The End
A Taste of Summer is the hot short story prequel to Saving Summer. Here’s the first chapter. You can get the rest of the story for free by using the link on my website . I hope you enjoy!
A Taste of Summer: A Prequel
Chapter One
The warmth of Mike’s hand on the bare skin of my thigh wakes me. My short, flippy rayon skirt has hiked up and is higher than is polite on an airplane. It must have ridden up while I was asleep, so I reach to pull it down and he stills my hand. What? I look up from where my head is resting on his shoulder.
“Are you cold?” he asks, and it’s then that I notice his eyes burning with something unfamiliar.
“A little,” I confess. He reaches over to the empty seat on my right and grabs the lap blanket, spreading it out over both our legs. Then he moves his hand underneath the blanket and back to the same location on my thigh. In the 34 years I’ve known him, he’s never touched me so…intimately. I rest my head on his shoulder again and close my eyes, trying to figure out why his hand is there and why I’m enjoying it so much. The light swirling patterns his fingers are making cause chills to race down my legs and up my arms. I shiver a little and without thought spread my legs some to give better access as he continues to move a little higher. His body heaves with the breath he sucks in at my reaction to his touch.
For the remaining 30 minutes of our flight he brings a slow burn to my core as he works all the way up my thigh, just shy of my panty line. By the time the plane comes to a stop at the gate I’m so hot and bothered I could mount and ride him all the way to my happy place in front of everyone on this plane. Have I ever been this turned on? Especially when there’s no making out or heavy petting? At 42 years old, it seems sad that my answer is no, I’ve never been this turned on by such a small gesture.
Mike and I have been friends—best friends—for years, but he’s never touched me like he has since I woke up from my first half of flight nap. I’ve also never been as aware of him as I am now. Well, that may not be true, but this is the first time I can tell he’s feeling the same thing and for once, neither of us is hiding it. What brought this on?
As we exit the plane, Mike places his hand on the small of my back and doesn’t remove it until we reach the busy main portion of the airport. Maybe he’s just looking for comfort after we left his sister—our other best friend—Valerie, crying at the gate in Colorado Springs. It was a dramatic scene; in fact, the whole week was rough as we helped her get settled after her husband left, taking their 11-year-old daughter with him.
In all the years of my friendship with Mike I’ve tried to bury the crazy attraction I’ve had to him, an effort that right now seems stupid. I have my reasons and they still make sense to me, but tonight I don’t want to pretend I don’t feel the desire for him. In fact, I’m about half a second from asking him to come back to my place. It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone and probably forever since I was with a man who could actually light my fire without effort.
At this stage in life, I don’t have interest in sexual encounters with men who don’t turn me on. I’d rather grab my BOB and take care of business myself than fake a reaction I don’t feel. The problem, though, is I learned a long time ago to stay away from the men who really turn you on because they always break your heart in the worst ways and I can’t deal with that. My mother and father are good examples of this. She fell for him hook, line and sinker. They burned hot and they burned bright just long enough to conceive me and then he left her high and dry with a newborn and a severely broken heart. I’m pretty certain she never quite recovered from it.
We stop by baggage claim and grab our suitcases. The reminder of broken hearts has me ready to ignore my reaction to him on the airplane and say goodbye when he says, “Summer, come on. I’m taking you home.”
“It’s okay, my place is out of your way and I’m sure you have work tomorrow. I’m already pulling up Uber.”
“Don’t argue and no, I don’t have work tomorrow. It wouldn’t matter if I did, though. Wait here so I can bring my truck around. I’m on the top level and you’ll get soaked the way this rain is coming down.”
“I’ve never melted before. I’ll be fine.” He’s hilarious. There’s nothing high-maintenance about me. I’m not the kind of girl to worry about messing up my hair or getting my clothes a little wet and he knows this better than anyone. He starts to argue with me, but I ignore it and cross the covered walkway, wheeling my suitcase behind me. The elevator ride up is quiet and tense, a completely new feeling between us.
When the elevator door opens on the top level I look out to find that it’s no longer raining; it’s now coming down like a waterfall in sheets of water. Shit. I unzip the top of my suitcase and shove my purse down inside—not wanting to get my phone or personal items wet—then turn to him and say, “I’ll follow you.” He glances down at my white tank top and back at my face and grins. Sometimes he reminds me of the teenager he used to be, playful and flirty. God, I love this side of him, always have. Something about his youthful reaction sends a jolt of fire to my nipples and they harden beneath my shirt.
“Damn,” I mutter, realizing that I’m about to be on full display in my white tank top, but unwilling to back down now. I’ll never hear the end of it if I do.
As he darts out into the rain, I follow him down three aisles, in and out of a few cars, and back up to the back side of the first row we passed. That joker took us the long way on purpose. He drops the tailgate on his truck and shoves both of our bags into the covered bed. I turn to hurry around to the front passenger side when he grabs me and pulls me to him. I blink away the water in my eyes as the rain continues to pour. When he spins me to face him, I crane my neck back because he’s a good foot taller than me. His eyes are heated in a way I’ve never seen aimed at me. My breath catches as he lowers his mouth to mine and slides his arms around my waist, pulling me tight against his body.
When our lips connect, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Desire unfurls in my belly, sending tingles throughout my body and blocking any rational thought. My sex throbs between my legs and I have the sudden desire to slip my hand between us and relieve the ache that he started on the plane. Between the long emotional week, his touch on the plane, and the fantasy-like quality of this whole scene, the kiss turns wild quicker than it normally would and I can feel his cock harden against my stomach. Holy hell.
With my palms on both sides of his face I hold him to me and I’m not sure why. It’s almost as if I can’t get close enough, like I’m trying to climb inside him or meld us together. Our kiss keeps changing direction, our mouths moving with and against each other like it’s brand new, but at the same time like we’ve been doing this forever. I can’t explain it.
Without hesitation, his hand moves up under my shirt while his fingers find my nipple through my flimsy bra. He circles the peak roughly before he pinches and rolls it. I break the kiss, moaning, “Mike…” I can’t help but shiver a little and he steps back.
“Cold?” he asks.
I shake my head and say, “More,” loud enough to be heard over the pounding of the rain. His eyes burn into me like he’s trying to figure out if this is real. My tongue snakes out and slides across my bottom lip as he contemplates. His grin from a few minutes ago returns and he grabs my hand, pulling me to the passenger side of his truck. He opens the door, slides the seat back and climbs in. Task completed, he leans over to tug me inside, onto his lap. I pull the door shut and I find myself in the position I wanted to be in on the plane—center-to-center, chest-to-chest and face-to-face. My skirt is pushed up near my hips, exposing a sliver of my white lace panties. I’m dripping all over his truck and it’s obvious he could not care less that we’re ruining his leather seats. Before things can get awkward he grabs the hem of my blouse, whipping it over my head, and with equal efficiency he pops the front clasp of my bra, allowing my breasts to break free. Quickly, he slips the straps off my shoulders and cups both breasts in his hands. The look in his eyes is hungry, feeding the growing fire within me.
He’s so damn handsome. Just the width and obvious strength of his shoulders is hot and that doesn’t account for the perfectly muscled pecs and abs I’ve been admiring since he was 17 years old and working out every day. The look on his face is probably similar to mine and instead of feeling self-conscious I feel sexy and free.
“I’ve dreamt of what these would look like for years and now I can’t get enough,” he whispers, tracing the underside curve of my breast with his fingertips. “Every time you came out to the pool or the lake wearing a bikini I’d get hard thinking about what your nipples looked like behind those tiny triangles of fabric.”
“Mike,” I say, my voice quiet and breathy. He groans as he lifts my breast in his palm, swiping his tongue across the sensitive nipple as another pulse of heat sweeps through me, ending at my pussy. I rock a little against him while he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, lightly scraping it with his teeth and finishing with a suckle of pure pleasure. He repeats the process on the other nipple and I can’t take the wait any longer. I need some relief now, so I slip my hand between us, into my panties, and find my clit. As soon as I make contact I gasp. He drops his gaze from mine to watch what my fingers are doing and he groans.
“Slip a finger inside. I want to watch,” he says. Then he hooks the front of my panties, holding them down so he can watch as I bury my finger in my pussy, as deep as it can go in this position. My head falls back as I slide it in and out slowly. This feels so good and it’s hot as hell because he’s watching. With a firm grip on my wrist he pulls my hand away and up to his mouth. Before I can react, he closes his lips around the wet digit and sucks it clean. I lean forward and roll my hips a little, doing my best to find friction against his pants. He releases my hand and cups both of my breasts, pinching and teasing the nipples, driving me to the brink of insanity. I can’t take it. I need to feel him inside me, I need to ride this feeling all the way through. I need… I need… I need him. Now.
“Fuck me,” he groans.
“Yes, yes, now,” I beg. He doesn’t waste any time digging for his wallet while I go back to fingering myself in front of him.
“Hold on, M, you’ve got to lift up,” he tells me. The use of the nickname he gave me as a kid reminds me of how well I know him, but how little I know him like this, as a virile, sexy man capable of making me beg for sex in an airport parking lot. I brace myself on the seat, one hand on each side of his head, and lift my body so he can shove his wet shorts down his legs to the floor. The most magnificent cock I’ve ever seen juts between us, leaning slightly to the left, proud and hard. The dark nest of curls at the base is matted down against his skin from the damp fabric that was pressed against it. I know I’ve never been with anyone as big as he is and I’m dying to know how it feels to be stretched that far, for him to be buried deep.
Once he has the condom on, I lower myself onto his thick cock while he takes my nipple into his mouth again. I must be moving too slowly because he grips my hips and pulls me down hard, causing us both to cry out. I can’t help the flutter of my pussy around him. I was already so close and the fullness of him is almost more than I can handle. The windows are fully fogged now and the truck is sweltering with our hormonal heat. I tug on his shirt, getting him to pull it over his head and drop it to the floorboard. His muscled chest is damp, yet warm, as I lean in against him, seeking more contact.
“M, your pussy is so fucking tight. Squeeze me, move on me, do something; I can’t take it, you feel so fucking good.” His naughty words urge me on further. I rise and fall on him, my muscles aching with the effort in this cramped position, but I’m unable to stop. Forced forward by lust and desire, in a mixture more potent than I’ve ever experienced. He traps one of my breasts as it bounces in front of him and takes it with his teeth. He tests my pain tolerance by biting down slowly and the harder he goes, the more my pussy contracts. I love a little pain with my pleasure. Of course, none of the men I’ve been with have been willing to take it far enough.
When his hand slips between us and his fingers find my engorged clit, pressing down and circling, I spiral over the edge, screaming his name. If anyone is walking through this parking lot I know they’ll think I’m being murdered. Even if they call the cops, it will be worth the orgasm he just gave me. I’ve never come that hard before. My heart is still racing wildly, moisture from the rain mixes with my sweat while I brace myself on either side of his shoulders. Our eyes are locked as he relentlessly pounds into me, chasing his own completion. Every muscle in his body pulls tight only seconds before the tension releases, and I feel his cock pulse inside me as he empties himself into the condom. I finally allow myself to collapse and rest my head on his broad shoulder.
All these years I’ve avoided looking at him as more than a friend and in this moment, I can’t remember why. Don’t get me wrong, over the years I noticed every new muscle that popped up, and every inch he gained in height. On occasion, I wondered what it would be like to kiss lips as full as his, but I tried to keep the thought process there. How do we go back to being best friends? Can I even pretend not to think of his enormous cock while he tells me about his mom’s new job or the new trick his dog can do? I think I’m screwed in more ways than one.
“Summer,” he says quietly, and I groan a little. I don’t want to go back to reality. I want to stay comfortable and warm, with his cock buried inside me while we’re pelvis-to-pelvis in his truck.
“Look at me, M. Don’t make me go back to being just your friend yet. I have a few days before I go back to work. Come spend that time with me. Please.”
He doesn’t phrase it like a question, it’s more of a statement. I lean back and study his expression. It’s what I want, but will that make things worse when we go back to real life? If we part right now can we pretend none of this happened?
“Did we just ruin our friendship?” I ask, scared of his response.
“God, I hope so. I’ve always wanted to be more than your friend, M.”
“Mike…”
“Don’t give me the million excuses I’m sure you’re brewing up as to why you need to go back to the nerd-herd of guys you date. Give me this weekend. Please. Let me prove to you how good we can be together. I’ve always wanted this chance.” His arms close around me and I’m powerless to resist.
“Take me to your place,” I whisper, half in fear and half in anticipation.