slightest bit steamy. Falvey’s skin is damp underneath the band of her bra. Still, even with her naked to the waist, Nick can’t quite get at her the way he wants, jeans too snug around her hips. He clucks his tongue, nudging her onto the middle seat and swinging her legs up to work on her boots.
“Your nudity rules suck,” Taryn tells him, letting her thighs fall open. The whole truck smells like her now, on his fingers and everywhere, vanilla mixed with salt. Nick hopes it sticks.
“Yeah, well. Next time don’t wear such tight jeans.” He leaves her socks on in half-assed concession to where they are and strips everything else, shucking his own coat and tee so Falvey will stop complaining about being naked alone. She’s pretty, Jesus Christ, high girlish breasts and that neat rib cage, the pale curve of her hip so fine it could have been inked. Nick doesn’t know how he forgot, but he did.
Falvey bites her lip. Her mouth has that smudged look from too much kissing, like it’s been erased and redrawn repeatedly. “Next time, huh?”
Nick blows out a breath. He wants to lay her out across the bench seat but there isn’t room, small and skinny as she is. “Sure,” he says, pulling her back into his lap and shrugging. “Seeing as how we’re working on a twice a year tradition here.” He ducks his head to suck at a puffy nipple, not keen on waiting for her reaction.
“Hmm.” Taryn curls her warm, bare arms around his neck and holds tight, reaching down between them to line him up. Her fingers are cold through the latex. “Maybe we won’t wait six months next time,” is all she says, and Nick doesn’t have time to answer because the very next second she’s sitting down on his cock.
“Fuck.” She’s snug, something Nick knew from having his fingers in her—remembered from the night of the fire—but it’s different to feel, her head tipping back and those pale eyebrows drawing together. “You okay?” he asks when he catches his breath, petting up the ladder of her spine. She took him all at once without pausing, one fast slide home. Too fast, maybe.
Falvey nods. “Fine.” She wiggles around, getting used to it. Starts up a rhythm after a beat. “You?”
Nick closes his eyes against the tight drag of her body. “Yeah, Falvey.” He laughs, strangled. “I’m doing good.”
Taryn hums to herself then, this low, pleased sound like she knows she’s getting to him. “Good,” she echoes, squeezing her arms around his neck as he palms up and down her rib cage.
Nick growls quietly, how tight she is, how neatly her chilly ass fits into his hands. He’s only been with one other woman since Maddie, a private-school teacher from Great Barrington with blonde hair in a tidy knot at the crown of her head. Nick hadn’t used a condom since high school and the latex felt strange and impersonal, like he could have been with anyone and not been able to tell. He’s glad for it now though, how it cools him down a bit. Falvey looks like a Renaissance painting come to life, all that pale skin and fiery hair. If he isn’t careful she’ll end him way too fast.
And she’s trying to, he realizes after a second, these dirty twists of her hips and a singularity of purpose he recognizes from when he’s watched her do CPR, laser-beam focus like she thinks she’s got something to prove here. Like she thinks she owes him one. Nick wonders about Falvey sometimes, her proud back and how she’s always offering him gas money. Wonders what it is about her specifically that makes an orgasm feel like a debt to paid.
“Hey,” he tells her, nudging her backward so he can get to her breasts, thumb at her nipples and learn the weight of her. He wants to know every single detail of how she’s put together with an urgency that surprises him, how long it’s been since he’s felt anything like it. Whenever they next do this, he’s sure as hell going to take his time. “Relax.”
Taryn’s eyes narrow. “You
“Your nudity rules suck,” Taryn tells him, letting her thighs fall open. The whole truck smells like her now, on his fingers and everywhere, vanilla mixed with salt. Nick hopes it sticks.
“Yeah, well. Next time don’t wear such tight jeans.” He leaves her socks on in half-assed concession to where they are and strips everything else, shucking his own coat and tee so Falvey will stop complaining about being naked alone. She’s pretty, Jesus Christ, high girlish breasts and that neat rib cage, the pale curve of her hip so fine it could have been inked. Nick doesn’t know how he forgot, but he did.
Falvey bites her lip. Her mouth has that smudged look from too much kissing, like it’s been erased and redrawn repeatedly. “Next time, huh?”
Nick blows out a breath. He wants to lay her out across the bench seat but there isn’t room, small and skinny as she is. “Sure,” he says, pulling her back into his lap and shrugging. “Seeing as how we’re working on a twice a year tradition here.” He ducks his head to suck at a puffy nipple, not keen on waiting for her reaction.
“Hmm.” Taryn curls her warm, bare arms around his neck and holds tight, reaching down between them to line him up. Her fingers are cold through the latex. “Maybe we won’t wait six months next time,” is all she says, and Nick doesn’t have time to answer because the very next second she’s sitting down on his cock.
“Fuck.” She’s snug, something Nick knew from having his fingers in her—remembered from the night of the fire—but it’s different to feel, her head tipping back and those pale eyebrows drawing together. “You okay?” he asks when he catches his breath, petting up the ladder of her spine. She took him all at once without pausing, one fast slide home. Too fast, maybe.
Falvey nods. “Fine.” She wiggles around, getting used to it. Starts up a rhythm after a beat. “You?”
Nick closes his eyes against the tight drag of her body. “Yeah, Falvey.” He laughs, strangled. “I’m doing good.”
Taryn hums to herself then, this low, pleased sound like she knows she’s getting to him. “Good,” she echoes, squeezing her arms around his neck as he palms up and down her rib cage.
Nick growls quietly, how tight she is, how neatly her chilly ass fits into his hands. He’s only been with one other woman since Maddie, a private-school teacher from Great Barrington with blonde hair in a tidy knot at the crown of her head. Nick hadn’t used a condom since high school and the latex felt strange and impersonal, like he could have been with anyone and not been able to tell. He’s glad for it now though, how it cools him down a bit. Falvey looks like a Renaissance painting come to life, all that pale skin and fiery hair. If he isn’t careful she’ll end him way too fast.
And she’s trying to, he realizes after a second, these dirty twists of her hips and a singularity of purpose he recognizes from when he’s watched her do CPR, laser-beam focus like she thinks she’s got something to prove here. Like she thinks she owes him one. Nick wonders about Falvey sometimes, her proud back and how she’s always offering him gas money. Wonders what it is about her specifically that makes an orgasm feel like a debt to paid.
“Hey,” he tells her, nudging her backward so he can get to her breasts, thumb at her nipples and learn the weight of her. He wants to know every single detail of how she’s put together with an urgency that surprises him, how long it’s been since he’s felt anything like it. Whenever they next do this, he’s sure as hell going to take his time. “Relax.”
Taryn’s eyes narrow. “You
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