Trucker (The Good Guys #1)(20)

Or maybe he was torturing me on purpose. Was sexual frustration considered a legit form of torture? It definitely should be.

It didn't take Travis long to be totally into the movie, and towards the end he started getting impatient for answers.

"Who killed Frank Bennett?" he pestered me. "It was Idgie, wasn't it?"                       
       
           



       

"I'm not spoiling it for you. You'll have to watch and see."

"Are you ticklish?" He propped himself up to look down at me and snaked  his hand over my ribs. "I bet I could tickle it out of you."

"You wouldn't dare," I challenged.

"Oh, I would," he said as his fingers started to dance along the sides of my stomach.

I laughed and squirmed uncontrollably while yelling incoherent words of  protest. At one point I threatened to pee my pants, and he just laughed.

The playful moment suddenly turned serious as our eyes locked and we  both noticed the position we'd ended up in. Travis had moved on top of  me and our faces were so close our breath mingled. The laughter faded  and we just stared at each other.

His brown hair was messy and the strands fell over his forehead, almost  falling into his eyes. I reached up to run my fingers through it,  brushing it to the side, but it just flopped back into the same place.

A few seconds went by before he closed the gap between us. Soft, firm lips met mine.

I hadn't kissed a lot of guys, but my lack of vast experience didn't stop me from realizing Travis was a really good kisser.

As he nipped at my lips, I opened my mouth to invite him in. His tongue  slowly brushed mine and he repeated the action over and over again. This  wasn't frenzied like before.

It was painfully, wonderfully slow. We delved deeply into each other, enjoying every sensation, every taste.

Every now and then he would pull back to suck my bottom lip, then I  would do the same to him. My hands curled into his shirt and I pulled at  him, wanting him closer.

Wetness pooled between my thighs and I started to shift uncomfortably  beneath him, trying to get the friction I needed. I was so turned on it  was almost painful.

The room was dark except for the light flickering from the TV. I wasn't  sure how much time had passed, but the movie was long over and  forgotten.

Travis broke our connection as he lifted his head and put enough space  between us to look at me. Breathing hard, I begged him with my eyes not  to stop.

I'd noticed he had been pulling back every time things started to get  too heated, making sure we didn't go too far. I wasn't sure if it was  his virtue or mine he was trying to protect, but it was becoming very  frustrating.

Just as I thought he was going to say we should stop, he flipped us so  he was laying on his back and I was straddling him. I moaned when his  rigid length pressed against my throbbing center.

Travis seemed to know what I needed as he put his hands on my hips and  pulled me forward slightly, dragging my core over his hardness. My mouth  fell open and I gasped.

"Move," he whispered, nodding his head encouragingly.

I started rocking back and forth over him, reveling in the perfect pressure it put on my clit.

"Come here," Travis said as he pulled my face down to his.

I continued to move my hips over him as our lips and tongues moved  together. He seemed to be enjoying it just as much as I was, and he  started to thrust forward to match my movements.

His hands came up to cup my breasts over my shirt and he lightly ran his thumbs back and forth over my painfully hard nipples.

I moaned and rocked faster, being driven by need, and the rhythm of our kissing faltered.

My body had taken over and I could feel a familiar tightening in my belly and tension building between my thighs.

I'd had an orgasm before. By myself, of course.

Never like this. It never occurred to me this could be done with all our clothes on.

Burying my face in Travis's shoulder, I cried out as I came harder than I  ever had before. I actually think I might have blacked out for a  second.

Travis's hips jerked forward one last time and he groaned. We stayed  that way for several minutes, panting and holding onto each other.

Well, he held onto me, and I just lay on top of him in a boneless heap.





TRAVIS

Holyfuckingshit.

I came in my pants.

Like a fucking teenager.

I didn't expect that to happen. I'd wanted to let Angel use my body for  her own gratification, but my good intentions went to shit when she  started grinding herself on my dick.

And when she started making all those sexy sounds, it took everything I  had not to explode right then and there. I wasn't even sure if she was  aware of the whimpers and moans coming out of her mouth, but it drove me  crazy. Then I felt her stiff nipples through her shirt and realized she  wasn't wearing a bra.

When she came apart on top of me, I just lost it.

I couldn't even feel embarrassed about it because it'd been the best  orgasm of my life. It made me wonder if it was this good over our  clothes, what would it be like to experience the real thing?

We cuddled on the couch for a while as I stroked her hair. Neither of us  said anything, but it didn't feel awkward. Just peaceful.                       
       
           



       

I heard the key turn in the door before Angel did. I was really glad  Colton hadn't come home ten minutes earlier because that would have been  one hell of an interruption.

Quickly, I pulled the blanket off the back of the couch to cover us  before he walked in. Even though we were fully clothed, I still felt the  need to shield Angel because of the intimacy of the moment.

Surprised by the front door swinging open, Angel squeaked and slid  behind me on the couch. I put my arm around her so she could rest her  head on my chest.

"Hey," Colton said casually as he went by to the kitchen. To him, it  probably just looked like we were lying down watching a movie.

Angel looked at me with wide eyes and we both had to fight off the goofy  grins on our faces when he came back into the room, chugging a bottle  of water. He flopped down into the chair by the couch.

"So, what did you guys do today?" he asked.

"Just hung around here. Did some cleaning," I told him and I was proud  of myself for being able to keep a straight face. "And we watched a  kickass movie about an old lady who liked to tell stories about people  getting killed and shit."

Angel elbowed me in the stomach and snickered at my summary of her favorite movie.

"Sounds awesome," Colton said, and he filled us in on the details of the  Mount Vernon pick up-which was pretty uneventful-then, finally, said he  was headed to bed.

Shooting the shit with Colton while I had sticky jizz inside my boxers  wasn't something I ever cared to do again. To say it was awkward was an  understatement.

As we got into bed that night, Angel and I didn't bother putting space  between us as we fell asleep. Meeting in the middle of the bed, Angel  curled up next to me as I put my arms around her.





ANGEL

I knocked on the old screen door a second time as I stood on Beverly  Johnson's porch. Maybe she didn't hear it. Old people had trouble  hearing sometimes, right?

I unfolded the piece of paper Karen gave me to make sure I had the right address.

204 Walnut Street

I looked up at the house number, then the street sign on the corner. I was definitely at the right place.

The house was tiny, with a white painted brick exterior. Dark green trim  lined the windows, reminding me of the color of Travis's eyes. I rolled  my eyes at myself because my infatuation with him was reaching new  levels.

I was about to knock a third time when the inside door swung open.

"Can I help you?" the old woman said through the screen.

She was very small-probably two inches shorter than me. She had thick  rimmed glasses and her short, curly hair was a dyed a shade of black  that almost looked blue.

Even though it was almost ninety degrees outside, she wore a fuzzy pink  housecoat that looked really warm. I would've been burning up in that  thing. I had on shorts and a tank top but I was still sweating bullets.

"Hi, I'm Angel," I introduced myself. "Karen Hawkins sent me over to mow your lawn?"

"Oh, yes." She smiled and came out to join me on the porch. "You can  just call me Beverly. Calling me ‘ma'am' makes me feel too fucking old,"  she said sweetly, and I did a double-take.

Did she just say what I think she said?

Beverly started down the steps and I followed her around the house to  the backyard while she continued to talk. "The mower's in the shed. The  little boy from down the street usually cuts my grass, but he's away at  summer camp. My fucking yard looks like shit."

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing, but inside I was dying.

Beverly had a potty-mouth. I was under the impression little old ladies didn't cuss. Obviously, I was wrong.