Not the Rebound Guy by Abby Knox (popular books of all time .txt) 📗

Okay, two problems. If we leave now, where are we going to go? We could find a parking lot somewhere, anywhere. We could hop inside the cab right here at the drive-in. After all, I do believe a fair number of Piper’s Grove citizens were conceived right here in this very field.

I’m overthinking everything. What have I been saying to Eliza since she got here? Live in the now. Go with the flow. Just enjoy what’s happening and see where things go.

Eliza leans away a few inches so she can grab hold of my chest. “I’ve been thinking about your lips all afternoon.”

“This one? This one right here?”

She leans in to kiss me, then pulls away and laughs.

“Oh, you like to tease, do ya?” The ensuing tussle results in tickling and wriggling until I have her pinned under me, both of us out of breath.

“Say the word and I’ll let you up,” I growl.

Instead, Eliza slides her hand up under my flannel shirt.

“God, why do you have to be such a gentleman, wearing an undershirt under your flannel in June?”

“Raised right. Sorry, not sorry.”

“Remind me to slap your mother.”

For some reason, this makes me kiss her harder. Our fingers dig into each other: mine into her ample hips and hers into the flesh of my lower back.

I slant my face against her cheek and kiss the shell of her ear, sucking her earlobe into my mouth, dragging a whimper from her lips.

“Eliza. You keep making noises like that, I’m gonna lose control of my manners.”

“Do it. I’d love to see you riled up for once, Chill Boy.”

I wrench her tight to me and kiss her as passionately as I’ve wanted to, messily, with no regard for politeness. Our tongues compete to see who can plunge down the other’s throats faster. She tugs my undershirt loose, finally, and her hands on my overheated skin feel so good I have no room left for rational thought.

I need to touch her now. I pause to ask if I may go up her shirt—remembering that we’re in public—but this mind-reading woman does it for me.

Like a madman, I plunge my face between her breasts. My sighs sound like a wild man’s; surely we’re gonna be seen. The only saving grace is the tailgate is up, partially shielding us from anyone casually passing by.

While I cover her lace-covered breasts with kisses, my hand runs the length of her thigh, daring to slide up her skirt.

“So soft.”

Her hand reaches back and cups my backside, squeezing the flesh of my ass through my jeans.

“God, you feel so good; I can’t wait to get you naked,” I say.

“Keep trying, and we’ll see.”

My hand roams down the front of her jeans to her lace panties. Her body jerks against me in response.

“Sorry,” I say.

“No, it’s good. Your hands are rough. I like it.”

I don’t want to stop kissing her to have a conversation, but I know we should. Things are getting dangerously close to indecent exposure. “If you want me to keep going, I will. I’m gonna treat your pussy so good, she’s gonna forget all about Mister Soft Hands.”

“Mister Soft Hands!” She laughs so loud I have to smother it with a kiss. I’m flattered she finds this funny, but I’m not laughing as I sit up and yank the picnic blanket like a terrible magic act. This move sends paper plates, solo cups, and the remnants of our romantic dinner clattering across the floor of the pickup bed.

Eliza yelps in delight then stifles a giggle as I use the picnic blanket to cover us up.

“Come here,” I growl, cinching her close, then tugging the fly of her jeans open.

I expel a quiet moan as she helps me unbuckle my belt and unzip my fly.

“Thank god you don’t wear one of those dinner plate belt buckles,” she rasps.

I tease her lips with my tongue, my hand cupping her pussy. “That’s the thing. The dinner’s on the inside of my drawers, sweetheart.”

She barks out a laugh and calls me ridiculous even as my fingers slide between her damp folds.

“This is a very sad part of the movie. You better stop your laughing; people are going to suspect something’s going on over here,” I scold her, dabbing kisses down her neck and over her breasts.

She strums my nipples with her two thumbs, spiking every carnal urge to claim her. On the verge of drooling, I lean down and suck her nipples through the fabric of her bra, soaking it. I pull at her tiny buds with my teeth, provoking a gasp and a stifled moan from her.

Eliza whispers, “I knew you were a dirty boy as soon as I met you.”

“Sweetheart, this is just the previews.”

My strums against her clit quickly send her writhing through a sudden orgasm. She’s biting her lip to keep from crying out, so I help out by covering her mouth with mine, pulling her against me.

But Eliza, still shuddering, pushes back to angle her hand down inside my jeans. An uncontrollable grunt rises from my throat the first time she touches my cock.

We writhe and wiggle, tugging and jerking pesky fabrics out of the way without completely disrobing. Eliza wraps both hands around my dick, and the gasp escaping her makes me grow at least another inch. I have to hold back the urge to curse at the pleasure of her soft hands against my stiff rod, the way it tentatively explores it at first. She runs her thumbs over the tip, the stimulation producing a bead of precum.

When I see Eliza let go to lick her palms, I think I have died and gone to heaven. The particular kind of heaven where I can still get blowjobs. That better be a thing, or I’m going to ask to speak to the manager.

“Baby,” I start, knowing full well I don’t have the right to call her my baby. We haven’t had that conversation yet, and I feel like it’s a strong