The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [90]
“It’s fine.”
He opened the door. “I have a blanket in the back. Ground’s soft.”
So he’d come here before. A regular lovers’ lane. She watched him in the side mirror. He pulled out a square army blanket and unfolded it on the ground. No iron pipes. No handcuffs. Just a Don Juan after all. She opened her door and stepped out.
The night was chilly, penetrating the haze pressed over her conscience. Then he stepped forward and grabbed her, pushing her against the truck. His mouth swooped down and he stabbed his tongue into her mouth.
The taste hit her hard, the intrusion shattering her apathy until she almost gagged. Then she remembered this was what she was supposed to want. She forced her body to relax. She wound her arms around his neck and tried not to wince as his meaty chest crushed her breast.
He sank to his knees, began to unbutton her jacket.
“Wait,” she said. She didn’t want him to find her gun. “I’ll do it. You take off your shirt.”
His eyes were dark with lust. His thick fingers went instantly to his shirt.
“Turn around,” she told him.
“Why?”
“Because I’m fucking shy. Turn around.”
He shrugged and did as he was told. She stripped off her jacket, then unfastened her shoulder holster and placed it on the ground beneath her jacket.
He turned back around and attacked her, tearing off her silk shell. He pressed his teeth against her neck. He spanned her waist with his hands. He brought his fingers up and kneaded her small breasts as if he could force them to be larger, more voluptuous. She stood still, her hands at her sides.
His hands found her bra clasp and undid it, baring her breasts to the night wind. The briskness made her nipples harden and peak. He took it personally, crowing his satisfaction. Hot and wet, his mouth fastened upon a nipple and sucked voraciously.
She looked down. She watched his head bob up and down at her breast. She heard slurping, grunts and groans. His hips were beginning to rock insistently.
He switched to her other breast, his jaw working furiously.
She shivered. She thought in the back of her mind that the stars were very beautiful and that she was very small beneath them.
His hands fastened on the waistband of her slacks and pulled them down along with her sensible panties. She didn’t protest.
“Man, baby, you are hot,” he said. “A real fucking piece of ass.”
She looked at him blankly, wondering if he was even looking at her body. She was not hot. She had flat breasts and almost no hips. She was too thin and wiry. Roger had often complained that there wasn’t a single soft spot on all of her body. She was muscle and sinew. There were young boys more feminine than her.
The stud pushed off his pants. His dick sprang out, huge and purple, alien and grotesque. At least Roger had been small.
She took a step back. It was too late.
He dragged her down to the blanket, already snuffling between her breasts, his fingers kneading them painfully.
“Baby, baby, baby,” he muttered thickly. “Oh, baby, baby.”
She tried to shut her ears against the sound.
“Kiss me. Come on, darling, don’t be shy. Kiss me. Touch me. Go wild.”
He placed his lips on hers as if he knew she needed the encouragement. Then he grabbed her hand and wrapped it around his dick. She flinched at the feel of it throbbing between her fingers. It was alive. She should want it, she should revel in it. She should cry, Oh, yes, fuck me.
She wanted to run.
He took her head between his hands. “Do you nibble? Come on, don’t be shy. Swallow me whole, baby. You’ll like what I give you.”
Before she could react, he forced her head down. Now his dick was pressing against her cheek, smelling overpoweringly of musk.
“Come on, what are you waiting for?” For the first time, his voice was impatient.
Kiss the willy. Come on, Marion, you know what I want. Be a good girl and open your mouth. Kiss the willy. Kiss Daddy