River Walk: Ten Kinky Collaborations Page 13

“It’s the only safe and clean hotel in town.”

  I nod and double tap my phone. I’m more than ready for that bath, and now some heavy drinking. “Ma’am I need your contact information.” I cringe at ma’am, “It’s Macy, Macy Seduva.”

  “Phone number?”

  He goes on to get my billing address. Absentmindedly, I give him my New York address.

  “Any other suggestions?”

  He looks at me across the counter with a dark glare, “Regarding?”

  “A place to stay?”

  He doesn’t answer me he just picks up the phone. “Joan, it’s Roy. Yes, I’m well thank you. I have an out of town customer that needs a room.” There’s a long pause, and Roy walks away. I can’t quite hear him, so I lean over the counter to get closer. He moves further away, and is now out of sight. I start to pace. I’m antsy.

  “Turns out there are no rooms available.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I asked for another suggestion.”

  “You can stay with me.” It’s not an invitation. It’s a command. Instantly my mouth takes over.

  “Like hell I will! I’ll find a place.”

  “You’ll just be more pissed off when you end up with bedbugs or something worse.”

  “That’s a little dramatic.”

  “Ma’am, Roy’s right. This is a small town; the other motel is where the local junkies and prostitutes live.”

  “I’ll get a cab to another town.”

  Mocking laughter fills the space. I storm out of the office and start researching on my phone. The nearest cab service is in a town called Olathe, and it’s a hundred and eight miles away. The surrounding towns are small. I still search for a hotel, and there are no available photos. That’s never a good sign. Fury is filling my body. I have a headache, and my whole body is tense.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I recently had given up smoking, but I found myself in desperate need of a cigarette. It was the only real vice I ever had. I just so happened to have found an unopened pack when I was packing my stuff for the move. I frantically search my bags in my trunk. I kneel on the bumper so I can get in further. “I know you’re in here fuckers,” like talking to them is going to make them appear faster. I should have put them in my purse, but I wasn’t going to risk soiling my new car smell with stale cigarette scent. My portfolios shifted so I restack them and find my small bag with my swimwear. I dig around in there and find my pack smashed and distorted. Peeling off the cellophane and stepping down onto the ground, I hold my breath that at least some are intact to get me through this ordeal. I flip the top open to find over half of the filters crushed flat. I pull out the smashed ones two at a time. Less than half the pack is left. Oh well, this will have to do for now. I look up feeling relief and notice everyone staring at me. I back up, then slip, but regain my footing before I fall. I look down expecting to see some kind of shop hazard only to find that I discarded my smashed cigs right onto the ground. I’m not usually this careless or rude, but I’m frazzled beyond belief. “Sorry,” avoiding eye contact, I use my hand to scoop the remnants into a pile.

  “Stop!” “Don’t do that.” “No!” I look up to see a different pained expression on each one of the men’s faces gathered around me. I pull my hand away and place it on my thigh to help me stand. “No!” They shout in unison. I stand and look down at the black greasy hand print on my linen pants.

  Roy roughly grabs me by the elbow, but corrects himself when I gasp in shock. “This is why customers aren’t allowed in the shop,” he grabs a blue cloth on the way out of the door. “The bathroom is right there. You can get the grease off your hand, but I doubt it will ever come out of those pants.” He pushes me forward toward the door. I glare over my shoulder at him.

  I practically have to throw my whole body into the battered door to get it to budge. This just keeps getting better and better. Immediately, I’m assaulted by the harsh scent of an artificial air freshener. At the sink, I pump my palm full of soap and elbow the tap on. I lather and lather, but the grease is just smearing all over my hands. I use my fingernails to scrape it off, and then my nails turn black. I keep scrubbing and scrubbing until my palm is free from any residue. I use my other fingernails to dig out what I can from under each nail, but it just transfers to under that nail. I just give up. I can’t take the awful smell in here a second longer. I walk in the opposite direction of the shop. There’s an empty lot covered in weeds with a horse trail sitting on the far side. I stand at the edge then flick at my lighter and the blue flame is so comforting. I hold it up to the end of my bent cig inhaling.

  “Put that out. We need to go.” I just roll my eyes, and take another long, deep drag. I’m gonna need a new pack if I have to deal with this guy for three more days.

  “Are you this authoritarian with everyone; or is it just me?” I turn to find him already half way back to the shop. “Dick.” It takes me two more drags before I’m done. I’m being stubborn, since he’s such an ass.

  “Grab what you need from your car.” Before I can respond with my own snarky remark, he has his back to me again walking away. I flip him off with both hands in front of the rest of the guys. As I walk closer to my car, they all scatter like ants. I grab what I need then slam the trunk shut, just to make the point that I’m pissed off. He pulls up right as I turn around, then grabs my suitcase and throws it carelessly in the back. I want to say something, but I just get in.

  The ride to his place seems long, but it’s only about seven minutes. I know because I’m watching my phone. Maybe I should be worried that he’s a murderer or a rapist, but I’m not getting that vibe at all. That said, you should always have an escape plan, so I’m paying close attention to my surroundings. We drove through a small neighborhood and then down a gravel driveway. The house is decent size. There are two large buildings on both sides of the house, but they are some distance away.

  From my window, the land seems to go on forever. It’s very peaceful, but it makes me feel so small. I forgot places like this existed. The room is simple and clean. The bedspread looks like it’s from the eighties; it’s white with tiny pale blue flowers all over it. The throw pillows are the same pale blue but in a velvety fabric with lace.

  I change out of my stained pants and into some comfortable drawstring lounge pants, and then follow the noise to find a kitchen. I sit down at the counter.

  “Where are you headed, and what do you do?”

  “I’m headed to California. I’m relocating.”

  “For work?”

  “For work and personal reasons.”

  “What do you do for work?”

  I have to think about my answer carefully. Roy isn’t the kind of guy who is impressed by my line of work. To avoid me irritating the man any more than I already have by just existing, I say, “I’m the representation of the modern woman.”

  “A representation of the modern woman huh?” He is unamused by avoidance tactics, “So you’re a model. Well, that explains a whole hell of a lot.”

  “How so?”

  “I could tell from the moment I laid eyes on you. You had that look.”

  “That’s not a compliment.”

  “How do you think you represent the modern woman?”

  “I just want everyone to define their own beauty, not what society at large says is beautiful.”

  “That will never change; power drives this nation, and wealth breeds power. Just look at how every network twists the same current story.”

  “Is this your way of telling me I’m doomed to fail?”

  “I don’t even know how to define beauty anymore.” I watch him pull some things out from the cabinets. I can’t get a read on this guy. He continues as I study him, “I imagine in your world everything is ‘fixed’ in a timely manner, and you have no real world experience.”

  I only catch the end of the sentence because I was trying to figure why he’s so jaded. “That’s not fair!” He turns around and looks right at me while he walks over and leans over the co
unter.

  “You don’t know how to treat people, and it’s obvious that you’ve never been in or near an auto shop.”

  “You don’t know how to treat people. I’ll have you know, that while I lived in New York, I never had to drive. I know how to treat people just fine! I’m just stressed out.”

  Roy grabs my chin turning my head, and then leans into my left ear. He has a fresh smell with a hint of motor oil. It’s odd that I like it so much. “I know exactly how to treat you.” His hand reaches in my shirt gripping my breast tightly. There is no stopping the gasp/moan that escapes me. “You try to intimidate men with your looks, but you don’t like the idea of other people doing that.” His eyes are pinning me in place. He’s scary hot.

  “I do not! You’re such an asshole!” I try to move away.

  “You sure have a big mouth for being such a little thing.” He turns my head away more aggressively and licks my neck. As I start to tremble, he grabs a fist full of my shirt and walks me to the couch. He pulls the draw strings on my pants and they flutter to the floor. His hand cups my crotch, “I’m only going to ask this once. Are you down for this?” He swats at my twat hard.

  Sassily I ask, “Are you up for this?” as I grab at his jeans, but he pushes me back on the couch, and I fall into a slouched sitting position. “Unbutton your top slowly.” Before I can comply with his demand, my panties are yanked down to the bend of my knees. He plunges his fingers into me, and my body stiffens at the rough intrusion. Once his fingers loosen, I begin to ride them. His eyes lock on mine as my fingers start to move looking for my top button.

  “Pop those little tits out of that bra for me. Pinch and pull at your nipples for me.”

  Little? “Pop your little dick out for me.” He flips me over and swats my ass hard, then he pulls one arm behind me and holds it to my lower back. He must have pulled his cock out, because in one fast move, he thrusts into me. My head bangs against the back of the couch.

  “Does that feel fucking little?” I shake my head. Something must be wrong with me. I have never been this turned on and agitated at the same time. “Answer me!”

  “No,” whimpers out of me. He doesn’t feel little at all, in fact, I think I can feel him in my throat at the moment.

  “Are,” he pushes into me further, then pulls out a little “we,” and then slowly pushes back in “good?”

  I’m angled just right where his dick just barely brushes up against the base of my clit hood. I roll my eyes back at the feeling of him. “Yes,” whispering so I don’t risk moving even the slightest, or this feeling would be gone.

  Then he starts pounding into me. The friction is so good. I feel my orgasm building rapidly. I clench my legs just wanting a little more pressure, but it’s not enough. I can feel it. It’s right there, but he pulls back just as I need that little push to get me there. I start to wiggle my ass, but he pushes my arm harder into my back, and his thrusts become deeper. It’s just what I needed to send me toppling into that blissful state. He keeps pounding into me as I let the quakes taper off, and then he just stops. My orgasm drops out from under me as I feel warmth running down the back of my thigh.

  He picks up where he’d left off before, and again, I watch as he goes from cupboard to cupboard grabbing different items and setting some near the stovetop and others by the sink.

  He pours some vodka, Cointreau, cranberry juice, and organic sugar?! Who is this guy? I don’t even have organic sugar! He squeezes something else into the glass and quickly tosses it below the sink. He then pulls out an extra-long spoon with a twist in the handle, and mixes the drink. The liquid spins in the glass as he reaches for a top shelf to get a short thick-bottom glass. Reaching into the freezer he pulls a handful of ice out, letting each cube fall into the glass one by one.

  He places the drink in front of me. “What? You don’t drink?” I must have a complete look of shock on my face because I have to shake it off to answer him. His mood has lightened a little. How’d we just go from rough, unprotected sex to this casual conversation and a cocktail?

  “No, yes. Yes, I do drink. Thank you.”

  “This is a Cowboy Cosmo, it has a pepper vodka. We like things to have a little kick around here.”

  “Oh?” I’m not really sure how to respond to his multiple personalities.

  “It’s very subtle, just try it.”

  I give it a speculative sip. I’m so surprised, at the very end I get just a hint of heat. It gives this common drink so much more depth. “This is very interesting.”

  “If you’re not into it, it’s not a big deal.” That dark shroud is coming back over him.

  “I do like it, very much actually. I’m just not very adventurous when it comes to cocktails.”

  “What do you prefer to drink?”

  “Usually anything sweet, blended, and fruity.”

  He starts to say something, but I quickly add, “I like whip cream on top too.” Just to get the mood back, I like him better like this.

  He has a slight smile, then lets out what I think is a laugh, but it’s more of an amused sigh to me.

  “I wasn’t prepared for company so it’s steak tonight.”

  “That’s fine, thank you.”

  He begins cutting potatoes; he’s skilled with the knife. I enjoy the show while I sip my drink. He tosses the potatoes in oil and opens an envelope of some kind then tosses everything together before placing it in the oven.

  “Are you from New York originally?”

  “Winooski, Vermont. It’s one of the smaller towns, but not as small as this area.” I take another drink.

  “Only child?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your parents?”

  “My parents?”

  “Yeah, tell me about them.”

  “Well, my mom works for a local dentist. She’s the typical small town assistant.”

  “So she’s the secretary, receptionist and accountant too?”

  I laugh, “That’s exactly right, same around here I’m guessing?”

  “Pretty much.” I watch as he peels back some corn husks, removes the hairy stuff around the cob, and then puts the husks back in place. I’m curious to know what he is going to do to that corn.

  “And your dad?”

  “My dad is eleven years older than my mother. He actually retired from the postal service fourteen years ago. They had all these plans, but after nine months at home, he went back to work for them part-time. They have their routine and life there. They seem to be happy.”

  “I’ll be right back. I need to start the barbeque.”

  I nod and resume sipping my drink. Roy is still rigid, but he has softened ever so slightly. It’s so much nicer to see this side of him. I just hope we can keep this momentum moving, but I have a nagging feeling it will only take one misstep on my part and we’re right back where we started.

  After a very heavy dinner of steak, roasted potatoes and grilled corn, I help him clean up.

  “That was very good, thanks.”

  “Sometimes our lives get a detour. It’s not always a bad thing.”

  “Is that mechanic humor?”

  “Humor? No, I didn’t think it was funny. More like wisdom.”

  I huff out a breath. Now he’s a philosopher.

  “You’re condescending,” he backs me up against the counter with his body.

  “You’re all over the place. I can’t keep up.” He grabs my throat firmly, his eyes like daggers, and then slips the other hand right into my panties. There was no mistake about how he affected me. I pull at his jeans while his hand is still around my throat, and his semi erection springs out at me, but he backs away before I can get my needy hands on it. He pushes my panties down just enough so he can access my core.

  “I want to see your tits this time, take off your shirt.” I only do as directed because I’m selfish. I know what he is capable of, and I want it. And another part of me wants to sass back at him like I’m uninterested, but I can’t form the words while I unbu
tton my blouse and remove my bra.

  He looks down over me, like he’s doing an inspection. I feel slightly insecure. He moves his pelvis closer, and I can feel his heat just out of reach. Roy pulls hard at my nipple. I suppress the sounds I want to make.

  His tip teases me, just brushing ever so slightly against me. I wish my body wasn’t so reactive to him. My skin is like braille, tiny pebbles telling him everything he needed to know. My body is riddled with a language only he could read. It’s a dialect I was just beginning to understand myself.

  He looks down; my eyes follow as he maneuvers himself between my barely parted thighs, then against my lips, pushing them apart. I try to widen my stance, as an invitation to hurry this along but my panties prevent that. Slowly, he eases into me. It’s not enough. I claw at his back and thrash my pelvis wildly at him. It’s sloppy and heated. We are having some kind of rage fueled sex off, and I like it.

  He yanks me up by my wrists then pulls out. I figure he is going to explode all over me because neither of us bothered to discuss a condom. But he flips me like a flapjack, his foot pushing my panties down, and then kicks my legs apart. I’m shackled at my ankles, by my own underwear. My head is pressed uncomfortably onto the counter top. I am pinned down by his tall form. “I hate your smugness.” He rams into me.

  “I hate your pride.” I push back as best as I can.

  We do this seesaw of insults and fucking for a few minutes.

  “I just need to release some stress.” That comment stings a little.

  “So do I,” I say angrily and fight to get free of him, but my ass gets impaled while he continues to thrust into me.

  “God damn that ass is tight.”

  As much as I didn’t want to cum just to prove a point, it’s his thumb that throws me into an orbit I was not escaping. I moan and drool on the counter against my will. He works me over in a way I have never experienced before. His thumb finds my clit, as he pulls out of my backside, and then comes all over my cheeks. Meanwhile, my clit continued to pulse with pleasure.

  I am out of breath and using the counter to support my tattered body. “I’m going to bed.” He leaves me there feeling vulnerable and used.