My Sister Sat at My Groom's Feet, So I Took His Whole Pack novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Tailgate

On a sand turnout under the Harvest Moon she kisses him, says his name for the first time anyone in the pack has, and comes three times on his tailgate before he stops her at the swell of the tie.

He pulled onto the first sand turnout a mile past the dike.

I was across the console and in his lap before the engine stopped ticking.

"Miss Sooy," he said.

"Don't call me that," I said. "What's your name?"

He went still under me, with his hands held out to the sides.

"Reuben," he said.

"Reuben." I said it again, against his mouth. "Nobody said it today. I'm saying it."

I kissed him.

He tasted of woodsmoke and black coffee, and for one breath he let me do all of it.

Then his mouth opened, and his hands came down on my waist, and he kissed me back so hard my head knocked the roof.

"I'm not crying," I said, between kisses. "I wanted you to know that first."

"I didn't think you were."

"I'm going to do something stupid with you, and I'm not doing it to get back at anyone."

"Good," Reuben said.

"I'm doing it because it's the Harvest Moon, and I've been hot since dawn, and you're the only one who looked at my face today."

His hands tightened on my hips.

"I can smell it," he said, low. "I smelled it when you came down the dike."

"Then you know what I want."

"Tell me anyway."

"Your mouth," I said. "Right now. On me."

He made a sound in his chest that I felt in my own.

I took his hands off my waist and put them on my thighs, under the wet skirt.

The lace was cold, and my skin was not.

His palms slid up my legs, slowly.

They were rough and warm, and the burn scars on his forearms were smooth against my knees.

"Out," he said. "Not in here. I want to see you."

He opened the door with one hand and carried me out of the cab with the other.

He set me on the tailgate.

The metal was cold through my skirt.

The Barrens were black and silent all around us, and the harvest moon sat orange over the pitch pines.

Reuben dropped to his knees in the sand.

He gathered up my skirt in both fists and pushed it to my hips, and the cold air hit my bare skin.

"Look at you," he said.

I was wearing white satin underwear that I had bought for another man.

"Take them off," I said.

"With pleasure."

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and drew them down my legs.

He dropped them in the sand and did not look at them again.

He looked at me.

He took his time doing it, and I sat on the tailgate with my heart going hard and let him look.

"I never thought I'd get this close to anything of the pack's," he said.

"I'm not the pack's," I said. "Not tonight. I'm mine."

"Yes," he said, and he put his mouth on me.

I cried out and grabbed the edge of the tailgate with both hands.

His tongue was slow and flat and hot.

He licked me from the bottom to the top.

He stopped on my clit and circled it, again and again, until my head was thrown back and my heels were hooked behind his shoulders.

"Reuben," I said.

"Say it again."

"Reuben. Don't stop."

"Not for anything," he said, into me.

He wrapped an arm around my thigh and held me open and still.

He took my clit between his lips and sucked it gently.

My back arched off the metal.

I had never had this.

Two years with Brant, and he had never once knelt, and I had never once thought to ask.

I had told myself he was a tender man who was shy about his mouth.

Reuben was not shy about anything.

He groaned against me, and the sound went through my whole pelvis.

I rocked up against his face and heard myself begging.

"More. Please. Right there."

"Right here?" he said.

"Yes. Yes, right there, don't move."

He didn't.

He held that one place with his tongue until the heat gathered low in my stomach, tight and bright and climbing.

I put both hands into his hair and held on.

"Come for me," he said. "Let me feel it."

I came with a shout that went out over the pines.

It rolled through my thighs and my belly in long waves, and he never took his mouth away.

He gentled me through every one, with slow wet strokes of his tongue.

I was shaking and sagging against the tailgate, and my hands were still knotted in his hair.

"Oh my God," I said.

"That's one," Reuben said, and he wiped his mouth on his wrist.

"One?"

"Take your time, Lucinda."

He slid one finger into me.

I was so wet that it went in all the way, and he made a rough, hungry sound.

"Listen to you," he said.

"Don't talk. Do it."

He added a second finger, thick and slow.

He curled them up inside me, against the place that made my knees clamp around his ribs.

His mouth went back to my clit.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, that's, you're going to make me, again, already."

"Yes," he said. "Again."

His fingers kept a steady, patient stroke, and his tongue kept the same slow circle.

I came apart a second time almost before I knew it was coming.

This one was deeper.

It started in my stomach and tore through me.

I bent double over his head and bit down on my own wrist to keep from screaming the pines awake.

When I could see again, he was still on his knees in the sand, with his face wet and his eyes on mine.

He did not look proud of himself.

He looked careful, and a little afraid.

I put my hand on his cheek.

"Get up here," I said.

He stood.

I slid forward to the edge of the tailgate, grabbed his belt with both hands, and pulled him between my knees.

"Lucinda."

"I know what I'm doing."

I opened his belt, and then the button of his jeans, and then I got my hand inside.

He was hard and thick and hot, and he jerked in my fist.

I stroked him once, slowly, from the root to the head, and I thumbed the wet from the tip.

His forehead dropped to mine.

"Careful," he said.

"I'm being careful. I'm being very, very careful."

I did it again, slower, with a twist of my wrist at the top that I had never tried on anyone.

His hips pushed into my hand on their own.

"That's it," I said. "Let me hear it."

He groaned, deep, and his hands came down on the tailgate on either side of my hips.

He gripped the metal until it creaked.

"You've been waiting a long time," I said. "I can feel it."

"Since last October," he said, hoarse. "At the Flooding. You rolled your sleeves up and beat vines for twelve hours."

"You noticed that?"

"I noticed all of it."

His hand slid between my thighs, wet from me already, and his thumb found my clit.

I gasped into his shoulder.

"Keep your hand moving," he said. "Don't stop."

"Then don't you."

We stayed there with our foreheads together, stroking each other in the dark.

The only sounds were our breathing and the slick of my hand and his.

He circled his thumb with the same slow patience his tongue had.

He pushed two fingers back inside me, and his palm ground against my clit.

I tightened my fist around him, and he swore, low and ragged, and pushed into it.

"Lucinda. I'm close," he said.

"Good."

"If you keep that up."

"I want to see your face when you lose it," I said. "I want to be the reason."

"You are."

His fingers curled.

I came a third time with my mouth against his throat, shuddering and clenching around his hand.

I said his name until it stopped meaning anything.

He watched every second of it.

His whole body shook, and he held himself back with his jaw clenched.

When I could breathe again, I pulled him closer and slid my hand down to the base of him.

There was something there.

It was a hard, tight swell, heavier than the rest, packed against the root of him.

I had only ever heard old women talk about it.

"Reuben," I said.

"Don't," he said, and he put his hand over mine.

I looked up.

His face was fierce and his chest was heaving, and the muscles of his forearm were corded where he held my wrist.

"If you touch that, I won't be able to stop," he said.

"Not in a truck bed. Not on a road where anyone can drive up."

"Is that the tie?" I said.

"That's the tie."

"Have you ever tied a woman?" I asked.

"Never," he said. "It comes when I mean it, and it doesn't come when I don't."

My mouth went dry.

For two years I had lain under a man who never once swelled, and I had told myself some men were slow.

"And you mean it?" I asked.

"Lucinda, I stood on the wrong side of that dike and watched you walk into the water in your grandmother's dress," he said.

"I meant it by the time you got to the vows."

His thumb moved over my pulse.

"But I'm not taking you on a tailgate on your wedding night with the whole pack a mile back," he said.

"You get a bed. You get a door that locks. And you get to change your mind."

"I won't," I said.

"You might, in the morning."

His jaw set.

"Here's what I can give you," he said.

"Till morning. One night. Then the truck's yours, and the road's yours, and I never ask for after."

It was not a promise.

It was a door held open, and it was the kindest thing anyone had said to me all day.

I looked at him for a long time.

Then I pulled my skirts down over my knees and put my arms around his neck.

"Take me home," I said.

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