Fired From His Shed, I Married His Brother and Became His Landlord novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Bench Seat

In his truck at the head of his lane the silent man talks, tells her every thing he is doing to her, and has her twice before he carries her up the porch steps.

The truck was still ticking when I climbed across the bench seat and put my knees on either side of his thighs.

He had parked at the head of his gravel lane, under the first row of pecan trees.

He had shut off the engine without a word.

He had not said much of anything since the courthouse.

He had signed his name and said "I do" loud enough for the clerk to hear it in the back.

Then he had driven us here with both hands on the wheel.

Now he sat with his palms flat on the seat, looking up at me.

"You're shaking," Jesse said.

"I'm not scared."

"I know you're not."

The window was down.

Past the trees a shaker was still running under work lights, and the cab smelled of woodsmoke, sweat and cut grass.

I put my hands on either side of his face.

His jaw was rough and warm.

"Touch me, Jesse."

"Tell me to stop," he said. "Because once I start, I won't."

"Don't you dare stop."

I kissed him.

For a moment he held still under my mouth.

Then his hands came off the seat and up my back.

He kissed me back so hard my head tipped, and he tasted of black coffee and smoke.

I made a sound against his lips I had not planned to make.

"There it is," he said into my mouth. "I've been wondering what that sounded like."

His hand slid down my spine and stopped at the small of my back.

"I'm going to tell you everything I do," he said. "I want you to hear it."

"Then tell me."

"I'm putting my hand on your leg. Your skin is hot here, and it gets hotter the higher I go."

His palm moved up the outside of my thigh under the yellow dress, slow.

His thumb found the crease where my leg met my hip.

I rocked forward into his hand.

"Look at you," he said. "You want it faster. I'm going to go slower."

"Jesse," I said.

"Say it again."

"Jesse, please."

He smiled against my throat.

"That's the second best thing I've heard all day."

He hooked one finger under the strap of my dress and drew it down my arm, then the other.

The yellow cotton hung around my waist.

He looked at my breasts for a long time without touching them.

"I'm going to put my mouth on you now," he said. "I'm going to take my time."

He closed his lips around my nipple and pulled it in slow.

His tongue flicked across the tip until it drew tight.

I arched into him and held the back of his head.

He turned his face and gave the other one the same attention.

He scraped it lightly with his teeth, and I gasped and ground down against his thigh.

"Mm," he said against my skin. "You like that."

"I like everything you do."

"Then I haven't even started."

His fingers slid under the edge of my underwear and found me wet.

He let out a long, low breath through his nose.

"Susie," he said. "You're soaked. Did I do that, or did the whole damn dock?"

"You did. Just you."

"Good."

He pushed one finger inside me, thick and slow, and my knees pressed into the seat.

He gave me a second finger and curled both of them forward.

His thumb settled against my clit and began to circle.

"I'm going to keep my hand right here," he said. "I'm going to watch your face while you come on it."

"I can't, not with you watching."

"You can. I'm not going anywhere."

He kept his eyes on mine.

The pressure built low in my belly in tight, hungry pulses.

I gripped the top of the seat behind his head and moved on his hand without any shame at all.

"That's it," he said. "Ride my fingers. Take what you want."

I came with his name in my mouth, bent over him with my forehead against his.

I shuddered around his fingers while he kept up the slow circles until I had nothing left.

He did not take his hand away.

He held me there, still inside me, and kissed my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.

"There you are," he said. "God, there you are."

I was breathless.

I put my hand flat on his chest and felt his heart going hard under it.

"Your turn," I said.

"You don't have to."

"I know I don't."

I reached down between us and undid his belt.

His breath caught when I opened his jeans.

He was hard and heavy in my hand, hot to the touch, the head already wet.

I stroked him once, root to tip, and his head dropped back against the seat.

"Keep doing that," he said, rough, "and this will be over before it starts."

"Then I'll stop doing that."

I lifted my hips and pushed my underwear to one side.

He caught my waist in both hands.

"Wait," he said. "Let me say this first."

"Say it."

"I have thought about you on that tailgate every day since June. I have thought about your boots and your braid."

"My braid?" I said.

"I have thought about this."

"This?"

"You on my lap. Telling me what to do," he said.

I held him at my entrance and looked him in the eye.

"Then you can have it," I said.

I sank down on him slowly.

The stretch was thick and deep and a little too much.

I stopped halfway with my mouth open and my fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Easy," he said. "Breathe. You take me so well. Look how well you're taking me."

I took the rest of him in one long slide, and we both groaned.

For a moment neither of us moved.

He was buried to the root, and I could feel him pulse inside me.

"Tell me how it feels," he said.

"Full. You're everywhere."

"I am everywhere. I'm going to be in your mouth and your hands and your bed all week."

I began to move.

The steering wheel bit into my back, so I braced one hand on the roof and rolled my hips.

He met every stroke by lifting up into me.

My elbow hit the horn.

It blared across the whole grove.

I started laughing, and so did he, helpless, his forehead against my collarbone.

"The shakers are going to think we're hurt," he said.

"Let them think what they want."

I hit the horn again on purpose.

He gripped my hips tighter and drove up harder, and the laughing stopped.

He slid down the seat until his shoulders were against the door and planted his boots on the floorboard.

"Lean back on the wheel," he said. "Let me have your breasts."

I leaned back with my hands braced behind me, and my bare chest rose in front of his face.

He took one nipple in his mouth and thrust up into me from underneath, deep.

Every stroke dragged along the spot inside me that made my vision go white at the edges.

"Oh, God. Right there. Don't move."

"I'm not moving," he said, and he didn't.

He held me full and still and sucked on my breast until I could not stand it.

"Please, Jesse. Move."

"There she is," he said. "Now ride me. Use me."

I rode him hard, with the seat springs complaining and the windows fogging.

Every time I came down he rose to meet me and said something worse in my ear.

"Your pussy is so tight and so wet," he said. "I can feel every inch of you."

"Jesse," I said.

"You're going to make me come right here, and I want you to."

"Not without me."

"Never without you," he said.

His thumb found my clit again.

He rubbed it in firm, fast circles while he thrust.

My second orgasm hit before I could warn him.

It locked my back and tore a cry out of me.

He swore.

His hands clamped my hips and he slammed up into me twice, three times.

He held there with a groan that came from low in his chest.

I felt him spill hot inside me, deep, and I rode out every pulse with him.

He did not go soft.

I felt him stay thick and heavy inside me, and I looked down at him.

"You're still hard," I said.

"I've been hard since June," Jesse said. "Lie back for me."

He lifted me off him with both hands, and I whimpered at the emptiness.

He eased me down along the bench seat on my back.

My head landed against the passenger door, and one of my feet went out the open window into the dark.

He knelt on the floorboard between my knees and hooked my other leg over his shoulder.

"I'm going to take my time with this one," he said.

"You said that last time."

"I meant it last time. I mean it more now."

He pushed into me again, slow, sliding through his own heat and mine.

I moaned and grabbed the edge of the seat.

"Look at you with your foot out the window," he said. "Anybody walking up this lane would see your toes."

"Then let them see."

"No," Jesse said. "They don't get to see you. Only I get to see you."

He rolled his hips in a deep, grinding circle that pressed him against the place I had thought I was finished with.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, Jesse, again."

"Like that?"

"Just like that."

He gave me that, again and again, in slow circles, with his thumb on my clit and his eyes on my face.

"You're so soft inside," he said. "You're so hot and so wet, and you keep holding on to me like I'll leave."

"Don't leave."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be right here, and you're going to come for me one more time."

I did.

It rolled through me slow and heavy, from my toes out the window to the roots of my hair.

He watched every second of it, and when it passed he kissed the arch of my foot where it hung over his shoulder.

Then he moved faster, three hard strokes, and pressed his face into my knee.

"Susie," he said, shaking. "That's all of me."

I laughed, breathless, and ran my hand over his damp hair.

I pulled him down on top of me, bench seat and all, with the window cold against my heel.

We stayed like that for a long time, tangled up, sticky, breathing against each other.

His hand moved in slow circles on my back.

Out in the grove the shaker cut off, and the work lights went dark one row at a time.

The only sound left was the two of us breathing and the engine cooling under the hood.

"Mrs. Tankersley," he said, low.

I laughed, still shaking.

"That's going to take some getting used to."

"You can use your own name if you want."

"I'd rather use yours," I said. "Just to see his face."

He smiled against my neck.

It was the first time I had ever seen him smile all the way, and it changed his entire face.

Then he reached behind me and opened the door with his boot.

He carried me up the porch steps with his jeans undone and me still wrapped around him.

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