Page 41 of The Breakup

It made him seem bigger, more expansive, as I could feel the heft of him pushing me into the mattress. I gave a soft, low moan of pleasure. His hand shifted on my hip and suddenly his finger was there, teasing at my clit. He had a good sense of rhythm and was adept at reading me. Because if I shifted my hips or made a slight sound, he continued without interruption.

My eyes were closed and it just felt so good, so easy, that I wasn’t even surprised this time when a slow, relaxed orgasm swept over me. I did press my hips down to make sure Christian didn’t move his finger, but otherwise I made no movement. I just let him pleasure me. He knew when I had finished coming and pulled his finger away, picking up the pace of his thrusts.

But it wasn’t frantic, just steady, hard. He came with a small grunt, nothing more, and I felt the throbbing deep inside me.

After a few seconds he had retreated and settled down onto the mattress next to me. I sighed and rolled onto my back. His big hand draped over my waist. He didn’t speak and I was grateful. I felt empty of words, emotion, and it wasn’t a bad feeling. Just the opposite. I felt more relaxed than I had in months. So much so that I actually dozed off.

It wasn’t a true sleep. Just a hazy in and out of steady breathing, warm air, and the heavy feel of Christian’s hand on my hip. It was like drifting down a lazy river, my thoughts empty, senses acute.

“Hey,” he murmured to me finally, sounding satisfied. “How was your nap, princess?”

“Good,” I said, yawning. “I’m hungry.”

“Thank God, because I’m starving. How about I go pick us up something? You probably shouldn’t go into town right now.”

I knew that should concern me. My runaway bride status. But as I lay there in that caboose, Christian big and strong beside me, our bodies sticky in the summer heat, I stared at the rounded ceiling and felt nothing but relief. I didn’t want to be alone though.

“I’ll go with you. I’ll just duck down in the car.”

Twenty minutes later, we had both taken a quick shower back in the cabin and we were dressed. We climbed into Christian’s car and rolled down the driveway.

“People are going to see you,” he said, shaking his head in amusement at my attempt at camouflage. I was wearing his baseball hat and my huge sunglasses I’d had stashed in my overnight bag. “And that is not a legitimate disguise.”

“I told you, I’ll duck down.”

“You should practice that then,” he said.

I tried to bend forward but he said, “No, turn sideways. Put your head in my lap.”

It wasn’t until I was bent over obediently, mouth perilously close to the front of his jeans, and he laughed that I realized he had been joking. He just wanted me to stick my face in his junk.

“Hey,” I said, attempting to rise, indignant but amused too. “What are you, twelve years old?”

“Come on,” he said. “Just stay there a minute. Think about how you’re torturing me.”

It was a total con, yet oddly intriguing. I rested my head down on his thigh, and fluttered my fingers over the fabric of his jeans. “Hmm, why would this be torture?”

I blew on his crotch, purely out of instinct.

To my surprise, Christian actually jerked a little. “Princess. Not funny.”

But his response had emboldened me. I sat up a little and pulled his zipper down. Now he gave a little growl in the back of his throat. “Bella.”

“Yes?” The motion of the car driving down a country road felt very fast in my current position and I glanced up at him, really wanting to embrace the freedom I was feeling.

He glanced down at me. “I was going to tell you to stop, but what am I, a fucking idiot? Just stay low and I’ll let you know when we’re almost in town.”

“Okay.” I pulled his cock out. It occurred to me that if anyone glanced in the car, they would probably be able to interpret what was going on. But I also figured it would take another car being parked beside us for anyone to really be able to look down into Christian’s lap. Two cars passing in the opposite direction on a country road couldn’t see all that much.

So I was reassured that no one would report back to whoever might listen that Bella Bigelow was blowing a bartender in his car.

That thought made me grin. The thrill of this, the sense of impropriety, was freeing. Exciting. I took Christian’s cock into my mouth and went deep. He made a sound in the back of his throat.

This wasn’t my area of expertise, but oddly the fact that Christian was big—way bigger than Bradley—seemed to actually help me. There wasn’t as much movement. There was only one option: open wide and slide my mouth up and down on him. He tasted like soap and skin and I liked the warm heat of being in his lap, my hair spilling over his thighs.

Christian gripped the back of my head, but he didn’t take over my movements. He just petted and stroked my hair, giving me encouraging sounds. I went at it, actually enjoying myself for maybe the first time ever.

But then he pulled me off of him. “What?” I asked, glancing up the length of him, breathing a little hard from my exertions.

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