Silk Stalkings (2 page)

Ignoring her, Mr. Ten crouched down to examine her tire with
his hand. He caressed the tread firmly. “I’m not finding an obvious hole or a
nail or anything.” Looking up at her, he asked, “Do you have any Fix-A-Flat?”

Shaking her head, she said, “No.”

She didn’t know what Fix-A-Flat was, but if she had it, it
seemed logical she’d know it. Drops of rain mixed with a slight breeze, misting
her hair and face. Her makeup would run and her hair would do one of two
things—go flat and limp or frizz like nobody’s business. She couldn’t pick one
bad hair scenario over the other.

“I have some in my truck.” Without waiting for a thank-you
or an objection—not that Yancey would object—he crossed the parking lot to his
truck.

After stowing his salad in the cab, Mr. Ten returned to her
with a can of what she guessed was Fix-A-Flat. He knelt to do as the name
suggested—fix her flat. She wrapped her arms around her body and watched
helplessly, like a damn damsel in distress instead of a fiery temptress.

“We should give it a few minutes to make sure there’s no
hole,” he said. “I’d hate for it to go flat along some dark street in the
middle of nowhere.”

You and me both, handsome.

Rain sprinkled down on them. He didn’t seem to notice. Of
course,
he
wasn’t wearing a short skirt and thin stockings. That would
have been strange. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that said “Ramos Towing Service”
over the pocket. The entire ensemble stretched nicely over muscles that rippled
in all the appropriate places and bulged in others.

“How can I repay you?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t ask for
a credit card or money. Yancey had a Visa card, checkbook and cash, but she
could hear really cheesy porn music in her head. She wanted to repay his
kindness with kink—and cross a few dirty deeds off her naughty list so she
could get on with the rest of her life.

“Forget about it,” he said, glancing away. “I’ll pick up
some more Fix-A-Flat tomorrow. No big deal.”

“How about coffee? Now…or some other time.” Yancey was no
good at picking up guys. Her tow-truck hero probably had a girlfriend or a
wife. Why wouldn’t he? Mr. Ten was tall and fit and ruggedly handsome. Dark
eyes. Darker hair. No ring, though. But some men didn’t wear jewelry,
especially around heavy machinery…like a tow truck, just for instance.

The rain came down in drops now, instead of the misty
sprinkling of before. She wiped a damp tendril of hair from her face.

Hands planted on his waist, he asked, “Do you have a coat,
miss?”

She shook her head. The weather had been quite pleasant when
she’d left for work that morning.

“Better come sit in my truck while we wait to see if your
tire will hold.” He swept her away with a warm hand on her elbow.

Yancey went along willingly and wantonly. He opened the
passenger side door for her. Sliding up onto the seat, she noticed that the cab
smelled of one of those pine air fresheners, motor oil and man. Especially man.
The combination made her lightheaded. The man smell overpowered her senses when
he
climbed in on the driver’s side and slammed the door. The bag with
his salad rested between them on the seat like a chaperone.

“I’m Diego.” He held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you.” She placed her hand in his, so warm and
strong and rough like fine-grade sandpaper. She imagined his hands firmly
gripping her skin, his fingers tangling in her hair. Preferably before it went
limp or frizzed, so she was on a deadline. She fantasized about those same
fingers climbing inside her, checking her for leaks as he’d checked her tire. A
jolt of excitement shot through her. “I’m Yancey.”

He turned the engine of the truck over, adjusting the blowers.
Switching on the windshield wipers, he said, “So far, so good. Tire might
hold.”

Yancey set her purse on the floorboard of his truck, right
next to her ankle. She rubbed her hands in front of the heater blower and
wondered why this Diego character appeared more interested in her tire than in
her. She’d replicated her ensemble from a full-page advertisement in a popular
fashion magazine and freshened her makeup before leaving work for the night.
The fragrance she wore had cost a small fortune and guaranteed instant
attraction.

“Hope so,” she said. Damp heat rose off her wet shirt, which
stuck to her skin.

“Got a spare? Just in case it goes flat on us.” His eyes
assessed the falling rain, which seemed like it would never let up. His
defeated look told her that he didn’t fancy changing a tire in the pouring
rain, but he would. She guessed he’d done as much, if not more, in worse
weather.

“I imagine I do.” Yancey hoped the spare wasn’t flat. “How
do you suppose the tire would just go flat like that?”

She’d had a run of bad luck lately. Items lost or stolen
from her purse, desk and even the break room refrigerator at work. Her email
account had been hacked. And now a flat tire. She wisely decided not to ask
herself what was next.

Diego shrugged, assessing her little car being pummeled with
rain. “Slow leak. Small nail. Vandalism.”

“You think the offensive, beer guzzling, cigarette-smoking
porn reader at the checkout counter did it because I wouldn’t,” she grimaced,
“you know…uh…?”

“Let him buy your affections with twenty dollars in
groceries?” he finished for her.

“I was going to say because I wouldn’t share a beer with
him, but…yes.” It had technically only been eighteen dollars and fifty-seven
cents in groceries. And prostitution wasn’t on her naughty list. Never would
be.

“You hungry?” Without waiting for a reply, Diego reached
across her lap to open the glove box. His forearm brushed against her thigh,
sending a shock of anticipation zipping around her body. He riffled through the
contents of his glove box, coming back with a plastic fork covered in clear
wrap. “I’ve got plenty.”

Diego didn’t wait for an answer. He handed her the fork and
opened his to-go container. Her stomach rumbled when she was faced with his
salad, which resembled a feast.

Nervous as usual when in the presence of the opposite sex,
Yancey said, “Did you know tomatoes are rich in lycopene?”

“I did not,” he replied, probably regretting allowing her
into his truck, due to potential boredom and possible annoyance. But she often
spewed random trivia to combat her social awkwardness.

While she had him bored, annoyed and held captive, she
added, “Tomatoes have natural antioxidants.”

“You don’t say.” He unwrapped his plastic fork. “I heard a
rumor that tomatoes are actually a fruit just masquerading as a vegetable. Sort
of the chameleon of the produce world.”

She laughed and relaxed into the seat, deciding to spare him
her knowledge of the benefits of fiber.

They shared his salad and a bottle of water, her lips
wrapping around the bottle after his. Sort of like a secondhand kiss. His
avoidance of her told Yancey that she was far more into him than he was into
her. Her plan was to wham-bam him, leaving him in a puddle of warm, wet regret
and fond memories. If only he weren’t so indifferent to her.
The story of my
life.

Guys she’d dated claimed Yancey was the type of girl you
settled down and married, not the kind you screwed dizzy. Unfortunately, she’d
yet to find a man ready to settle down. They were busy sowing their wild oats
before the inevitable settling. Her last boyfriend had gone so far as to rate
her sexual aptitude as average. More specifically a
C
minus, and he was
grading on a curve. He’d left her for an actual
C
minus college co-ed,
who was a sexual valedictorian.

After that, Yancey had decided to do her own sowing. Not
immediately after being dumped, of course. That would have been impulsive. No,
she’d suffered the customary three months mourning the loss of the
relationship, followed by her weighty pro-versus-con decision to take a crash course
in sexology. Not a quick decision by any means. Another three months of
research into all things carnal had followed her decision. Books. Articles.
Pornography. And field trips to dance clubs and popular nightspots to observe
the average whore in her natural environment.

In the interim, she’d graduated from college and found an
entry-level job in her field of study. Her college field of study, not her
extracurricular field of study in slutology. That was more of a hobby.

Diego stuffed the empty salad container into the equally
empty grocery bag. “We made short work of that.”

“We sure did.” She wished she were fluent in sexual innuendo
so she could offer to let him make short work of her…you know, without actually
saying it. Because that would be embarrassing. Especially if he refused.
Rejection wasn’t something she’d factored into her research.

Eyes turned toward the sky, from which the rain fell in a
torrent, he said, “Should I drive you home? Or would you prefer to brave the
elements? I could follow you, just to be on the safe side.”

“I’m tired of being on the safe side.” Yancey’s voice came
out husky and breathy, as if she were coming down with a gnarly cold. She
leaned in, clamped her hand on his neck, pulling him closer, and shot her
tongue in his ear.

He plastered himself against the driver’s side door, taking
her with him since she still had a nice, firm grasp on his neck.

“I want to be reckless,” she whispered in his ear. In case
he didn’t get her meaning, she added, “with you.” Yancey kissed his neck and
feared she wasn’t being blunt enough. “Here.” She licked his earlobe. “Now.”

Stop me when I make sense.

Chapter Two

Yancey’s tongue shot into Diego’s ear, wet and warm,
resulting in an instant erection.

His dick had already been chubby due to her proximity in the
cozy cab of his truck, especially on the heels of her cock tease in the grocery
store. The white, wet shirt clinging to her skin hadn’t helped to alleviate the
pressure building within him. Her scent of roses reminded him of his grandmother’s
garden, a thought that should have eased his discomfort but didn’t. She was all
things wholesome and, at the same time, everything forbidden.

Yancey had a pixie-like laugh and a hundred-watt smile. Her
face—so sweet, framed by reddish curls—made him think of everything he held
dear. Family. Friends. The future. Working hard and playing harder. With her.
She was the total happily-ever-after package wrapped in a disguise of
immorality. Like Little Bo Peep meets Girls Gone Wild.

The word “reckless” rang loud in his head and pushed
everything he held dear right out of his mind, replacing rational thought with
images of sex, sex and more sex. Also with her.

“I don’t do
reckless
anymore,” he said, rather
unconvincingly. Enough hangovers, pregnancy scares and nights in jail cured
acute irresponsibility. His auto insurance cost too damn much money because of
one too many speeding tickets. His credit needed some TLC. Diego had some
regrettable tequila-induced ink on his flesh that might scare a respectable woman
away. All good reasons to reform his bad-boy ways.

Kneeling on his bench seat, Yancey tightened her grasp on
the back of his neck, the other hand resting lightly against his chest. Her
hand slid down his torso toward Diego’s zipper.

He melted into the seat. “Oh.”

“Make an exception?” Yancey placed her lips on his neck.
“For me?” She peppered kisses on his neck and throat. “Please.”

Diego shook his head but also thrust his cock against her
open palm, willing to let her try her hand at changing his mind.

“Pretty, pretty please with sugar.” She pressed her palm
against the hardness in his jeans. “How about with a cherry on top?” Her tongue
swiped at his lips.

Placing his hand over hers, he curled her fingers around the
length of his shaft where it strained against his jeans. The rain continued to
beat against the windshield nearly as hard as his heart pounded in his chest.
His blood supply gushed straight to his cock.

“Is that a yes?” She chuckled impishly.

“You are over twenty-one, right?” he asked.

Seemed an awkward time and place to ask for picture ID, but
later would be a worse time and a police station would be a worse place.
Despite her schoolgirl attire, he’d put her age in the early to midtwenties,
which was more in his comfort zone than twenty-one, his personal age of
consent. Having been a former nightclub bouncer in a previous career, he’d
gotten pretty good at guessing ages. It wasn’t an exact science that would hold
up in court, though. Asking was good policy.

“Way over,” she replied, tickling his ear with her breath
and her tongue.

Diego leaned his head closer to steal a sensual kiss, giving
her his answer.
I’ll start looking for my soul mate tomorrow.
He growled
low in his throat when she slipped her tongue into his mouth. His palm cupped
her breast through the warm, damp fabric of her cotton shirt and lacy bra.
Squeezing gently, he thumbed her nipple, bringing the tip to a hard peak that
he rolled back and forth beneath his pad.

He was a total breast man. There was something poetic about
a woman’s chest, the curves and angles, hard and soft together, complementing
one another. He’d write an ode to her nipples if he had a talent for that sort
of thing.

“I like the way you say yes,” she said against his lips.

Diego switched off the truck’s ignition. “I like the way you
say…everything.” He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged
playfully.

Yancey worked at the fly of his jeans. Not knowing what she
intended for him—hand job, blowjob or full-on vehicular sex—only heightened his
excitement. It was her party. He was merely a guest. The guest of honor. Diego
groaned when she slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxer-briefs and
petted his cock with her soft, warm hands. His heartbeat drummed in his ears,
drowning out noise and thoughts.

She touched him tenderly. Not at all what he’d expected.
Some bad girls liked it rough, choking and yanking his dick as if they were out
for retribution for a crime committed by some other guy. He’d gladly pay the
price in exchange for a tug. But Yancey feathered her fingers along his length,
possibly lulling him into a false sense of security. She coiled her fingers
around the base.
Here it comes.
He braced himself.

Instead of strangling or twisting his cock like a
punishment, she leaned in and kissed a path down his chest. Diego fanned his
fingers on her back, tracing the line of her spine through her shirt. She was
put together like a work of fine art. When she placed a sweet kiss on the head
of his cock, he sucked a breath through his clenched teeth.

“Uhhh,” he groaned when she swirled her tongue around the
ridge of his cock. “Yes.”

She giggled right before skimming her lips from the head of
his cock to the base. Diego rested his head against the seat and closed his
eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the steady suction of her lips hugging and her
tongue caressing the length of his cock over and over again. His balls
tightened with the buildup of pressure. He found his breathing naturally
synchronizing with the pace of her blowjob.

Diego swept her curls away with his hand to watch her suck
his cock by the dim light of a nearby parking lot lamppost. “Damn, girl,” he
whispered, tangling his fingers in her hair.

Yancey dragged her tongue along the length of his cock. She
uncurled her legs from beneath her, spreading out on the bench seat as if she
might settle in and blow him all night long. Lying on her stomach, draped
across his lap, she bent her knees so that her high heels swayed in the cab
beside him, visible to anyone who might wander by.

Diego checked the vicinity.

“God damn,” he muttered. A cop car crawled slowly through
the lot. “Cops.”

She swallowed his entire cock, as if the word “cops” excited
her beyond measure. Diego felt the head of his dick butt up against the back of
her throat. She sucked and he groaned. He corralled her feet with his arm,
holding the heels of her shoes down against her butt. The cops cruised closer,
nosed their patrol car in next to his driver’s side door and rolled down their
window.

Diego rolled his window down as well. Luckily his truck sat
twelve or more inches above the patrol car.

“Hey, Ramos,” the driver said.

Diego knew them well enough. “Patterson.” He bobbed his head
at the duo. “Milovich.”

He couldn’t manage much more of a greeting. Not with his
cock getting the royal treatment at the hands and lips of his devil in
distress. If he got popped for a lewd sexual act in public, he’d lose his
contract with the city. He could kiss his towing business goodbye. He’d have to
rely on John Q. Public calling him for breakdowns and flat tires. Or worse yet,
repossess cars for the bank—once he got out of jail, of course.

Even the woeful thought of losing his business didn’t lessen
the pleasure of Yancey’s tongue hugging the length of his cock. The unwanted
intrusion of the police couldn’t soften the stiff erection between her lips.
His heart raced due to a mixture of fear and excitement.

This is why I don’t act reckless. Anymore.

He’d thought Yancey would let up on the cock sucking with
the cops not even four feet away, but no. If anything she sucked harder and
faster, her thumb and index finger tightening around the base of his cock.
Diego squirmed in his seat.

“Did you roll on that accident on the interstate last
night?” asked the younger patrolman, Milovich.

“Uh…yeah…grisly,” he confirmed. “Car was totaled. Driver
DOA.” The gruesome memory should have dampened his desire. He bit at the inside
of his lip to add an element of discomfort to battle the flood of pleasure.

“You just getting off for the night?” Patterson asked.

What?
Diego scoffed through his impulse to moan. “I’m
never off-duty.” It was true. He’d take a call anytime, day or night. Weekends.
Holidays. 24/7. Whatever it took to get a strong foothold in the business and
prove his dependability. Engaging in an act of oral sex in the supermarket
parking lot was not a good example of being dependable. “Just stopped to eat
and wait out the rain.” Thank God for the steady pounding of the rain drowning
out the soft, sensual noises of his damsel in distress.

He was so afraid Yancey would make him come right then,
right there. It was equal parts agony and ecstasy, threatening to splinter him
into pieces. Diego was doubly afraid she’d stop, sit up tall and wipe her mouth
on the back of her hand before introducing herself to the police. A drop of
sweat trickled down his back despite the cool evening.

“Are you feeling all right, Ramos?” Patterson scrutinized
him with a furrowed brow.

“Fine. Fine. Tired.” He gritted his teeth. “Might be coming
down with…something. A cold. The flu.” He was babbling and sweating and
twitching every so often.

“Go home,” Milovich said. “Get some sleep.”

“Will do.” Diego sort of saluted them while rolling up his
window.

They waved and backed out of the parking stall. Diego tried
to concentrate on watching them leave the lot and pull onto the road. Not an
easy task under the circumstances. His impulse was to thrust his cock into
Yancey’s sweet mouth and spiral into oblivion. The cops’ taillights faded and
vanished into the darkness.

“Ah.” Diego closed his eyes and shook his head. Choking out
a laugh, he said, “Girl, you are crazy.” He did not need any crazy in his life.
Starting tomorrow.
No. After this blowjob.
Unless she wanted to
fuck him. Soon, he vowed. Soon he’d eradicate the word “crazy” from his life,
from his vocabulary.

She laughed, rising to her hands and knees on the bench seat
next to him.

Diego reached between her legs to pet the panel of fabric
covering her pussy. He owed her a little pleasurable payback. “Tell me, are
they white?”

She stretched her spine like a cat. “My panties? Yes.
Virginal white. Would you like to see them?”

“All in good time,” he muttered, enjoying the feel of wet
satin at his fingertips.

His finger worked between the elastic and her skin. Diego
dragged his finger between the slick folds of her pussy. Recalling how gentle
she’d been with his cock, he eased his middle finger softly into her warmth and
wetness with the same tenderness.

“Oooh,” she cooed. Yancey wriggled and writhed against his
finger. Rising up on her knees, she spread her legs in a V. Her head tilted to
accommodate the ceiling clearance. “Uhm.”

Diego checked the parking lot again. The windows were fogged
so that they were totally obscured. Not that there was much activity at the
grocery store at this time of night. Night owls and insomniacs.

“Let’s clear this steering wheel and gearshift, shall we?”
Diego said.

“Yes,” she mouthed against his lips. Yancey devoured his
tongue.

He wasn’t sure if she was answering his question with her
reply, or simply commending his fingering of her pussy. Diego slid across the
seat without ending the kiss. She was off in her own little world, judging by
the blank expression on her face when they finally did break apart to breathe.
Yancey bit her lower lip, her eyes closed. She wasn’t into cooperating, only
enjoying, or so it seemed. He manipulated her body as if she were a rag doll,
positioning her leg over his so that she was straddling his lap. Diego dragged
his wallet out of his back pocket with his free hand, managing to find his one
and only condom. Just in case she wanted to take this escapade all the way.

Diego added a second finger to stroke her pussy. “You like?”

Yancey nodded, her mouth open, eyes closed. She grasped his
shoulders so tightly he’d almost certainly be bruised tomorrow.

“Lift your skirt, sweetheart.” His words were thick with
desire, more so now than when he’d tried his hand at conversing with the police
mid-blowjob. “I’m ready to see those white panties of yours.”

With one hand she lifted her pleated skirt, holding it against
her abdomen. Her other hand remained firmly on his shoulder. She leaned back
against the dashboard, using it and him to stabilize her as she roiled against
his touch. Her hips swiveled to an imaginary beat. God, he wanted to switch the
dome light on, but feared it would draw too much attention to them. Diego could
clearly see her white panties covering her sweet pussy as it undulated against
his fingers. Her thigh-high silk stockings hugged her legs like a second skin.

“Girl, you are hot,” he said. “I’m rusty at this, but let’s
get these panties off.” Easier said than done in the cramped quarters of the
cab of his truck. Diego worked at her panties, finally needing to remove his
fingers from her pussy.

“No,” she whined.

“Shhh, now.” He peeled her panties away with a little more
help from her than earlier when he’d tried to scoot the two of them across the
seat. “There. That’s better.”

His fingers danced through her folds again before he
inserted them into her pussy and resumed massaging what he hoped was her
G-spot. As he’d told her, it had been a while, and Yancey wasn’t offering much
feedback due to being busy biting her lower lip. Some women were quite bossy
during sex, which was fine with him. Quiet was good too.

Diego stroked Yancey’s channel faster and harder without
crossing the line into being too rough, like some boyfriends she’d had who
didn’t know the difference between a woman’s labia and her clitoris. Not that
she’d known, either, until she delved in and researched anatomy and sexuality.