Song Bird
We spent four hours packing. While Hannah handled the kitchen, I started boxing up my office. By the time we decided to stop, it was already ten at night, and I could tell she was tired, even though she insisted she wasn’t. It was late, and I’d blown it as far as keeping my end of the deal and feeding her. In a small town on a weeknight, the food options were limited, so we ended up grabbing some gas station burgers from the mom and pop store closest to my house because I was a real Casanova and I knew how to treat a lady.
As we climbed back in the car, I uttered, “I’m sorry I didn’t get us something earlier.” Literally, the one thing she’d asked for in exchange for helping me pack was food, and this was what I ended up giving her.
She shrugged. “We were in the packing zone. I didn’t even think about it either.”
One thing I liked about Hannah was she seemed to roll with certain things I would think some women might scoff at—gross burgers that’d sat under a heating lamp for who-knew-how-long being one of them. But she didn’t seem to mind a bit. Or maybe she was so hungry she didn’t care. Of course, her go-with-the-flow personality didn’t apply in all areas.
As I shifted gears and pulled the car to the road, checking for other cars, my eyes fell on her bare legs. The parking lot lighting was hitting her just right, accentuating the curves of her thighs, adding a sharp cut to her plump lips. The dress she’d worn to my house that day was fitted, but not tight—just enough to see what she had going on underneath. It had been damn near impossible not to slide my hands up it all day, loop my thumbs around the sides of her thong I knew she was wearing underneath, and slip them down her legs. As bad as I wanted to have her, I’d held off, the time constraint of my move plaguing me. Pulling onto the road, I decided to take the long way home that wouldn’t require much shifting of gears and would allow me to have a free hand. I could only hope this late on a week night out in the country, the roads would be clear of fellow travelers. Work time was definitely over.
Hannah didn’t seem to notice we were heading back a different way than when we came. She wasn’t familiar with this area. Once I’d shifted into fifth gear, I let my hand rest lazily on her thigh. After a moment, she began tracing circles on the back of my hand; a timid rounding motion. I followed her motion and started moving my finger against the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
She shifted in her seat, but not to stop me. She’d adjusted to give me better access to her leg; made it easier for me to reach. When I glanced over at her, the console lighting allowing me the view of her face, she was staring straight ahead, her lower lip tugged between her teeth, her chest lifting slowly as she controlled her breathing. The woman was riding a line of uncertainty. Was this going where she thought it was going? Maybe she should play it cool just in case it wasn’t. Smiling where she couldn’t see, a surge of adrenaline rushed through me, making me hard. I liked seeing her on edge this way—playing it cool, but wanting at the same time. Gradually, still brushing my finger over her delicate skin, I inched my hand until I reached the lining of her panties. Before sliding my hand between her legs, I looked at her to gauge if I should keep going or not. Her chest was rising and falling, her eyes closed. Her hands were at her sides, gripping the seat as she pushed her hips forward ever so slightly. She knew where I was going and she was waiting for me. Keeping my eyes on the road, I cupped my hand over her sex, my blood pumping hard when I found the fabric of her panties completely soaked. A growl I hadn’t been able to stop escaped me. I traced my fingers up and down with enough pressure to tease her, but not enough to get her there. She slid off her sandals and now had her foot closest to the door propped up on the side pocket and her leg closest to me jammed against the console, giving me as much access as she could provide. Perfectly opened…just for me. With my middle finger, I circled her clit, waiting for it—her song—the melody of that moan, the bucking of her hips, that delicious curse word that would slip from her beautiful mouth telling me I’d found it—that I’d hit her sweet spot. Our sexual encounters had been limited, but I’d learned this much of Hannah—when she felt good she was happy to serenade me in all the ways a woman could convey her pleasure. I knew when I’d touch her just right, she’d croon that song for me—and I was determined to make her sing.
I listened and waited, taking my time. First there were pants, short clips of air escaping her, then as I moved more, her hand rose and smacked against the window. I was almost there. Adjusting but a breath more, I found it and she played my song. We were in a car going fifty on backroads, but I had to look—I had to see her. Her head was back, her face to the sky, her chest out as she arched her back, her legs spread wide. Damn, it was beautiful.
“Fuck,” she groaned, her voice gritty with lust and pleasure. My arm was starting to cramp from the awkward position, but I kept my motion steady, careful not to slip, knowing moving even the slightest of a fraction would steal it from her. “I’m going…” she panted, her hand still pressed to the window, her fingers spread wide against the glass.
“Tell me, baby,” I ordered her, my voice husky. I was rock hard, and if I could have, I would have let go of the wheel and stroked myself, I was so fucking turned on. She moaned, her hand closest to me reaching up to my shoulder and fisting the fabric of my shirt. “Tell me,” I demanded.
“I’m coming, Wren,” she cried out, lifting her hips from the seat, her body chasing that release.
“Fuck, babe,” I gritted out between clenched teeth. Her dress was hiked up now, her body arched, as she continued her melody—a slew of curse words that danced out of her mouth on the coattails of moans. After a moment, she grabbed my wrist, holding me steady, telling me to ease up. The body was funny that way—how something that just gave you so much pleasure could be so sensitive afterward. Returning her bottom to the seat, she gasped for air and let her legs relax leaning inward. I kept my hand over her sex, holding it with pressure.
Neither of us said anything for a moment. I understood. She needed a minute to come down. Slipping the fabric of her panties aside, I slid one finger inside of her, motioning it in circles. She was wet and smooth, and I ached I wanted her so badly.
Her body relaxed as her breathing slowed. She still held my wrist, but she wasn’t stopping me. This wasn’t about making her come again, it was just touching her, feeling her…and letting her feel me. After a moment, her hand slid between us and she palmed my cock.
“No,” I stated.
We glanced at each other and her brows were slightly arched in confusion. “I want to make you feel good, too.”
I smirked. It was nice knowing she wanted to please me, too. As much as my dick was throbbing, I would wait. “Not right now. This was about you.”
I could tell she didn’t like my answer as she frowned, taking her hand back. But when I pulled my fingers from inside her and slipped them in my mouth, sucking her wetness from them, her eyes widened, a flicker of lust flashing in them.
“Mmm…” I growled before licking my lips. “That was for me.”
When we got back to the house, we spread out our feast of gas station food—burgers, chips, and beer—and plopped on the couch. Shifting in my seat, I felt something hard under my ass and realized I was sitting on a screwdriver I’d used earlier to remove the wall mount for my flat screen. Tossing it on the cushion beside me, I looked around at all of my stuff piled up and boxed around the room. My new place wouldn’t fit all this junk. It already came furnished and the garage wasn’t big enough to store my car, bike, and furniture. I’d need to start getting rid of some things, or I would have to get a storage unit.
“Think I’m going to get rid of some of this furniture. You got any interest?”
Her mouth was full as she chewed, but she lifted her brows. When she swallowed, she took a sip of her beer before answering. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t need anything.”
I motioned a hand at my love seat. “I’m probably just going to give it away. Are you sure?”
Her gaze fell to her burger resting on grease-covered foil in her lap. Quietly, she responded, “No thank you, Wren.”
I wasn’t going to push. Biting into my burger, I hoped my expression didn’t show what I was thinking because if it did, she’d see I was annoyed. She had no furniture. I had furniture and no place to keep it. Seemed like a win-win to me. So why wouldn’t she take it when I was giving it to her for free? I thought about our conversation when she’d first arrived; what she’d said about not wanting to own things anymore. I understood the concept of minimalism, but to go without furniture—not even a small couch or recliner to sit on—that seemed a bit extreme. Though, minimalism wasn’t quite what she’d touched on. I decided not to delve into the subject with her. If she didn’t want it, I wouldn’t force it on her. But I could not deny it bothered me for some reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
After dinner, we decided to call it a night since I had to work early the next morning. Or at least turning in was the plan, but as we settled down in bed, her body spooned to mine, and it wasn’t long before we were naked and Hannah sang for me again.