Page 743 of Hell Hath No Fury
At the burger joint, we get burgers, fries, and beer, then we play pool while she keeps feeding quarters into the jukebox. Zeppelin, Seger, Black Sabbath, Cash. I’m pleasantly surprised,as I’d expected Beach Boys or maybe John Denver. Not rock and roll.
Turns out she’s a lightweight, and even with a solid meal it only takes a couple of beers to loosen her up. We pass the afternoon chatting and playing pool, then darts, but I put an end to that after she nearly takes out a group who should have been out of the danger zone. She sticks the darts in a cup on a shelf and comes back to our table, then throws herself down in her chair. Her cheeks are pink from laughter and the gold flecks in her eyes sparkle. I’m speechless looking at her and I’m not the only one.
After realizing most of the people in the bar are men, and most of the men are drinking her in, I abruptly decide to head out. As she cheerfully walks in front of me, several of the diners laugh good naturedly at my glower. “Good luck, dude,” a surf bum offers, and I nod, thinking luck has nothing to do with it. I won’t be leaving anything to chance.
When I get to my truck, Elizabeth is sitting in her seat and rummaging through her fringed leather bag. She pulls out a mirror and arranges her hair so it looks exactly the same, then puts on a lipstick the exact same color as her lips. Women are strange.
“Where to, miss?”
“Let’s go up one of the canyons to watch the sunset,” she suggests.
“Sounds perfect.” I aim us toward a lookout spot and back my truck in when we get there. Settled in the bed of the Dodge with a blanket I pulled from behind the seat, we sit facing the ocean, shielded from the twisting narrow highway. The Eagles’ “Hotel California” rolls out the open truck windows while nature’s display is as colorful as always, with the sky blown clear by a breeze off the Pacific.
Elizabeth shivers and snuggles closer. I haul her over one of my legs and settle her between them, then wrap my arms around her. She sighs deeply and leans against me, reaching down to play with my tattoo. When she traces the bold, abstract lines of black ink from my wrist to my elbow, goosebumps raise under her gentle touch. I reach up and swipe her hair to one side, then lean down to drop kisses along the curve of her neck to her shoulder. She shivers again, and the stutter of her breath drives me to surround her and claim her.
She turns halfway toward me, and her eyes appear to glow in the golden light. I place my hand along her jaw, then turn her face toward me. Eyes open, I take a kiss to her as she stares into them. A sense of rightness settles over me as the gears of fate notch into place.
Our kiss deepens and I turn and lift her to straddle my lap. I drop kisses along her jaw, neck, and shoulder while she moans and gasps, then I tell her to lift up so I can reach into my jeans to adjust my dick so it doesn’t break. As soon as I’m done we fall on each other in a frenzy of seeking tongues and greedy hands. I can feel the heat from her pussy through her denim and mine, and she rolls her hips in a motion that rubs her clit against my erection through our jeans. I have never hated buttons so much. Riding me with abandon, Elizabeth scrapes her fingernails down my chest, catching my nipples through my shirt and causing sharp stinging to travel straight to my dick. I reach up to thumb her nipples through her gauzy blouse and discover what I’d suspected earlier. Hidden behind the flowy material are naked breasts with hard nipples.
“Fuck,” I mutter, then reach under her shirt, pulling it upward to expose them to devour with my mouth, lashing them one at a time with my tongue.
“Oh god,” she moans, then reaches down between us to unbutton my jeans. It’s my turn to groan with relief when mydick has room to grow even harder, and I bury my face between her tits while she reaches up with one hand to brace herself on my shoulder. Then she starts to work my dick through my briefs with nimble, strong fingers while I feel like a horny teenager. I realize I’m in danger of blowing in my jeans, and I’m determined to take her over the edge with me. Meanwhile, she feels like she could orgasm just from my attention to her sensitive nipples. Just when I double down to see if she will, a car rumbles up the canyon road and slows when the driver sees us in the lookout.
I realize Elizabeth’s torso is high enough to see through the truck windows, which she realizes at the same time. Much to my surprise, instead of ducking down in embarrassment, she doubles down, too, and rides my palm while still stroking my dick through my briefs.
I hear hoots and hollers, then the engine of the car roars and speeds away with laughter and electric guitar screaming in the air behind it. With the distraction gone, and ridiculously turned on by Elizabeth’s boldness, I suck on one nipple hard enough to make her hiss, then she bears down one last time on my palm, jerking her hips and moaning my name. My orgasm hits hard and fast, and I thrust my dick up against her, filling my jeans with cum.
We look at each other, panting, then she bursts into laughter while I chuckle beneath her. She reaches down and tucks me away, gently buttons my fly, then turns around again and leans back against me, sighing deeply as we watch the sun drop below the horizon. With my arms around her and thighs framing her, I rest my cheek against her silky hair and begin to plot.
CHAPTER THREE
Elizabeth
When Owen drops me off at my apartment, I float up the steps, through the door, into my shower, and then to bed. Lying on my back, I tap my fingers against my mouth, thinking about his warm, strong lips and sneaky tongue. Butterflies in my stomach compete with a warning in my head, given in my college professor’s cynical tone.
Don’t fall into his dicksand.
I wrinkle my nose and argue back at my inner voice.But his dick is really, really big.
Anyway, the mechanic is cute and sweet and probably a great fuck, but that’s it. If he wants to date, he’ll have to accept that I don’t have time for a relationship and have no intention of becoming someone’s little woman.
You keep telling yourself that,my inner voice taunts, and I tell her to shut up. I sense my heart quietly listening and fear it’s plotting against me, but there’s no more commentary from the peanut gallery. Resolve back in place, I fall asleep, and I absolutely do not dream about repeating that scenario on the bluff without denim between us.
The next afternoon (the beginning of the C.I. workday because, like my mom says, nothing good ever happens after nine p.m.), I wake up refreshed and suspiciously tingly down below, like my fingers might have done a little traveling while I was asleep. Oh well, I hope dream me enjoyed it.
On the way to work, I pull my tiny green MGB in front of the Dunkin’ Donuts to grab leftover, slightly stale donuts and a tray of coffee in paper cups. Once again, I curse the lack of places to put drinks in cars, tempted to hold my coffee between my legs but deciding to play it safe and wait.
When I walk through the door of C.I., I’m set on by a pack of wolves, otherwise known as the security crew. Stuffing half their donuts at a time into their mouths, they joke and tease, spraying crumbs and leaving sticky fingerprints everywhere. It’s easy to avoid the dicksand here at headquarters, at least.
Shaking my head at their mess, I walk toward the tiny women’s locker room. Dad had it converted from a utility closet when I pitched a fit about having to go home to shower or risk being ogled in the men’s locker room. Thank God nepotism is alive and well in C.I. I wouldn’t even have been an intern if my dad weren’t Director. But he is, and I was, and now I’m one of the only female Concierges in the country.
There have always been a handful, because some jobs need to be done by women. The security teams have always been a man’s world, though, with the women typically providing cover or doing less physical work, like procurement and surveillance. Basically, the things that require some intellect and the men don’t find exciting.
Which begs the question; why do I want to work in security with all the meatheads? It started as a sheer stubbornness; I should be able to if I want to. Once I went on a few jobs, I found I really enjoyed seeing into people’s lives. And after protecting a few people who would definitely have been harmed or worse if I hadn’t been there, I realized I liked the power in protecting people who couldn’t protect themselves.
Plus, the money doesn’t hurt. C.I. is one of the few organizations that doesn’t bother to pay men more, even if they get the best jobs. Mainly because of the wholewomen inprocurementthing. If they don’t pay us fairly, we’ll just take it anyway. Once again I congratulate myself for being born into a criminal organization where theft, blackmail, and nepotism are expected, if not encouraged.
Shaking off my introspection, I check the chalkboard for my assignment and groan. Another boring day with the wife of an ascending gangster who doesn’t trust her with any of his men. Maybe he should think about getting some different men. Or a different wife. Congratulating myself for my decision to never fall into the marriage trap, I gear up and walk out to the motor pool, and, because no one is around, take my dad’s personal sedan.It’s the little things.
