expected Oscar to press me up against the side of the building, but he didn’t, keeping a strong grasp on my waist as I hovered a foot above the gravel, his long strides eating up the lot with determination.
He didn’t even speak on the way to the truck. He held open the door for me to crawl inside but was mindful not to brush against me.
Did I bend over too far when climbing in? Of course.
Still nothing. It was like a barrier went up the second we left the bar. Oscar got moody sometimes; it was part of his charm in my eyes.
He closed the door, moving with purpose around to his side. I slid my skirt up my thighs to give him a full view of the garters when he climbed in, and after he started the truck he peeled out and raced down Main Street.
Still . . . nothing.
I wasn’t misreading the situation. I could see the prominent outline of his dick in his jeans. He was totally hard but not making a move.
Leaning over, I pushed the armrest back and slid across to the middle of the seat, close enough to feel the heat coming off him in waves. I took his hand, held it, and waited. Interlocking our fingers, I moved his hand to my knee and then slowly slid it up to my thigh while spreading my legs slightly in the dark cab.
It was what I was feeling, and what I knew he was feeling. The little sparky static from the hosiery, the goose bumps covering my leg, the shiver I got when he finally hit the garter.
“You know, there’s something I can’t stop thinking about,” I said, spreading my legs farther.
“What’s that?” he asked, his voice strained, his hand on my thigh growing hot.
I flattened my hands on the hem of my skirt and slid it up slowly. Oscar’s jaw ticked in the moonlight.
“Us fucking in your truck. Pretty sure you mentioned that.”
When we slowed to a halt at the stoplight, I plucked the garter clip between my fingers and pulled it up. His eyes slid to the little black fastener and watched as I released it with an audible snap against my skin.
My hips bucked from the zip of pain. Oscar released a grunt that came from the back of his throat. It was thrilling to watch his knuckles turn white from strain. The hand that stayed on my thigh was clenched in a fist as if he were deliberately trying to not touch me the way we both knew he wanted to.
“Mmm, Oscar, what are you thinking?” I asked, running my hands down my chest before unhooking my belt and sliding the hem of the turtleneck up over my breasts and exposing my bra.
His hand flew to the steering wheel, and he held on so tight that I swear I heard the plastic crack beneath his palms.
I twisted in the seat so my head was leaning against the passenger door, lifting my feet up onto his lap and parting my knees. When I inched the skirt up higher he got a great view of my new panties and exactly what the garters were for.
He growled, and I felt the rumble of his chest right between my legs. I sat up enough to pull the sweater over my head before unclasping the front of the bra.
“Fuck,” he whispered, and looked into the rearview mirror before giving the truck a hard turn to the left. “Hold on,” he said, dropping his hand once more on my thigh and sliding it on home.
Finally.
He didn’t even bother shutting off the ignition before he flung his door open and dropped out of the car. I barely had time to blink before he grabbed my ankle and pulled me unceremoniously to the edge of the car, my legs hanging out of the driver’s-side door, my head conking prettily on the steering wheel.
He advanced. We were packed into the bar, too many people squeezed into too small a room, but it didn’t matter. He found the space, pinning me to the back of a chair behind me.
“I can throw you down onto the bar if I want,” he promised. It was just that, too. If I pressed any further, the whole town would be getting an eyeful.
“You wouldn’t dare. These are just for you.” I slid the hem of my skirt up enough to draw his eye down. “You wouldn’t want anyone else to see them, would you?”
His nostrils flared and my favorite eyebrow raised.
“Get a room!” someone called out, and the fog lifted. We were giving the bar a show, with part of my thigh exposed and Oscar’s giant hand gripping the fabric of my skirt.
He turned, seeking out the jackass who just poked the bear. When they made eye contact, the guy took one look at him and bolted for the door. Oscar made a move like he was going to go after him but I pulled at his belt. Not that it would hold him in place if he really wanted to kick the guy’s ass, but the little effort made me feel better.
“Let it go,” I said.
He grunted. Such an Oscar thing to do, but the sound of it nearly gutted me. He ran hot all the time and it was something that I was drawn to.
“Caveman,” I murmured, running my hands over his shoulders, feeling the muscles bunching beneath his shirt.
Slowly, he turned, and practically growled, “I need a beer.”
“Make that two.” I smiled, pulled him down to me, and kissed him.
It was supposed to be quick, but something snapped when our lips touched. He pushed while I pulled, and we crashed somewhere in the middle.
The catcalls and whistling egged us on and then his lip was between my teeth.
“I’m done here,” he barked, pulling out his wallet. He threw money onto the table and grabbed me around the waist, lifting me off my feet and damn near right out of my come-fuck-me heels. I glanced back over my caveman’s shoulder to a bar full of people applauding and Roxie cheering louder than anyone.
I could only giggle in the most excited way, clapping my own hands along with the town.
I had a feeling the heels were about to earn their name . . .
The cool air blew against my overheated skin when we walked out of the bar. I half expected Oscar to press me up against the side of the building, but he didn’t, keeping a strong grasp on my waist as I hovered a foot above the gravel, his long strides eating up the lot with determination.
He didn’t even speak on the way to the truck. He held open the door for me to crawl inside but was mindful not to brush against me.
Did I bend over too far when climbing in? Of course.
Still nothing. It was like a barrier went up the second we left the bar. Oscar got moody sometimes; it was part of his charm in my eyes.
He closed the door, moving with purpose around to his side. I slid my skirt up my thighs to give him a full view of the garters when he climbed in, and after he started the truck he peeled out and raced down Main Street.
Still . . . nothing.
I wasn’t misreading the situation. I could see the prominent outline of his dick in his jeans. He was totally hard but not making a move.
Leaning over, I pushed the armrest back and slid across to the middle of the seat, close enough to feel the heat coming off him in waves. I took his hand, held it, and waited. Interlocking our fingers, I moved his hand to my knee and then slowly slid it up to my thigh while spreading my legs slightly in the dark cab.
It was what I was feeling, and what I knew he was feeling. The little sparky static from the hosiery, the goose bumps covering my leg, the shiver I got when he finally hit the garter.
“You know, there’s something I can’t stop thinking about,” I said, spreading my legs farther.
“What’s that?” he asked, his voice strained, his hand on my thigh growing hot.
I flattened my hands on the hem of my skirt and slid it up slowly. Oscar’s jaw ticked in the moonlight.
“Us fucking in your truck. Pretty sure you mentioned that.”
When we slowed to a halt at the stoplight, I plucked the garter clip between my fingers and pulled it up. His eyes slid to the little black fastener and watched as I released it with an audible snap against my skin.
My hips bucked from the zip of pain. Oscar released a grunt that came from the back of his throat. It was thrilling to watch his knuckles turn white from strain. The hand that stayed on my thigh was clenched in a fist as if he were deliberately trying to not touch me the way we both knew he wanted to.
“Mmm, Oscar, what are you thinking?” I asked, running my hands down my chest before unhooking my belt and sliding the hem of the turtleneck up over my breasts and exposing my bra.
His hand flew to the steering wheel, and he held on so tight that I swear I heard the plastic crack beneath his palms.
I twisted in the seat so my head was leaning against the passenger door, lifting my feet up onto his lap and parting my knees. When I inched the skirt up higher he got a great view of my new panties and exactly what the garters were for.
He growled, and I felt the rumble of his chest right between my legs. I sat up enough to pull the sweater over my head before unclasping the front of the bra.
“Fuck,” he whispered, and looked into the rearview mirror before giving the truck a hard turn to the left. “Hold on,” he said, dropping his hand once more on my thigh and sliding it on home.
Finally.
He didn’t even bother shutting off the ignition before he flung his door open and dropped out of the car. I barely had time to blink before he grabbed my ankle and pulled me unceremoniously to the edge of the car, my legs hanging out of the driver’s-side door, my head conking prettily on the steering wheel.
