Rather than give voice to my uncertainty and fear, I rolled my lips between my teeth and braced.
The car came to an abrupt stop. He cut the engine and silence fell like a blanket around us. Then I heard the roar of a car engine pass, followed closely by the reverberations of several motorcycles. Less than a minute later I heard several more; they reached a crescendo, then began to fade. And then nothing.
He unbuckled his seatbelt, the suddenness of the sound startling me, and I listened as he did the same to mine. He reached for me, tugged me across the bench, and pulled me into a tight embrace. Cletus’s hands moved over my body as though he were searching.
I felt his heart hammer in his ribcage, the first real sign that he was anything less than calm and collected. Strangely, realizing that he wasn’t impervious to fear helped mine feel less cumbersome.
“Hey, hey.” I pulled away, just slightly because his arms wouldn’t let me go far. “Are you okay?”
“Are you?” he returned, his hands coming to my face and tipping my chin back. I couldn’t see a thing, but I got the sense he could see me. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, then skimmed down the side of my neck, making me shiver. “That last stretch was rough on the shocks. You hurt?”
I shook my head, not quite able to speak because where I was—in the middle of nowhere—plus who I was with—the man I’d been thinking about non-stop—meant my body was responding and reacting in ways I didn’t have much control over.
Despite the lingering adrenaline, or maybe because of it, I couldn’t help notice the intimacy of our position. How I sat straddling his lap, how our chests were pressed together, how he smelled like mint and soap and aftershave and Cletus.
He released a breath; it fell over my face and sounded relieved. “Good. I didn’t know. You were so quiet. I can’t believe how quiet you were, the whole time you didn’t say a word.” I felt his eyes on me, but he remained in shadow. “Are you in shock?”
I shook my head again, sliding my hands from his shoulders to his biceps, liking how his muscles felt under my fingers. Touching him, feeling him beneath me, being surrounded by Cletus made my stomach twist and release, an aching warmth pooling low in my belly, between my legs.
“Cletus,” I whispered, climbing higher on his lap, wanting to press closer, wondering—quite suddenly—what his skin felt like. I wished—with equal suddenness—that the barrier of our clothes didn’t exist.
He grew very still and I sensed his breathing change. He could see me. Maybe he couldn’t see me perfectly, but he obviously could make out my features.
“Jenn . . .” My name was a low rumble, not quite a whisper, not quite a breath.
“I miss you,” I said, instinct had me rocking against him, trying to ease the ache at my center.
“Oh fuck, don’t do that.” He grabbed my arms as though to hold me still.
I didn’t want to hold still. I wanted to kiss him. So I did.
I covered his mouth with mine, shaking his grip from my arms as I wrapped them around his neck. At first he did nothing, but I didn’t care. He still tasted good, and his mouth was hot and soft and wonderful. I wanted him, so I took him. I swept my tongue out and licked him, like he’d done to me eleven days ago, loving how he parted lips and moaned in response.
Suddenly and quite forcefully, he was participating. He grabbed my ponytail and I gasped. He captured the sound of surprise, his tongue expertly loving mine, and he used his leverage to tilt my head to the side, opening me, consuming me with his kisses.
I felt him lengthen and harden against my inner thigh and my body shuddered in response. Unthinkingly, I pressed down, shifting my hips. His legs tensed, the muscles like granite, and he tore his mouth away.
“Jenn—”
“Don’t stop.” I know I’m not what you want, but don’t you dare stop.
I moved my fingers into his jacket, pushing it off, searching for his lips. Instead, I found the side of his face, but I didn’t care. I kissed his cheekbone, his jaw beneath his beard, and his neck.
“I’m not going to stop,” he growled, pulling his arms from his coat, sounding ill-tempered and impatient. His fingers immediately returned, digging into my backside.
I bit his neck again, liking the way he tasted, loving the texture of his skin on my tongue.
Cletus’s hands slid under the hem of my shirt, up the side of my waist to my ribcage, massaging and grabbing, each touch sending a thrill of nerves and awareness racing through me. Then higher, bunching the sweater under my arms, moving to cup me through my bra. I shivered and a short, hot breath of surprised wonder escaped me; he pulled my bra down and rubbed a tight circle around the center of my breast.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” I chanted, arching, reaching for the clasp of my bra. “Touch me.”
I could offer no other direction, but that paltry demand seemed to be enough. With deft fingers, he unhooked my bra much faster than I ever could, and pushed my sweater and top over my head. He grasped my naked torso and brought his mouth to my breast.
My hips bucked at the sharp sensation of his teeth closing over my nipple, an instinctual movement. The aching heat had become a painful, restless thing.
“Shhhh,” Cletus said, blowing a cold breath over the wet patch left by his mouth, then scraping his teeth back and forth over the sensitive peak, sending a frenzied wave of goosebumps over my skin.
I tugged on his shirt, wanting the heat of his body. He lifted his arms obligingly, then immediately began lavishing my breasts with hungry, biting kisses, fondling and caressing with his big hands.
Everything felt so good. His mouth and hands felt essential. I could only push my fingers into his long hair and hold him to me, arching and straining for . . . something more.
As fantastic as this felt, it only served to increase my restlessness. “Cletus, touch me.”
“I am,” he said between frustratingly fantastic kisses.
“Please, Cletus. Please.” I couldn’t withstand this torture, this agonizing longing. I moaned, sucking in a needful breath followed by pleading words tumbling from my lips. He was holding back, I could sense his hesitation. I was dying and he gave me only raindrops to quench the thirst.
He stiffened, his hands moving to my sides and back. Hastily, he drew me from his lap.
I swallowed a groan of protest as he clamped a hand over my mouth and whispered, “Someone is outside.”
Cold fingers of fear unraveled the thread of desire, tugging me harshly back to reality. Deftly, he found my shirt and placed it in my hands while I strained to listen. A twig or a branch cracked. Leaves rustled and crunched under a booted foot. I held my breath and tugged the shirt over my head. It was too big. I was braless, swimming in soft cotton and the intoxicating smell of him. It was Cletus’s.
A flashlight moved through the trees, its beam passing over the car. But then it continued to move. They—whoever they were—hadn’t spotted us yet.
Then, Cletus’s phone rang.
He had it set to silent, so it buzzed and flashed. He lunged for it as though to reject the call, but then he stopped short, his frowning face illuminated by the small screen. His eyes lifted to the windshield, to the searching flashlight, then back to the phone.
He swiped his thumb across the touchscreen and brought the phone to his ear, whispering, “Hello?”
“Cletus It’s Jess. Where are you?”
I heard her voice in stereo, both dimly through the phone as well as distantly from outside the car.
He breathed out, switching the phone to his other ear.
“We see your flashlight. We’re not quite to the cabin, still on the side road.”
“We?” Her voice was still audible, and she made no attempt to lower it. The flashlight stilled, then moved in a slow, horizontal arc. “Who is with you?”
“We’ll come to you. Don’t move.” He removed the phone from his ear and ended the call, the screen fading to black.
“Cletus,” I fumbled for his hand, “I have to tell you something.”
The hand I searched for cupped my jaw just before he covered my mouth with a sweet, devastating kiss. His lips were amorous and cherishing; the slow slide of his tongue made me dizzy and breathless. I was reminded of drinking champagne two weeks ago at the talent show. Cletus left me fuzzy-headed and warm, wanting more.
Pressing our foreheads together, he said, “If you could just keep your thoughts to yourself for five minutes, I’d really appreciate it.”
“What? Why?” I asked automatically, covering his hand with mine.
“Give me five minutes to live the fantasy.”
I tried to see him, but it was too dark. His words sounded like a riddle and flooded my mind with questions.
Was I a fantasy? Or were we? Did that mean he wanted me? Or that we could only be together in a fantasy situation?
I cursed the dark, needing to see him to know better what he was thinking. My stomach fluttered with nerves, because—if we only had five minutes left in the fantasy—I wanted to kiss him again.
Before I could, I was blinded by the sudden beam of a flashlight shining directly into the car. I recoiled back and shielded my eyes, squinting at the shape hovering outside Cletus’s window.
“Dammit, Jess. I said we’d be right there.” Cletus released me and tugged his jacket out from behind him.