The Mother Road (21 page)

And it’s not like I can say anything. First of all, Porter just wants to be friends—ugh, gag, the worst thing you can say to girl when she wants to hump your face—and second, Paul would have a minor stroke if he ever found out I have feelings for Porter.

Frustrated, I toss my covers to the side, slip on a pair of my dad’s shoes, and take a deep breath before I head into the bathroom. I lift the toilet seat, hover my ass over it and pee as quickly as possible because I’m way too lazy to hike it to the communal bathrooms on the campground. Afterwards, I wash my hands in the sink and brush my teeth there too. I undo my loose braids and run some sea salt water through them, giving them a nice beach wave.

Once I’m done with my hair, I decide it’s a no makeup day because once again, I’m too lazy, and look for my bag to change. Tacy has become a disaster zone in the mornings with the bitch bed undone and everyone’s night time bags scattered over the floor. Plus, the beard clippings and dirty laundry are starting to filter out of the bathroom. It’s disgusting how gross men can be and not care about it, but to hell if I’m going to clean that godforsaken bathroom. They made the mess, they can clean it up, even if there’s a pile of beard clippings on the sink tall enough to hide a mini horse.

Searching for my bag is a disaster in the mess around my bed. I think I spot the strap to my bag and pull on it, but instead of my bag being on the other end, it’s Porter’s. Not exactly what I was looking for, but now that I have it in hand, and it just so happens to be slightly open, it wouldn’t hurt to give it a little gander, right?

It’s slightly unzipped, revealing one of his flannels. Accidently, my hand swats at the zipper, which opens up the bag even more.

“Oh, heavens, how did that happen?” I say to no one as I look around.

Not a soul in sight, so I dive in.

And when I say dive, I mean, plunge noggin first into a plaid abyss. My head falls into the bag, burying my face into his mountainous smell, my cheek rubbing against the smooth cotton of his shirts. If God put Heaven on earth, it would be this bag. No doubt in my mind, if I put his bag on display and charged people five dollars for one head plunge, I would be rolling in the dough.

Pulling my head out of the bag, I look around once again, making sure the coast is clear and grab one of his flannels. It’s red, white, and blue checkered, so American. Without even thinking, I pull off my pants and shirt and put the shirt on so I can feel it on my body. I button a few buttons and then curtsy in the plaid gown. Porter is much taller than me and much broader, it’s noticeable in the way his tight fitting shirt is so loose and large on me.

Without tripping, I twirl around Tacy, occasionally stopping for a moment to smell the shirt and take in the feel of the fabric. Either Porter knows where to buy the softest shirts on the planet, or he uses one hell of a fabric softener because the feel of the shirt against my nipples is a sensation I will one hundred percent be dreaming about tonight.

Wanting more, I dive into his bag once again, moving my hand around it until I collide with something hard. Confused, I pull it out of the bag to see it’s a bottle of cologne. Porter wears cologne? I take the top off and breathe in a huge whiff.

Did you see that, the twinge in my leg and the instant showing of arousal? Yeah, pretty sure I just smell-gasmed.

I knew Porter didn’t naturally smell like a pile of hot male models with redwoods between their legs, but hell, can’t he give a girl a break? This shit smells way too damn good.

Without even thinking twice, I spray the air and walk through it, letting the mini drops of Porter rain over me. Just for luck, I spray the bottle one more time, set it on my bed, and walk through it, holding my hands to my heart and closing my eyes, wishing it was Porter falling down upon me.

I continue to twirl in Tacy, marveling in the Porter-like bubble I created for myself. I’m so consumed by my visions of Porter holding me tightly that I don’t hear the gravel being crunched under a heavy foot, or the door to Tacy swinging wide open until Porter steps into the RV.

I’m mid-twirl when I make eye contact with him. The door slams shut and a huge smile crosses Porter’s face. He gives me the once over and the smile that once graced his face vanishes, and in its place, his jaw tightens and his eyes turn a dark shade of the night sky.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his hand grabbing on to his neck while he stares at me.

He’s surprisingly not wearing his red hat, instead, his hair is styled in a mess to the side, he’s wearing a denim shirt that fits tightly across his chest that is tucked into his grey jeans, and he has an old light brown belt on display, wrapping around his waist. He’s wearing boots and I can’t help but want to run my hands all over his body from just how sexy he looks.

“Umm…dancing?” I say, more as a question than anything.

My mind stops eye-fucking Porter for a second to realize I’m wearing his flannel shirt, spraying his cologne all over Tacy, and dancing. Not the best showing I’ve ever had.

Porter tosses a shirt that he has in his hands to the side and walks toward me. Instantly, I gulp and back up into the counter of the kitchen. The RV isn’t the biggest space in the world, but when it’s just Porter and me, it’s that much smaller, given Porter’s larger than life atmosphere and sexy ruggedness.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” he asks, stepping closer so there is only a foot between us.

I look down at his shirt and hold up the bottom for a second. “Oh, is this yours? I’m sorry, I thought it was Paul’s.”

“Is that right?” He steps closer, our feet touching now, that devious look still in his eyes. “And have you been spraying my cologne?”

I stick my nose up in the air and take a big sniff. “Huh, is that your cologne? Smells nice, a little girly, though.”

His body is now an inch from mine, his eyes burning through me. “You know damn well it doesn’t smell girly. Now tell me, what are you doing in my shirt?” his voice is gruff, almost strained, like he’s pained.

I’m at a loss for words. No smart ass comments come to mind, all I can think about is Porter inches away from me, scorching me with his glare. A light thrumming runs through my veins and my stomach turns in knots as Porter closes the gap between us and raises his hand above me and holds on to the cabinet.

I feel dizzy and I try to blame it on the twirling I did earlier, but deep down I know it’s from being so close to Porter and his heady eyes.

“I’m surprised,” he says in a husky voice. “No retort? That’s not like you, Marley.”

His other hand that was in his pocket floats up to the hem of the shirt. Slowly, as if he’s trying to torture both of us, he runs his hand under the shirt until his hand is gripping my hip with his thumb running the length of my hip bone.

I brace myself against the counter of the kitchen, not really sure what to do, not really sure why he’s touching me. His eyes are telling me he wants me, but by the way his jaw is tense, I can tell he’s fighting an inner battle with himself. I’m wondering who’s going to win.

Porter’s eyelashes lift and he takes a deep breath, looking me directly in the eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”

Once again, I’m speechless as he leans his head forward, his lips a whisper away from mine. Is he going to kiss me? Right about now, I would give anything to have his lips on mine.

“What are you thinking, Marley?”

I take a deep breath before answering, trying to steady my heart. “I’m wondering if you’re going to kiss me,” I answer honestly, searching his deep brown eyes.

He closes his eyes shut, lowering his head. “I can’t…”

My heart plummets to the floor, rejection sets in, and embarrassment starts to creep up my spine. Right when I’m about to push him away for being a tease of epic proportions, his thumb runs across my skin and his hand moves further up my side. Chills rack my body from his warm touch and I wonder just what he’s thinking, what’s going on in that handsome head of his.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, turning his question on him.

Gradually, his eyes meet mine, strain evident in his pupils. “How I want you but I can’t have you. How I want to know what it’s like to feel you underneath me.” His hand inches further up my side, lifting the shirt with him so half of me is exposed. “I’m thinking about how we live in two different worlds, but how I desperately want to be a part of yours.”

My mind is reeling from his confession. What is he talking about? Porter doesn’t talk like this; he doesn’t let his heart bleed for all to see.

“What are you talking…?”

He shakes his head, cutting my sentence off with a gruff growl. His hand grips my side tighter and his restraint is slipping; I can see it from the desperation in his eyes.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he repeats himself. “I’m not going to fucking take what I’ve wanted for years now. Unless…”

My chest is falling up and down rapidly, my voice is caught in my throat, but I’m able to squeak out, “Unless, what?”

Constraint is falling fast, hands are not where they are supposed to be where friends are concerned, and there is only a thin flannel shirt that stands between my naked body and his clothed one.

Porter rests his forehead against mine, his nose touching mine, his hand inching just a little bit higher…

“Tell me to leave you alone, Marley. Tell me to leave and go back to your brother.”

My entire body is throbbing, my toes are tingling, and desire is flowing between us at a rapid pace. The words he so desperately wants to hear aren’t being repeated by me, they are the furthest thing away from being announced. I have so many other things I want to say to him.

Kiss me.

Touch me.

Screw me.

Love me.

Knowing what I want, I shake my head no, our noses rubbing.

“I don’t want to.”

A low growl comes from Porter, his hand slipping upwards just another inch so his thumb is pressing against the bottom of my breast. Pleasure erupts inside of me, my hips desperate to rub against his, my body determined to feel his.

“Kiss me, Porter.”

“I can’t,” he rumbles.

I take tiny breaths, not wanting to move from his contact. “Why not?”

“Because.” His thumb strokes my breast and I about melt at his touch. “I won’t be able to stop if I do.”

“Then don’t stop.” I wait in anticipation as his eyes search mine, looking for answers. I think he’s about to walk away when his hand that is gripping the cabinet above us releases and grabs the back of my head, bringing my lips against his.

His patience snaps and he presses me against the counter, his lips exploring mine, our bodies claiming one another. My hands grab handfuls of his shirt and pull him closer. His fingers run through my hair, massaging my head as his tongue slips into my mouth.

Bliss settles over me from his beard rubbing against the soft skin of my face and the way his thumb keeps dancing dangerously close to my nipple, which is hard, begging to be touched.

Right when I think he’s finally going to touch me where I want him to, he pulls away, causing a groan of distress to fly out of my mouth, shocking us both. He smiles against my lips and surprises me when his hand retreats from under my shirt, but then finds the buttons of the flannel. With deft fingers, he undoes the buttons I haphazardly closed while his mouth dives into mine. The hand that’s gripping my hair falls to my waist, and with one hoist, he lifts me up to sit on the counter just as he undoes the last button.

Pulling away, he looks down at me, observing the gap in the undone shirt. My cleavage is prominently on display and he can see the red lace thong I have on. He runs his hand over his beard in appreciation and then presses both of his hands against my shoulders. Gradually, his hands fall under the fabric and push it back, his eyes glued to my chest. The fabric tortuously starts to fall down until my chest is exposed to the chilly morning air.

Porter’s eyes burn into my soul as he takes in my topless breasts. When I woke up this morning, I never thought I would be sitting on the kitchen counter a few minutes later, Porter between my legs, staring at my breasts, but miracles do happen because here I am, about to get some fantastic beard burn from my fantasy man.

“You’re just so fucking beautiful,” he mutters before his hands run up my sides and finally grip my breasts.

My head falls back from the grip he has around my nipples. My neck is exposed, which Porter takes advantage of by kissing and sucking his way up to my jaw. I lower my head so our lips match up. He’s demanding, his tongue is relentless, and his hands knead my breasts until I feel an impending orgasm starting to build at the bottom of my stomach.

Needing to hold him, I place my hands on the back of his neck where they play with his hair, bringing him closer to my mouth.

He kisses my lips, pulls away, and starts running his head down my neck to my breasts, where he strokes my nipples with the flat of his tongue. Sparks of pleasure pass through me, exposing my nerve endings to a whole new type of euphoria.

When I think he’s going to set up camp next to my breasts, he moves his head lower, kissing my stomach and then right above my waistline.

He doesn’t ask, he just takes charge and spreads my legs. Pushing my thong to the side, he exposes my heated core and lowers his head so he’s resting right in front of it. With one push of his tongue, he’s fucking me with his mouth. A loud moan escapes me and I grip onto his head, wondering what the hell possessed me to let this happen.

I glance down where Porter is looking up at me and stroking me methodically with his mouth, and I know he possesses me. He owns me and I would do anything, and I mean anything, to make him happy.

His beard rubs against my legs, but I don’t care, it feels good, everything about him feels good.

I can feel my orgasm start to rise from the tips of my toes, up my legs until it reaches the junction between my thighs. My stomach tumbles, my arms go numb, and my head falls back as every ounce of feeling in my body focuses on one central location. I’m tipping over, I’ve reached my apogee of gratification.