Alison's Wonderland (18 page)

Moaning around a mouthful of cock, I redoubled my efforts on Rick. His groans blended into one long, erotic chant as he struggled to reach his climax. To help him out, I reached around and scratched my nails over his ass. He jerked his cock from my mouth, and with a shout, shot his load across the tarp on the floor and then collapsed next to us on the couch.

They never did paint the living room that night; they were far too busy with an entirely different set of tasks.

Who knew? It took tossing away all my carefully detailed plans to find my own happy ending, and I trust my boys to come up with plenty of bedtime stories to keep me satisfied.

I barely rolled into the parking lot. Barely. And though I was totally grateful to the Big Guy in the sky for making it to “civilization,” I was also letting a long string of very bad words fly. This was not the first time Father Bill had broken down recently, just the most inconvenient. That’s right, Father Bill. Yes, my car is a boy.

“You couldn’t have made it twenty-five more miles, you piece of shit?” I barked. I slammed my open palm against the dashboard and fought the urge to scream. Gravel crackled under my barely moving wheels until we finally came to a complete halt. Guilt got the better of me. “Fine, fine. I am sorry, baby. You’re not a piece of shit. You’re old. I’m not being fair.”

Father Bill was over forty, in fact. A 1966-and-a-half Mustang coupe. Ash-gray. Black interior. Left-right-quarter panel a lovely primer gray for accent. The engine ticked and popped and I ran my hands through my short red bob. My bangs stood up in spikes, and when I tried to tame them, they stood right back up.

“Lovely,” I muttered, and put him in Park. The dark
wooden sign that swung over my head was so dirty and faded I had to squint to read it. “Wolff’s Tavern. Well, I’ll say this for you, Father Bill, you know where to break down. At least I can have a drink while I wait for my tow.”

Another soft click from the engine. I swear, the car was laughing. I grabbed my cell phone and checked again. No luck and NO SERVICE. Beautiful. Dead car, dead cell phone, out in the middle of nowhere. A strange place, no, a strange
bar
that could possibly be full of all kinds of crazed lunatics who would see a single woman alone and—

“Enough of that bullshit, Ruby. Jesus. It’s a tavern, not the state correctional facility.” I flung open the car door and the wind caught it. The rusty hinge let out an ear-splitting shriek, and I snagged the handle before the frigging thing ripped off and sailed away. “And what bonus is this? A storm!” I chirped and stomped noisily to the huge wooden tavern door and wrenched it open.

The inside of the tavern was cavernous and dark. Black wooden bar, black wooden stools, black ceiling beams. I felt like I was in the Black Forest. Four heads turned to regard me. Four! The place could house a 747 and there were three patrons. Also, the bartender. He had shaggy blond hair, a face full of stubble and was roughly the size of a tree.

“Yo, Red, what can I do for you?”

Red. Ah, so original. When he leveled his azure-blue gaze my way, my breath stopped. It froze the pithy comeback halfway up my throat. I nervously tried to paste my bangs down with my fingers. I felt them spring up and I sighed. “Got a phone and a martini? Not necessarily in that order.” Good for me, my voice only wavered a touch. Not normal for me. Normally, I don’t get flustered, but the bartender was looking at me like I was on the menu and I liked it. A lot.

“You don’t have a cell phone? City girl like you?” he said. His voice was deep and raspy and I felt my skin tighten into
goose bumps. He handed me a phone. It was quickly followed by a martini. Three olives. The glass was opaque from the chilled liquid.

I picked up the glass, knocked back half the drink, then ate all three olives at once. Fortified, I picked up the phone and punched in the number I knew by heart. She answered on the third ring. Her voice was strong but not as strong as usual. There was an underlying exhaustion and frustration that only a few would notice.

“Grandma? It’s me, Ruby. Father Bill broke down. I’ll be there soon. I have to call for a tow. You okay until I get there? Should I call someone else to come?”

“Ruby, darling, I’ll be fine. I’m tougher than you think. I have my remote, my medicine, and don’t tell anyone, but I have a glass of wine.”

“You rebel.” I laughed. I could breathe a little. She sounded pretty good and she’d be fine. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get a truck to get me there.”

“Don’t drive yourself crazy and be careful!”

“I will, I will. How’s the hip?”

“The hip is a pain in my ass but I’ll live now, God willing, another twenty years just to drive you all crazy. Now, I have to go,
Jeopardy!
will be on any moment and I feel lucky tonight.”

I grinned. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I know you will, Ruby. Be careful!” she repeated.

“Yes, ma’am.” I hung up to the sound of
This is Jeopardy!

“Everything okay with Grandma?” the gigantic man said and leaned in. He grinned at me when I frowned. His teeth were white and even and, in the low light of the bar, looked wickedly sharp for some reason.

“My grandmother could kick your ass with one foot tied behind her back,” I snorted. I sucked down the rest of the martini and he replaced it with a fresh one, like a magic trick.
The best magic trick ever. “But she just had a hip replacement and since I recently lost my job, I am going to go play nursemaid and possibly some pinochle.”

Hmm. Apparently the alcohol had loosened my lips.

“Is that so?” Mr. Humongous ran his fingernail down the modest but visible seam of my cleavage. Instinct said to ram him upside the head with my empty, but instead I made a soft needy sound in the back of my throat.

“Yes. She could. Kick your ass,” I stammered. “Phone. Where is that phone? I need to call a tow.”

The bartender pointed to the phone still on the bar. He had never taken it back. My scrambled brain and overactive nether regions had done a number on my perception. I squeezed my thighs tight and my pussy flexed. I could feel a hot line along the tender skin of my breasts where his finger had been. I wanted him to put it back. I wanted to feel him touch me again. Instead, I said, “The owner would have your head if he knew you’d done that.”

I gave him my best evil eye and completely ignored the vivid mental flash of wrapping my thighs around his waist while he fucked me.

“I
am
the owner,” he said, and grinned. “Wolff. Ryan Wolff, at your service. What can I
do
you for?”

I blew out a long, exhausted sigh. Then I gave in and said, “Tow truck. I need a tow.”

“I could drive you to Grandma’s when the bar closes. Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“And be alone with you?”
And beg you to do things to me. And do things to you. We could do things together. I wonder what you taste like.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “That’s okay. Thanks ever so much but I’ll stick with a pro.”

“Fine by me,” he said, and handed me a business card. Then he disappeared. His big wide shoulders, his fine chiseled jaw, his hot fingers.

I punched in the number on the card and it was answered by a gruff and rude man. “Yeah?”

“I need a tow.”

“No kidding. What a surprise. Since we are a towing company.”

I frowned. Jerk. It also said “mechanics” on the card, but I wasn’t going to argue. “I am at Wolff’s Tavern. How soon can you be here?”

“About two.”

“Two!”

“Did I stutter?”

“Fine. I’ll just call another tow company,” I threatened. I sipped my cold martini and thought it might be a good idea to get some food. Food would be brilliant.

Quiet laughter snaked into my ear through the phone cord. Forget the fact that I could not remember the last time I had held a phone that actually had a cord. “Good luck with that. The closest one besides us is about four hours away. That would put you at about four in the morning.”

Very bad words fluttered to my lips and I swallowed them. “Fine,” I said between gritted teeth. “I will wait for you. It’s a sixty-six-and-a-half Mustang.”

“Good for you. You riding with me?”

“I have to.”

“Right. See you at two. What’s your name?”

“Ruby Brunner.”

He sang a bar of the old Drifters song,
Ruby Baby,
softly. And then he hung up.

“Weirdo.”

Wolff came back wiping his hands on a bar rag. “Who’s a weirdo?”

“Where do I start?” I sighed and finished martini number two. “I need slumfwood,” I said. I blinked and tried again. “I meet some food.”

“You need some food, babe,” he said, and leaned in and kissed me. Hard. Like the cretin he was, he forced his lips against mine almost angrily. I felt my lips plump up from the rough pressure and before disengaging, he bit my bottom lip so that I hissed in pain. In direct contrast my pussy went wet for him. I felt warm fluid pleasure and wanted to tell him to forget the food. Let’s go in the back room.

I didn’t. Instead, I said, “Got any hot dogs?”

“Boy, you like to eat,” he said. He was watching my lips as I finished my fourth dog. I licked my lips just to mess with him and he clenched his big stubbly jaw. “Careful, Red, don’t think I don’t know you did that on purpose. Be careful how you taunt me. I’m a bit of an animal.”

I rolled my eyes and finished my Coke. I was ready for another drink. “Ooh, I’m so scared, Wolff. What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. The watchband was a leather cuff. Battered and busted brown leather that somehow turned me on to the point of panting. “It’s a quarter to two.”

“And you are bare-ass empty in here,” I said. “So, you should lock up.” I coughed softly. He was staring at my breasts. The sensation I felt from his gaze was similar to having his hand on my throat. Gently squeezing my breath into submission.

“I guess I’ll lock up in a minute.” He disappeared again and I dug in my hobo bag for my wallet. Four hot dogs, two martinis, two Cokes. Christ, I hoped I had enough cash to pay him.

Maybe you could barter with him if you don’t. Maybe you could offer him a service for his hospitality.

Before I could even consider the voice in my head, I heard a blaring air horn and hopped off the stool. Part of me was thrilled to be headed to Grandma’s, part of me was bummed
that nothing had come of the animal attraction between me and Wolff.

“Wolff! The tow truck is here! Come out and let me pay you.”

Nothing.

Another long blast of the horn and my head felt like someone was ringing the Liberty Bell in there. “Christ. How does that guy not go deaf?” I pushed the heavy door open. I would just tell the driver to hold on while I found Ryan and paid him. Maybe get just one more kiss—

“Come on, Red,” he said, leaning out the driver’s side of the huge tow truck. Father Bill was still in the parking lot, and he was grinning like a predator who smelled good vittles. His sharp white teeth glowing in the sodium streetlamps.

Wolff was the tow-truck driver. The door read AW Mechanics and Towing. Was this a one-man town? Tavern owner, mechanic, tow-truck service. Was he the mayor and the sheriff, too? I caught the keys he tossed my way a split second before they could smack me in the forehead. I locked the door and made my way to him. This should be interesting.

“I brought that out of the car.” He nodded toward the floorboard. His big hand settled on my thigh. I jumped. I felt my body jolt. There was no hiding it. But on the inside, oh dear, on the inside I felt like I was being shocked with the most decadent electricity. My body was humming with attraction and excitement. His big mitt traveled farther up until his pinkie stretched out and for the briefest of moments traced the slit of my pussy. I sighed and shifted in my seat.

“Thank you. And why isn’t my car on the truck?” I squawked. I noticed my lone suitcase was shoved behind the bench seat.

“It needs work, babe. I’ll fix it for you. What’s in the basket?” He was clearly changing the subject.

I regarded the basket covered in red gingham fabric and
tried to recall. It was for Grandma. A bunch of things to make her feel better and cheer her up. That much I recalled. Beyond that, I was drawing a blank because now he had spread his entire palm over my mound and his middle finger was rhythmically flexing against me. Stroke, stroke, stroke it went against my swollen clit. “Uh—”

“Food? Dirty magazines? Metamucil?” he asked, and laughed softly. It was an entirely sinister sound. “Come on, Red, surely you know what’s in your own present.”

His gruff, deep voice set the hair on the back of my neck on edge. I sucked in a great breath of air and recited. “Her favorites. Cinnamon thins, almond cookies, butter creams. A nice bottle of wine, which she shouldn’t have. A book of crosswords and a bottle of her favorite shower gel.”

“Good girl,” he said, and reached down. He slid my long black skirt up. The calluses on his palm made a hissing sound on my skin. Heat trails bloomed under his firm touch and I slid lower in the seat. He wormed his finger under my blue silk panties and stroked me firmly until I moaned.

“You’re afraid of me,” he said. “I can smell it.”

I nodded. Sinking a bit lower, letting his big brutal fingers invade me as the truck rumbled and swayed under my bottom.

“And you like that. You’re wet, Red.” He flexed his fingers deep in my pussy. Stroked the greediest parts of me with a come-hither motion until I squirmed on the red pleather seat like a whore.

I nodded again. Verbal communication skills had deserted me.

The white-yellow headlights split the black night, and that storm I had felt coming lit up the sky with sickly yellow flashes of lighting. Booming filled my ears as Wolff propelled the truck with one big hand. The other big hand fondled me roughly between the thighs as I arched up to welcome more. Another harsh crack of thunder and I jumped.

“Red?”

“I don’t like storms,” I managed to say. I spread my legs wider to give him better access. I was willing to take the hit morally. I mean, I wasn’t supposed to be spread out before him and practically begging him to make me come, but in my defense, he knew what he was doing. And my body was already flirting with orgasm. And I wanted one. I really, really wanted a nice mind-numbing orgasm to take the bite out of a really bad day.

Wind buffeted the truck and the hand disappeared. “Whoa,” Wolff growled and I bit my tongue to keep from balking. It was unreasonable to expect him to maneuver the truck through the sudden deluge with one hand. Unreasonable. Really.

“Oh, it’s flooding,” I said, and then blushed. Yes. My panties were positively soaked, but what I meant was the road. Water gushed over the macadam and swirled around the debris the high winds propelled. Sticks and rocks and debris from the nearby highway. I held my breath. I did not like storms in general. I liked violent storms even less.