Todd’s tires screeched as he zoomed back onto the highway and headed to his apartment just outside of town. He had a fancy place with an underground parking garage, the schmuck.
When we arrived, we got out and took the elevator up to the top floor. I followed him into his clean, well-decorated man cave complete with leather couches, stainless steel appliances, and a fireplace in the living room. If I wasn’t so annoyed by his obvious leg-up on my social status, I might have admired it or even complimented it.
He stomped in and got to work heating some water.
“Tea?” He mumbled.
How congenial. “Sure.”
He grabbed a box from the cupboard and slammed the door then went to work ripping the box open and pulling out tea bags.
Odd. At work he was all cheerful and happy. Now that he was at home he was, like, super crotchety.
Todd poured two cups of tea and set them on the granite-covered breakfast bar. I sat down next to him and place my hand on his arm. “Hey,” I prompted him to look at me. “Everything OK?”
He blew out a breath and gave me a small smile. “Sorry. That dude jumping in front of the car kind of shook me up, I guess.”
Telltale sign of trauma. Time to dig in. “Why is that?”
He shook his head with a laugh and bowed his head to run his hand through his hair. “You don’t want to know about my shitty life. Plus, it would be way too cliché while sitting at a breakfast bar with hot tea. I’m pretty sure the tea is grounds for revoking my man card in and of itself.”
I looked at him inquisitively. “Do you like tea?”
“I wouldn’t have it in my cupboard if I didn’t. But don’t alert the society of manhood. I hear they’re very unforgiving.” He coughed out a self-deprecating laugh.
This was getting interesting quickly. A traumatizing almost accident with a pedestrian? An overzealous concern for the state of his manhood? I sipped my tea. “Come on.” I took his hand in mine and pulled him towards the living room. Get the breakfast bar out of the picture. “Let’s talk where it’s more comfortable.”
I’d run this play a million times to get into somebody’s head. Men are so very fickle. A girl will confess her demons over drinks at a strip club if you ask her to. Men? Get them somewhere more comfortable where your female influence is as physically close as possible. The closer they feel they might be to fulfilling their manly duties of getting laid, the more willing they are to do the “girl” thing and talk about their feelings. And, let’s face it, the couch where you fuck girls is far more masculine than a breakfast bar.
I sat him on the couch and we both placed our mugs on the coffee table. Without hesitation, I sat in his lap and wrapped my mouth in his. I kissed him sensually, passionately, my fingers running down his face and teasing the top button of the shirt. His hands went straight for my hair – goddamn, he already knew my buttons.
A few minutes of tonsil hockey and I pulled away, satisfied. The poor guy needed to know that sex was on the table before I mentally assaulted him. “I’m going to be frank with you, Todd. It’s not every day a person gets angry over a near-miss with the pedestrian. I know there’s something deeper there.”
He raised his eyebrows. Good sign. There were guys who secretly wanted to confess their secrets, the emotions, their deeper intuitions. These ones were typically very impressed with my inquisitions. And they made for amazing sex to boot. Others were a bit more difficult to crack open – they wanted to pretend that there was nothing more than surface area. They were typically less impressed with my probing questions. I was happy to have an easy target for my first time in Braxton, ND.
Todd licked his lips. “You promise me there’s another kiss like that coming and I’ll talk all night.”
Nailed it. I saluted him. “Scout’s honor.”
He sighed and sat back on the couch, his finger running up and down my backbone. “My sister was hit by a drunk driver. She died when she was only fifteen.”
Talk about getting straight to the point. “Holy shit. How old were you?”
“Twenty. I was off at college in Boston. Came straight home and already regretted having gone so far.”
“You and your sister were close?”
He scoffed. “No, not at all. We hated each other’s guts most of our lives.”
I nestled into the crook of his arm and ran the back of my finger down his cheek. “You have regrets?”
He nodded. “She was a good kid. We just didn’t get along very well. She was into being popular and playing sports, and I mostly kept to my dungeons and dragons games and fantasy books that she thought were lame. We didn’t have much in common.”
“Well that seems pretty sensible. If you don’t have a lot of common interests, then of course you wouldn’t be close.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I decided to dig deeper. “So what happened after you came back?”
“Just the usual shit. Funeral. My dad riding my ass to get back to school. My mom crying because my sister died before we could reconcile. Lots of bullshit.”
“Wow. Sounds like a lot of pressure.”
He glanced down at me. “Little lady, you don’t know nothing about pressure. I was halfway through my engineering degree at Harvard.”
Holy fuck. I thought my eyes might pop out of my head. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?” Then it hit me. “You still feel bad, don’t you? You’re afraid you’ll lose another family member?”
He laughed. “Jesus. Even the psychology students at Harvard weren’t as good as you.” He took a sip of tea and wrapped his arms around me. “I have a little brother who’s still finishing high school. Didn’t want to miss his life, too. I wasn’t much into the Ivy League life anyways. Bunch of idiots out there.”
I looked at him incredulously.
He chuckled and hugged me close. “You don’t need to know everything about me tonight, darling. But one of these days I’ll show you my IQ scores.” He kissed my head.
“But your dad can’t have been happy about that? About you quitting school?”
“Still isn’t,” he replied. “But I can’t choose him over my conscience.”
He pulled me in for another breathtaking kiss, but I wasn’t quite ready to give in. I needed more.
Fairly breathless, I continued. “I’ve met a lot of people who have at least one parent who measures their own success on the success of their relationship with their kids. Do you think that’s the case for your dad? He doesn’t feel successful until you’ve graduated from an Ivy League school?”
“My parents now? You’ve got a funny kind of foreplay.”
“This is how I roll,” I warned. “You lay your life on the table and I’ll give you almost anything you want.”
His jaw visibly dropped. “Well then, that’s quite an offer. But I’d like a little quid pro quo. I may look like a horny oil field bastard – and I am – but that changes when I meet an interesting girl. When do I get to find out about you?”
I grinned coyly. “As soon as you ask.”
It was almost three in the morning before I’ve had enough. He shared his heart ache, he bore his soul about his need to stay close to home, his desire to give everything he had to his family, and his wishes to settle down himself someday and have a chance to have his own daughter that he could tell stories about his sister to. The whole damn thing was practically out of a Hallmark card, and I would’ve thought it was a play for sex if it weren’t for the fact that he already knew he was getting sex.
And this one actually gave a damn about my life. Not that I was all too excited about going into detail. But I gave him enough. And when I got tired of questions, I straddled his lap, pulled his mouth to mine, and dug deep. His mouth felt warm, his tongue an erotic kind of wetness. He pulled me flush against him and all the words we had said, all the secrets we had revealed spun around us, wrapping us up in a tight and binding imaginary rope.
I pulled back to catch my breath, but he had no interest in oxygen. He ran kisses down my cheek, down my neck, and down my chest. I sucked in a deep breath as he pulled my shirt over my head. Without hesitation, I reached behind my back and unhook my bra, reveling in the hunger in his eyes as I pulled it off and threw it to the floor. I ran my hands through his hair and pulled his mouth to my tits.
He grazed my back lightly with his fingers, one hand on each side, and I watched his tongue sneak out of his mouth and lick the peak of my breast. The touch was so light, so tender, but enough to send shockwaves through my body. I threw my head back as his lips pressed against me, with an all too subtle suck of my nipple.
I reached down to his chest and started unbuttoning his shirt as he moved over to my other breast and tickled me in the exact same way.
He then cupped my face with his hand and prodded my mouth wide open with his.
“God, you taste good,” he whispered. “Perfect.”
That sent my hackles up, but I was too horny to pay attention to the warning signs I’d experienced so many times before. Maybe it was just a coincidence. He was too smart to fall too hard.
I pulled his shirt off and, as I tossed it to the floor, he pulled me under him on the couch as if I were light as a feather.
I’d always had a weak spot for a guy who could throw me around.
Our faces smashed together as our hands explored each other, our skin rubbing like ice on fire. I cradled his crotch in my hand and begin to stroke, delighted at the moans that came from the depths of his throat.
“I need you naked,” he said. “Now.”
He made his way south and blew my mind as he unbuttoned my pants with his teeth. Good God, I had definitely picked the right person for my first oilfield romp.
My pants and underwear hit the floor just seconds later. I lay there coyly as he stared down at me. “You coming back for more? Or do I need to handle things myself?” I teased. I tiptoed my fingers down my belly. His hand caught mine just before I reached the goal line.
“Oh no, baby. I’ll take it from here.”
He prodded my knees apart before running his fingers between my legs. Ohhhhhhhh gawwwwwwwwwd.
He leaned over me to tease my breasts with his tongue once more as feelings of sweetness filled me. I took advantage of his proximity and unclipped his belt and the button of his jeans, slipping my finger underneath his boxer shorts to grab his cock. He felt good. Very good. I was dying to see him, find out what he felt like on the inside of me.
“Stop,” I said. “I’m going to come.”
“You go right ahead, sweetheart,” he murmured.
“No.” I pushed him up on his knees and pulled him in for a saucy kiss. He left me breathless. “I want to come with you.”
I pulled his jeans off and set them on the couch, straddling him once again. He wrapped his arms around me, pushed inside me, and an impermissible sigh escaped my lips as he filled me to the brim of ecstasy.
The air was sensual in the inches between us. “You feel really good,” I whispered as our bodies move slowly together and then apart and then together again. My buttons were flaming but I wanted this to last.
He placed his hand in my hair and then pulled, giving him VIP access to my neck. “You’re amazing,” he said. “Next time I want to taste all of you.”
Next time? Oh shit.
But the tension was building and by the time his hands made it back up to my very sensitive nipples, the tension broke and I soared. Sweat dripped down his chest as he came with me, every muscle in our bodies in sync, shoving deeper and deeper, goosebumps spreading, tingles aching, satisfaction… All the things I love about sex.
I lay my head on his chest, his breathing erratic. He stroked my back and kissed my hair.
“You are something else,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
I kissed his chest and ran my fingers down the muscles of his arm. “I know.”
For the next few weeks, I avoided his advances. Every day at work became more awkward. I put time and energy into helping him realize the one thing about me no one ever expected: I was simply not a one-man woman.