Forever by Allyson Young

annoyingly made her wonder what he’d had in mind for the rest of the night’s activities. She let the condoms lie, scattered as they were, but snatched up the lube, following him as he worked the locks free and exited her home. Her steps faltered when she realized she hadn’t reset the alarm once they were inside. There was that paradox again—feeling both protected and anxious. She shook it off.
    The well -lit shared driveway, compliments of her paranoid neighbor, gave her a clear view of his fine ass and oh-so-controlled gait. No massive erection to impede his grace this time—just affronted male. Amy wound up like the pitcher she’d been on the softball team in juvie and let fly. The bottle sailed through the air to smack the windshield of macho man’s big black truck dead center, the plastic cap likely popping open, because the liquid sprayed out to scent the night. And to coat the glass and hood.
    Amy turned on one bare heel and ran like all the furies of hell were on her tail to make it safely inside her house and throw all the locks, managing to punch in the security code with a trembling finger. She huddled behind the door, breathless at her actions, struggling against impending hysterical laughter. She heard no sound for a really long time, the anticipation nearly killing her, then thought she heard male voices. Listening hard—was that a scuffle? Just as she screwed up the courage to open the door, she heard one slam, and caught the grinding of a starter. He was leaving. She hit the lights and headed for her room, using the glowing square of illumination cast from beyond her bedroom door as her guide.
    Hurling herself face down on the mattress, Amy laughed until she cried, the tears flowing with surprising ease, a luxury she rarely allowed herself. They cleansed her somehow, coupled as they were with mirth. It wasn’t her birthday any more, the hour well past midnight, but it was one to remember, anyhow. She decided she didn’t feel badly used, having shaken up a misogynist womanizer who had a little too much faith in his prowess. And if that something deep inside of her ached and whimpered, well, it was nothing more than she deserved. Secretly hoping for something special was always doomed for failure and disappointment. On that thought she crashed, the events of the night too much for her overloaded system.
    ****
    Dean stood on the neighbor’s side of the drive, scowling at the oily residue on his truck, unwillingly smelling strawberries. This was bullshit. The whole evening had been off. He was still unsettled, in fact so unsettled, he was thinking about breaking into a certain blonde’s home and spending the rest of the night, or day, or week, or month, as long as it took, to discuss the anointing of his truck, to satisfy his burgeoning need for her, and incidentally, make her take it back . Not that great? It had been sensational , all of it.
    She’d screamed her release. The woman loved blowing him. He had scented her arousal. It was an amazing blow job, none better , and he just had to open his big mouth and fuck it up. Nice afterglow. And she’d used a safe word! What the fuck? He was standing outside a woman’s house, his truck lubed, second guessing his sexual performance, having met and kissed a birthday girl and witnessed her amazing submission along with a hundred other people. Dean shook his head. Time to chalk this one up to experience and head home. He was a serious, dangerous businessman with a secret that could get him killed, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted, not even by a precocious, unpredictable, beautiful, blonde Amazon.
    “What are you doing standing out here?” The voice belonged to a thin, bespectacled man wearing a jacket over p ajamas, clutching a cell phone. Dean recognized the type. Powerless, so he tried to lord it over others with petty enforcement of so-called rules.
    “I was just leaving.” Better he let it go and not give little Hitler here any reason to