Joyride 5

I had been dying for a long ride in your slick, hot car and you knew it. You promised to take me for a spin. I always figured it was just talk.

Several months ago, you'd walked into the bed and breakfast where I worked. The first time you walked up to the reception desk, I thought to myself,

Wow. Those are blue.

Your eyes startled me with their intensity. After a couple visits, you started lingering in the office and making small talk.

Your eyes were mesmerizing, but what really made me crazy were your hands. I would expect someone like you to have a business man's hands: soft, weak, manicured. The first time you shook my hand was when I noticed. Rough, scarred, and calloused. Those were hands that had known hard work. They'd been put to practical, earthly labor at some point. I liked that. I wondered what brought you here, of all places.

"What brings you through this neck of the woods so often?" You were staying sometimes three nights a week, at least twice a month.

"My business is expanding. My job requires me to travel, hit the local markets. I'm on the road for most of the year now."

"Why don't you stay down at one of the other hotels, closer to the highway?" My little inn was tucked up into a sleepy little mountain town, miles from anywhere of consequence.

"Because then I wouldn't get to see you."

Your face was deadpan and unreadable, but your eyes sparkled, making my stomach flip over several times. I wondered at the unfamiliar sensation and laughed at the joke. Too soon you took your leave, off to yet another meeting.

I found myself making my lunch breaks coincide with your arrivals. While I was outside sipping some coffee and maybe reading, the sun would flash off that sexy car of yours as you pulled up the drive. I started to really look forward to seeing you pull up, for the little thrill that would chase around in my tummy. You were the flirtatious sort and it became contagious. Soon it seemed we were in a game of innuendos. It was fun, but I knew I was just a distraction for you. Why on earth would you be interested in me?

I was flattered by the attention, even though it couldn't be serious. I didn't think of myself as attractive.

No, not pretty, there's nothing pretty about me.

I was coarse, crass, and uncouth. I cursed like a drunken gypsy and wore my clothes well past their rightful retirement. I was nowhere near your league, with your neatly ironed, brand name duds and pricey sunglasses. But here you were, flirting with me, no matter how baseless. I figured you were likely poking fun at me, seeing how big a fool I could make of myself.

How pathetic I was, the worthless cunt getting a pat on the head and wagging her tail in anticipation.

No; no longer that, no more thinking like that.

I pushed the self-deprecating thoughts away. It had been less than a year since I'd been in a very bad place. Since I got free, I'd had no interest or inclination in being pretty. My focus had been solely on surviving and reconstructing my life.

A friend had pulled me out of the ugly situation long enough for me to see clearly. It was an incredible blow. It still hurt like hell. Looking back, I had been a mess. A shivering, sniveling little thing, terrified of the world, of life alone, of just living life. Now I was changing my priorities, trying new things, though I was still timid. I relocated, got a job, and rekindled a beloved hobby I had dropped years ago. I'd started saving and planning to travel.

Life was meant to be lived to the fullest, out loud, moment by moment. I was damned well never going to forget that again.

And then you started coming around. With your enigmatic eyes and engaging charisma, I couldn't help but return the attention you were giving. You were a fascinating person and I found myself looking forward to the short conversations with you. Something about you made me want to take chances. And I had been admiring your car for some time. It looked as if it could take corners nicely. So one day I worked up the nerve to ask if you'd take me for a spin sometime.

"Did I ever tell you you've got a cool car?"

Brilliant, smooth.

I cringed at how foolish I sounded.

"You think? I like it a lot. I'm on the road so much; I'd better have something I like, right?"

"I bet it's fun to drive. Maybe you could show me sometime."

You cocked your head at me, a small smile playing at your lips. I flushed and looked away.

Why can't I just keep my mouth shut?

I knew I was being the first to push beyond merely chatting. I braced for the excuse from you, or for whatever form the rejection would take.

"So you'd like to take a spin. In my car."

You leaned back in the patio chair and put your hands behind your head. Your eyes were catching the slanting, late afternoon light, exaggerating the azure and bringing out hints of turquoise. I held my breath, waiting for it. I wanted to slink quietly away and save us both the embarrassment.

"Sure. Next week. I'm coming through for a night; we'll meet after you're off."

You went on to tell me about a book you thought I'd like while I made sure my mouth was closed. At first I couldn't believe that you'd just agreed. I pulled myself back to the conversation, though I was still a bit shocked. I figured there was a good chance you wouldn't be back.

The week passed, and that morning you came in as you'd said, to both my surprise and delight.

The promised joyride was now imminent. And I knew I was going too far. It is one thing to chat with a customer and quite another to be meeting him someplace to ride in his car. But why not as friends, just having a bit of fun? At least that's what I kept telling myself.

The next day I found myself in a daring mood, ready to burst with the need for some

fun.

The August afternoon was hot, and I was sweating by the time I pulled into the trail-head parking, our agreed meeting spot. I got out of my truck and the mountain breeze cooled me slightly. I stretched, feeling muscle and tendon pop along my tall frame.

Very curvy and heavy breasted, I would always be more voluptuous than tight and lean. I wore a white halter top and a pair of loose cargo Capri's. The top was maybe a bit revealing, but I hadn't been able to resist. I wore no bra beneath the spandex halter that held my breasts snugly. The late afternoon sun caressed my skin and raised gooseflesh along my arms. My nipples were making themselves quite obvious.

I shouldn't have worn this top.

I didn't have anything else in my truck, either.

Oh hell with it.

I straightened my shoulders and reminded myself not to slouch, one of my numerous bad habits.

I pulled my hair loose from the severe, tight ponytail that was threatening to give me a headache. I grabbed my brush and started pulling out the tangles. Mousy brown in color but streaked from the sun, my hair fell almost to the top of my hips. I hated how it tangled up at the slightest breeze. I contemplated, once again, just having it bobbed to my chin.

As I brushed out the last of the knots, you roared into the lot. Music blaring from your car, you leaned out your window, "Hey man, you coming or not?"

I bit back the myriad inane responses that rolled into my head and walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and slid into the seat. My belly was tight with anticipation.

This is crazy!

It was long past time I started nurturing the pitifully atrophied adventurer in me.

"What a perfect summer day", I said as I buckled into my seat belt, grinning like a fool. You smiled back at me and we were off.

The windows were down and you opened the sunroof. Turning out onto the street, the wind blowing in cooled my body and lifted my hair, sending it flying wildly around me. I tackled it and smoothed the strands into a semblance of order, taming it by pulling it back and tying it off.

There's no way you could know how much I love going fast. How intense the sheer pleasure of flying down a mountain road, the forces of the turns and curves, the almost-out-of-control feeling of cornering. It gave me both a rush of excitement, loss of control, and an unexpected meditative calm. I thought you would understand the contradiction, if I dared tell you of it.

The thrill of flying down the road flooded my senses. I laughed out loud as you shifted through the gears, but the sound was lost in the roar of our passage. I wanted to hang out the window and shout at the trees that sped by. My senses aroused, I delighted in the vibrations of the engine as you pushed it harder. The heavy beat of the music blasting from the speakers reverberated up my spine. I felt intoxicated by the pleasure, awakened by the sensations.

You downshifted for the tighter curves ahead and your hand brushed my knee. I felt the touch acutely, it galvanized me. I suppressed my reaction to jerk out of range and look weird, so I kept my leg right where it was and pretended not to notice. I figured it was probably an accident. But the sensation of the light touch lingered.

Coming out of the last turn and into a longer stretch, you shifted back up again and urged the vehicle into another burst of speed. This time instead of letting your hand rest on the gearshift, you let it rest on my thigh.

Holy shit.

I froze. The exhilaration of the ride had aroused me, but the weight of your hand sent electricity up my thigh and started a slow burn between my legs. I glanced at you, but you had your eyes on the road. Your sunglasses covering your eyes allowed no hint as to whether you were teasing, or what.

Is he fucking with me?

Why hadn't I pulled my leg away? When you took your hand back, I felt as if it should have left a smoldering imprint through to my flesh.

I saw that we were nearing a side road that I knew well. I leaned as close as my seatbelt would allow so you could hear me and suggested we take it. I knew I was pushing the dare and wondered if you'd bite.

He likes the attention and so do I, that's all!

And I was starved for it.

I've been so good for so long.

For over a year I had practiced a self-imposed asceticism, a barrier to hold together the broken bits of me. I was realizing that rather than helping me to heal, it was just another face of the masochism that had helped destroy my life. Self honesty was important to me and I was being selfish today; and reckless.

I couldn't help but smile when you pulled your clean, shiny car off the safety of the pavement and onto the well-worn, dirt track. The dust kicked up behind us as if to conceal our passage. We went a couple of miles farther up and I gestured at a spot ahead to pull off. You stopped the car and killed the engine; the hot metal of the engine ticked in the silence. You looked at me questioningly.

"There's a place here you may like. Come with me."

I got out of your car and turned to see if you would follow. You stepped out, slipping the keys into the pocket of your khaki shorts. I took in your lean frame; not too much taller than me, you looked comfortable in your skin, confident. Your darkly tanned legs were nicely muscled. You looked good in your green tee shirt, with the lean build of an endurance athlete.

Well built.

It was not the first time the thought had occurred to me.

I could see the California sun had kissed your brown hair. I was both annoyed and relieved that your sunglasses prevented me from seeing your eyes. The amused set of your mouth told me some, and the easy stance of your body was familiar to me now as you waited for me to lead.

I turned and walked into the trees. We started to ascend steeply up a small trail, just wide enough for us to traverse side-by-side.

"So when's your next trip?"

"I have to go up to Santa Barbara next Wednesday. Then I have a few days before I have to be in L.A. again." You paused as if you were about to add something else to that but then decided not to. "What have you been up to, beautiful?"

"I'll be taking a long weekend. I'm going in for that certification I was telling you about. So, I won't be here."

"Then I won't bother stopping in." You grinned and I smiled back. I've been told I have a nice smile. Another thing I had decided I needed to do more of, smiling.

Pine needles and dry oak leaves rustled and crunched beneath our feet, sending up the most heady, earthy scent; like vanilla and pungent, sweet resin. The trees from which that carpet had fallen loomed above us and shaded our path. It was cooler here, beneath the pleasant smelling trees. The sun filtered through the canopy in warm rays that sparkled with the dust stirred by our footsteps. It only took about fifteen minutes of walking before the trail opened onto a clearing in which a small, clear pond was surrounded by granite boulders and more forest.

"Here's the place. I thought we could cool off a bit."

"Nice."

You followed me to the edge of the water, taking in the serene setting. I splashed my face and neck, bracing for the frigid water, so cold it made my head ache. It felt delicious and wonderful. The water trickled down my neck and made its way down between my breasts. My nipples hardened at the icy shock of it, turning to dark, hard knots under the white fabric.

Nice thinking, terrifically brilliant move.

I turned away from you and the pond, self-conscious. Thankfully, you seemed not to notice. You pulled off your shirt and tossed it onto a big rock and followed suit in cooling off.

I wandered over to where you had thrown your shirt, the huge slab of granite that angled sharply up out of the earth in the shade of an oak and sat, watching you. As you splashed your hair the water ran down your back, almost as tan as your legs.

Oh hot damn.

The muscles beneath your skin rippled as you moved. You had told me you were over forty, but you certainly didn't look it. Sufficiently soaked down, you turned and walked over towards me. I glanced from your flat belly down the trail of hair below your navel that disappeared into the waist of your shorts. My body flushed hot. Already awakened from the ride, the throbbing between my legs deepened to an ache. I looked away, blushing, and hoped you didn't notice.

What am I doing here?

The question popped into my head for the umpteenth time... But I knew. I was challenging circumstance and too curious to stop. As you approached the rock, I started blathering on about how I first found this place and how I used to come here all the time. You stood facing me, listening politely, arms crossed on your chest.

Crap, no sunglasses.

I was trying hard to maintain eye contact, which can be tough with you, if I need to speak intelligently. You looked amused, which was unsettling.

"So, yeah, this is a really great spot to just come and meditate, have some quiet time, you know? And it's amazing how few people know about it, considering it's not so hard to get to..." My words trailed off.

Why do I have to babble like an idiot?

I hopped down off the rock and stood leaning back against it for support. It was wonderfully warm from the sun and the roughly textured, solid feel of it against my skin anchored me to the moment. I looked around, desperately trying to find something else to talk about. Or, barring that, I searched for maybe an escape of some sort, anything to cover my awkward shyness.

You watched me for a moment; I thought I felt you watching me, at least.

Why doesn't he say something?

I dared to look up and found you were looking off into the trees.

Why am I even here? I should suggest we go.

Instead, I took in your profile, the set of your mouth, the barest traces of a beard on your unshaven face and the line high on a prominent cheekbone where that stubble abruptly ends. I really liked the smattering of grey at your temples.

Fucking sexy is what.

My eyes fell back down to your lips. They were sensuously curved, like they could turn from snarl to smile in an instant.

I let myself imagine the feel of them on my skin. I thought your lips would be soft and the stubble would prickle at me. A little shiver ran up my spine and I quickly corrected my thoughts.

This will not do.

You walked up beside me and reached past me to retrieve your shirt from the rock. I tensed, your proximity sending alarms ringing. My heart pounded. I started racking my brain to think of something to say.

Ask a question, you idiot, anything, now!

I opened my mouth, likely to begin babbling again. I met your eyes, direct and intense and missing nothing, as always, and my brain blanked.

Stormy blue eyes in an unreadable raptor's gaze held me against my will. I felt the flush rise in my face as I tried to break eye contact; I failed. I took a breath and cleared my throat, about to say something, anything to ease the tension I felt. My heart was pounding loudly in my own ears, I was afraid you were close enough you could hear it. I was having a hard time getting my breath, now very unsure what, exactly, I thought I was doing here.

You had to notice my change of breathing, the flush of color I could not control. I couldn't think with you looking at me like that. I felt like the mouse that sees the hawk too late. I swallowed with difficulty, watching as the gaze that pinned me to the rock behind me slowly shifted into something else, something harder. You looked like a predator that was done playing around.

Hellfire, he's hot.

My heart stopped at the look in your eyes. You leaned close, too close, and I froze in shock. I could feel the warmth of your body, so near it made my skin tingle. I felt your breath.

Oh holy hell.

I felt like I didn't have enough oxygen and took a deep breath. The spice and brine scent of your skin assailed my senses. I chanced meeting your gaze, no longer able to disguise the lust that simmered under my skin. I desperately wanted you to do your worst, but I still didn't really think you would do anything.

And then your lips met mine. Firm and sweet, your kiss was an attack on my will. Currents of excitement zapped and arced in my middle, like electricity. My lips opened, yielding to the insistence of yours. Your tongue met mine, sparking a current that ripped through my core and made my legs unreliable. My heart pounded and my mind raced, protesting.

This shouldn't be happening; this isn't happening.

Oh holy fuck, this

was

happening. Why was I kissing you? Sudden fear coursed through me. Fear of the unknown, of complications. I had held myself too still, too tightly controlled for so long, I couldn't give myself permission to have this.

I raised my hands to your shoulders and began to push you away.

I need to stop this now.

I was starting to panic and curse my own stupidity and rash behavior.

How do I let myself be so stupid? I should never have come, never asked, never agreed to meet him!

Instead of yielding to me you leaned closer, holding me firmly pinioned to the rock. Your kisses became more demanding, more insistent, overwhelming my senses. The weight of your body on mine was delicious.

Oh my God this feels good.

Your hands held my hips firm, while your lips explored my jaw, my neck, and back to my hungry mouth. One of your hands slowly moved up my side to cup a breast and I quietly moaned in response, wanting this. Your bare hand was a brand against my skin, the heat traveling like a flow of electricity and settling between my thighs. You pushed up my halter, freeing my heavy breasts. You lifted them, feeling the weight of them as they filled your hands, gently massaging.

Ah fuck.

When your thumb brushed across my sensitive nipple, coherent thought fragmented and was lost. I moaned against your lips. My paralysis broken by desire, I needed to touch you, feel you.

I ran my hands through your hair; my fingers caressed the back of your neck and slid softly down to spread across your shoulder blades. I let my fingers trace the muscles of your back, and then flattened them to feel the rhythm of your breath, the play of bones and sinew beneath your skin. Touch was sacred to me, and I wanted to feel every bit of you.