Love to Love Her YAC (5 page)

“Stay there,” Blake says before he scoots out
of the cab and lopes around to open my door for me. I swing my feet
out over the pavement, but before I can hop down his warm hands
circle my waist. He ably lifts me from the bench seat and sets me
down on the ground in front of him. The look in his eyes is
searing, and for a moment I could almost mistake it for anger. The
butterflies flapping around my stomach are in a veritable
frenzy.

We go inside and Blake stands back while I
choose a booth in the front corner of the restaurant. The buffet is
just wrapping up for the night, so the server brings us menus and a
pitcher of water. We both order Fanta Orange (spooky), then peruse
the menus in silence for a couple of minutes before Blake puts his
down and looks at me expectantly. Refusing to appear as flustered
as I feel, I continue to stare determinedly at the laminated piece
of paper.

“Fried rice – pork or chicken?” he asks. I
lift my gaze to meet his over the top of my menu.

“Definitely pork.”

His face contorts into a grimace. “You’re
kidding, right? It’s chicken.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was a
question with a right and wrong answer.”

“Obviously…Well, now that you know the right
answer should we try this again?”

My lips pull up into a half smile as I regard
him with disbelief. “I would agree with you, but then we’d both be
wrong,” I say before lowering my eyes back to the list of
combos.

He chuckles appreciatively. “Touché.”

We place our orders with the server before
returning to the cumbersome dance of “getting to know you.”

“So you go to Winston Sierra?” Blake
asks.

I nod. “I’m a junior. Majoring in elementary
education.”

His face broadens into a smile that makes me
want to kiss the apples of his cheeks and feel the tickle of his
facial hair. “You like kids?”

“I do like kids. I think I want to teach
second grade. That’s my favorite age group. Seven and eight year
olds. They’re curious. They know a lot, but they’re not burnt out
on school yet.”

He considers this before nodding in
agreement. “You’re right, that’s a fun age.”

“And what do you do?” I ask, squeezing my
lemon into my water glass.

“I have my BS in social work from UNLV. Right
now I’m pretty much just a glorified errand boy for a mental health
clinic.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled about it,” I
observe.

“I’m not. It’s a thankless job, but I have a
lot of karma to burn off.” He grins and winks at me.

I sit back in my seat and take in his
disheveled good looks, his dazzling smile. “You’re not fooling
anyone. I somehow doubt you lug around much in the way of bad
karma.”

“Are you usually a good judge of character?”
he asks, looking at me as if he really cares about my answer.

I shrug. “For the most part.” I remove the
paper wrapper from my straw then roll it into a tiny ball between
my fingertips. “So if you don’t like your job, what would you like
to do instead?”

“Someday I want to be a caseworker for child
protective services,” he says, solemnity creeping into his voice.
“But to do the job I really want to do, I have to get my MSW.
That’s what I’m doing now. I’m taking night classes at WSC to work
toward my master’s.”

I’m impressed. “Child protective services?
That sounds like it would be…heartbreaking.”

He nods. “That’s what most people say. I’ll
have my fair share of bad days on the job, that’s for sure. But to
me the good days will more than make up for the bad, even if
they’re few and far between.”

I can feel my body flooding with warmth at
his words. I open my mouth to reply, but then the waiter is here
with a tray full of steaming food. We tuck in, feasting on egg
rolls, lo mein, mu shu pork and sesame chicken until I feel as if I
can barely move. That’s how you know when you’ve had a successful
trip to the Number 7.

I lean back, rubbing my belly in contentment.
The server brings our check, which Blake pays before I can even
begin to argue, along with two fortune cookies. The strip of paper
enclosed in mine seems full of portent:

Your luck is about to change.

Blake – 7:00 PM

T
he sun has nearly
set by the time we leave the restaurant. The sky is a hazy yellow
that bleeds to deep violet, and the moon is a glimmering white
crescent that hangs over the trees to the east. The warmth has
faded from the air, blown away by a chilly breeze.

I turn to Rhiannon. “Will you go for a ride
with me?” She presses her lips together and nods. I help her into
my truck then fasten in beside her. Without speaking I steer out
into traffic and head west on US 50 toward Lake Tahoe and Glenbrook
Bay.

We drive most of the way in companionable
silence as The Hollies’ Greatest Hits album loops on the stereo and
Rhiannon hums along. Every so often I glance over at her reflection
in the darkening window as she stares out at the pine trees and
passing water and wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
When the bay comes into view I nose over into the right lane and
pull off on an overlook that faces the lake. I stop next to a steep
path leading down to the water that’s shrouded by an overgrowth of
firs.

I offer Rhiannon my hand before we start down
the path. The feel of her small, cool hand pressed into mine makes
my head spin a little. We pick our way down the moonlit trail
toward the gravel bar at the water’s edge. Rhiannon is behind me,
feeling her way through the darkness. She giggles softly when she
accidentally touches the back of my shoulder in her inept
fumbling.

“What’s so funny back there?” I ask her.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” she replies,
sounding amused. I grin to myself. Turning around I scoop her up in
my arms. In a few quick strides I cover the remaining distance down
to the deserted rocky shore before placing her gently back on her
feet.

The feel of her body sliding down mine to the
uneven ground below sends shivers coursing through me. Her dress is
twisted slightly and a thin white strap droops off her left
shoulder. Her bare skin, dappled with light freckles, appears
almost silver in the filtered moonlight. Taking her in arrests
something inside me so that my breathing comes out deep and ragged,
and before I can think further I lower my head and brush my lips
against the skin on her shoulder. She utters a soft moan, and I can
feel myself spiraling well past the point of return.

Rhiannon cocks her head toward me just
slightly, and I move my mouth to cover the soft skin on her neck.
For a moment I wonder if she’s going to touch me back, but then she
raises her arms and buries her fingers in my hair. Gently she
thrusts the entire length of her body against mine, and I don’t
bother shielding her from the swollen bulge rising between my legs.
Her tits press up against my chest, pushing her cleavage up in a
way that leaves little to the imagination. I crook my finger under
her chin, lifting it, and my lips collide with hers with a
hunger-driven force that feels beyond my control.

When we pull back we’re both panting, and the
energy surging between us incites an ache that spreads through my
body and causes my dick to throb like it’s turned into some kind of
homing beacon.

Rhiannon holds my gaze; her dilated pupils
make her eyes appear almost black. I take a deep breath, willing
myself to calm the fuck down, then take hold of her hand again and
head out to an outcropping of boulders at the edge of the lake. She
scrambles up onto one, seemingly (and surprisingly) unimpeded by
the fact she’s wearing a dress. She attempts to shimmy up onto the
tallest rock, and I help her by lifting her slim waist. What’s left
of my self-discipline is sapped by the effort it takes to keep from
grabbing her ass.

Once we’ve mounted the boulder, I bend to sit
on its curved surface and invite Rhiannon to join me by tugging
lightly on her hand. The lake stretches out before us, totally
serene in its enormity. The inky water reflects the emerging stars
and the mountains, hulking like sedentary giants on the opposite
shore. From here it’s impossible to hear or even care about the
clamor of the city or the din of the traffic. Rhiannon removes her
boots and reclines flat against the rock while I remain sitting, my
left leg stretched out, my hands clasped around my right knee, not
trusting myself to lie down beside her.

“So how’d you learn to sing like that?” I
ask, looking back at her. As beautiful as the vista before us may
be, I’m even more captivated by the face and body of the girl lying
only inches away.

“It used to be sort of a religious thing.”
She almost whispers it, as if she’s afraid of disrupting the
extraordinary peace of our surroundings. “I learned to sing hymnals
first, and I began played guitar for my youth group when I was
eight or nine.” She sighs, and I wonder if it’s sadness I detect in
the breathy sound that emits from her too sexy lips.

“Used to be?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I’m not really into church
anymore. It was more like something my parents wanted for my sister
and me. Now I just sing and play because I love it and it makes me
happy. It’s kind of the one thing I do just for myself and nobody
else.”

I nod slowly, digesting. “I love watching
you,” I say. She smiles at me before clasping her hands behind her
head and gazing up at the stars. “Thank you,” she says before a
moment of silence passes between us.

“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done?”
I ask, making small talk now to keep my mind off the way she looks,
the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, the span of her
slender legs crossed at the ankles, her flaxen hair glowing rosy
gold in the faded light.

“Hmm…I went skydiving once,” she says. “It
was near Vegas. I about peed myself on the way down, but the rush
it gave me ended up being worth it.”

“Oh, you’re one of
those
people…an
adrenaline junky,” I tease. “You like living on the dangerous
side?”

“Meh, you’ve gotta die of something,
right?”

“Nah, not me,” I tell her, putting my hands
behind me and leaning back. “I’m gonna live forever.”

She tilts her pretty face toward me and
smirks. “Oh really? And how’s that working out for you?”

“So far, so good,” I reply. My heart soars at
the huge grin that lights up her face.

Rhiannon – 8:00 PM

I
can feel the
temperature dropping from the glacial breeze that sweeps off the
lake and whispers through the pines. It helps to stay flattened
against the rock, which still holds the heat of the sun. Even so,
bumps break out across my skin, and pretty soon I know it will be
to the point where my breath will condense in the air and be
snatched away in the breeze as puffs of fog.

“Are you cold?” Blake asks. He looks down at
me, his expression cloaked in concern. I nod as I wrap my arms
around myself for warmth. Blake seems to be battling with himself,
his face transformed by a frustrated frown as he drops his gaze. I
watch him with a mixture of confusion and worry.

Suddenly he twists at the waist and lowers
himself to the table rock beside me. He props his head on his left
hand and lays his right flat against my stomach. His eyes are full
of pleading intensity, and I feel warmer and colder all at once
observing his lustful expression. I want his lips on me so badly it
hurts. I angle my body toward his just enough for him to get the
hint. In an instant, the tortured look in his eyes evaporates as he
crushes himself against me and lowers his mouth to within a hair’s
breadth of my neck. My skin prickles at his closeness, and a quiet
whimper escapes me. He groans, then licks lightly up the side of my
neck and tugs at my earlobe with this teeth at the same time he
covers my body with his own. His hard thickness is pressed firmly
between my thighs, where it causes a certain wet warmth to
pool.

Blake runs his hand up the side of my exposed
thigh to a spot just shy of my panties and hitches my leg up over
his hip. He kisses my lips, softly at first, then more firmly, all
the while inching his hand up the back of my leg until he’s
gripping my bottom. He squeezes gently, rocking into me, his other
hand ensnared in the delicate hairs at the back of my head. He
parts my lips with his tongue and continues to move against me
while delving ever deeper and sucking on my swollen lower lip.

When he pulls away to feather kisses over my
cheek bone and temple, I grab the back of his neck and open my
eyes. The world seems to be whirling with record swiftness on its
unsteady axis, as if it could at any moment break free of the sun’s
gravitational pull and reel into the vast emptiness of space.

Blake clutches at my hip, slowly sliding his
hand around until his thumb lies against the edge of my white lace
boy shorts. He slips the edge of his finger under the fabric and
rubs small circles into my skin with his thumb, his breath coming
faster and heavier in my ear. Then his hands are on the move again,
and I gasp as they cinch around my bare waist beneath my dress.

I unscrew my fingers from behind Blake’s neck
and run my hands downward over the hard planes of his chest and abs
until I reach the hem of his t-shirt. I push both hands underneath,
loving the feel of his smooth skin stretched over his hard stomach
muscles. Blake’s right hand leaves my waist to wrap around my own
hand and guide it farther south until it’s pressed against his
erection. I begin to uncertainly stroke up and down, and for a
moment he stops kissing me. “
Oh God
,” he murmurs.

He gazes at me through heavily lidded eyes,
his lips parted. Leaning his forehead against mine, he glides his
hand up to my left breast and kneads it as I continue rubbing his
hard-on through his jeans. I watch him as he moves his other hand
to cover mine, and I wonder if he’s about to unbutton his pants.
I’ve just made up my mind that if he doesn’t I’m going to, when he
applies a firmer grip to my hand and forces me to stop moving
it.