Friday, February 4, 2011

We Could Be Stuck in Traffic For Over a Week


In honor of the recent release of the book Nice Girls, Naughty Sex, I thought I'd put up an excerpt of my story, At a Stand Still. Please to enjoy.


“So, you come here often?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever been stuck on this bridge before.”
“I was. Years ago. When I was a kid. My family and I were heading to the beach when a camper rammed the wall up there. Closed down the bridge for hours. But, I had my Walkman with me then.”
“I could turn on the radio.”
“Or we could think of something else to do with our time.”
“We could.”
“Are you hot?”
“Sweltering.”
“Let’s see if we can do something about that.”

His thick fingers were back on my blouse, this time right above my pearl buttons. My eyes held his as one button opened, followed by another. He pushed the silk open, my skin exposed. Cool air came from his mouth, blowing against my chest. Despite the heat, I shivered. Goose bumps rose, both from the breeze and his fingers opening the last of my buttons. I was staring at his mouth, the thick bottom lip begging to be licked and bitten. Leaning forward, our lips touched, barely glancing off each other before he pulled back.

Trying again, I leaned a little closer, half into the passenger’s seat. But, he still kept avoiding me, making me pant with anticipation.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any hotter, his mouth dropped to my neck. His lips took a deep, sucking pull on my skin, no doubt leaving behind a red mark. I moaned into the quiet, wrapping my hands around his damp shoulders. Then, he assaulted my mouth, our tongues finally meeting in a swirling dance. I heard his hands moving around, fumbling in the dark near the door handle. Turning from me, he put both feet outside the now open door.

“Where are you going?”
“I think we need a little more room, don’t you?”

I watched with a pounding heart as he opened the back door of the car, and slid inside, relaxing back into the spacious seat. He patted the leather next to him, a silent invitation to join him. The backseat of my Volvo had seen its fair share of action, one of the benefits of a huge, clunky car. But, lately it had only been used for hauling work to and from home. Without a sensible thought in my head, I got out of the car. The anemic sea breeze hit me the face, the salt smell hanging in the humid sticky air. No amount of deep breaths could calm me, the air too thick to clean out my lungs.

I put a trembling hand to my chest, realizing my shirt was still open. Easing the silk from my arms, I threw it behind the wheel before joining my new friend in the back seat. I snuck a glance at the cars around us, wondering if anyone could tell what was going on; if anyone knew what was about to happen in my car.

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