Chapter Six

Valen

“I get a little stuffy after work trips. Sorry about that,” Hutch says, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth—his whole persona carefree and relaxed. The man is like a light switch, two different people at the same time.

“Stuffy? That was stuffy? I mean I guess if you trade a letter, you can spell stiffy. What happens after deployment? You were only gone a week. Should I expect to be a sex slave for several weeks after six months?”

Hutch tosses me a look, one eyebrow raised. It makes me laugh uncontrollably. “You know I’m game, but I do have a life to live and money to make.” Holding my stomach, I catch my breath as I deliver my weak rebuttal. I’d be his sex slave any day of the week. If the way he finger bangs has anything to say about his sex; I’m in for a real, sweet treat.

He groans. “Fine. Fine. I guess you can be your own person if you really need that to survive. It’s been a while since I’ve had a person to come home to. I forgot how it feels to touch down and only want one thing.” My core clenches. Legitimately, tightens and loosens a few times, like a pre-orgasm, at hearing his admission.

“One thing?”

He eats more popcorn and swallows hard. “Yeah. You.”

Lady boner. “As flattered as I am, I think you need to tell me about the last time you had someone you came home to.” Tackling the hard subjects like exes and hoes is something all couples do. Even If I’d rather not know details, I know Greer will ask. Clearing my throat, I watch him mess with the drive-in speaker hanging from the window.

“I’m not married, anymore,” he says, voice flat. My hands wad into fists by my sides. He’s older. I suspected something along these lines already, didn’t I? “After her, I only messed around casually. I haven’t really dated at all.”

Choking on a kernel, I blurt out, “Why?”

Hutch takes my hand in his buttery one. “Why what? Why am I not married anymore?” His look pierces me to the core.

I shake my head furiously. “Why didn’t you date? I’m not ready for the reasons behind failed marriages, yet. You can hold on to that for a little while longer.” Like, forever. What if he’s a controlling asshole? He did just crack a joke about making me a sex slave. Oh, fuck. Hutch isn’t good at relationships. A failed marriage. “Dating. Stick to why you don’t date.” My voice squeaks like a kindergartner with strep throat.

Wiping his hands off on a napkin he sets the popcorn in the back seat and turns toward me. “We weren’t compatible. She couldn’t handle my lifestyle. I didn’t chase her around the house with a baseball bat, foaming at the mouth, Valen,” he explains. He’s obviously not satisfied his fingers are clean because he dips them in his mouth to suck the salty remnants off. The sight makes me shift in my seat.

“That’s why you were so adamant about how much you’re gone,” I say. I could have made that leap without this information, but it does focus his intentions more clearly.

“I didn’t date after because most women require too much…time. I don’t have a lot of that. When you came along, searching for someone like me, well, I guess you could say it was a match made in heaven. You have the understanding most others don’t. Even if it’s by means I’m not happy about.” Hutch unfolds my death grip and brings my hand up to his lips. He presses a cool kiss on the back. “Just trying to keep things real. Can you handle it? That’s what needs answering.”

My arm is limp. It would do anything he told it to. Kill a man? Okay, which weapon will you put in my hand? “I can handle anything. Not because I enjoy challenges, either. Because I think we can be something special.”

The speaker hanging in the window is blaring about the concession stand and there’s an announcement that the movie will begin soon. The scratchy voice breaks the tension in the air. Hutch doesn’t respond. He turns his head to look out the window. There are virtually no other cars around us and I know it was a purposeful move. “Do you agree?”

“You’re not going to ask me anymore questions about my past?” Hutch scrunches his brow and bites his pillow soft lip.

Crossing and uncrossing my legs, I draw attention to my bare thighs and the skirt I wore for this most momentous occasion. “Honest War,” I deadpan. His gaze flicks from my upper thighs to my face.

He nods.

“It scares me that you have baggage that heavy, but it doesn’t affect us. We can let things progress between us on their own time. I’ll admit that it made me think you probably suck at relationships, but that’s also due to the fact you admitted you didn’t date.” I lean over and grab a handful of popcorn and play it cool.

This isn’t a big deal. I’m surely not falling for this man. Falling doesn’t happen like this. It’s scripted. Hutch and I are so far off script it isn’t even funny. “There are a lot of things in life you should be scared of. I’m not one of them. I don’t suck at relationships, Valen. I only take on ones that I’m sure I can make work. That’s the difference. Realists have a very thorough approach. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your past?” He doesn’t say men, but I know that’s what he wants to know.

“I was born and raised in San Diego. I like scuba diving and coffee dates. I enjoy riding my bicycle down to the beach and sunbathing to kill an afternoon. Greer comes to visit or I go to see her once a month at the very least. She’s my best friend and one of the few friends I have. My parents made me learn how to ballroom dance as a teenager so I can waltz like I’m floating on a goddamn cloud, and I can probably do anything to or with a computer you can conceive.”

He’s smiling, the side of his face stilted with one hand. His elbow is propped on the steering wheel and his body is angled toward the passenger seat. “Varied skills,” he remarks, pushing his lips to the side. “Something trivial now.”

I mimic his head tilt. Licking my lips, I offer a grin before crossing my legs again. “I have a vibrator named Vincent. He gets me through dry spells.” Literally and figuratively. It’s not a terribly trivial fact. Honestly, I use that damn vibe more than I’d ever care to admit.

He furrows his brow and scratches his head. “That’s a weird name. Why Vincent?”

The projector begins, previews lighting up our faces in the dark car. Hutch turns the volume down on the speaker, and focuses his attention back on my face. “You know how Vincent Van Gogh sliced off the bottom of his ear because he was plagued by depression and loneliness?” I ask, nibbling my lower lip.

Hutch widens his eyes. “Okay?”

“Well, Vincent prevents that from happening to me,” I explain. “It’s a joke, Hutch. Don’t look at me like I’m going to grab a razor and slice off your ear.”

“I expected a fun little anecdote, not how you spent long hours creating the perfect name for an electronic device meant to give you orgasms. It’s odd. No ifs, ands, or buts about that.”

I shrug. “You’re right. But he’s seen my O face more times than you have.” Reaching above my head as high as I can, I stretch my arms. “Should we go in the back and make ourselves more comfortable?” His car is clean. Meticulously so.

Hutch is grinning like a lunatic. “Is that a fucking challenge? How many orgasms has ole’ Vince given you?” He has a slight drawl, when he speaks animatedly. I kick off my heels inconspicuously. “Certainly parts of my body will make your toes curl quicker than an electronic device.” His word choice is very specific.

Scoffing, I crawl into the back seat with as much tact as a footballer. “It has given me an unmeasurable number of orgasms. Come on. He’s like three years old.” I bought it from a vibrator party after I broke up with Dean. It seemed like a proper purchase to mark my newly minted single status. When I’m situated in the seat behind the passenger’s side I glance through the windshield at the wide screen.

Hutch sighs. I feel his gaze on my face as I avoid his. The move is his. “When I go back there, we’re finished watching the movie.”

“Why else would you bring me to a drive-in? The actual movie hasn’t even started yet. You must have some hidden desire to reenact your teenage years.” I waggle my brows, and pinch my lips to stop a smile.

Instead of crawling over the seats he exits the car and joins me in the back seat using the door, like a civilized human. What seemed like a roomy back seat only moments before turned into a cardboard box now that he’s occupying the other seat. “When I was a teenager I didn’t fuck girls.”

I take his hand in mind. “You fucked boys?” I grin.

He raises one brow. “No. I was a straight-laced teenager focused on my studies. I had a steady girlfriend all throughout high school. I didn’t have sex with her until senior year.”

I swallow. It’s an interesting fact. It’s also probably the most telling thing he’s admitted yet. My lame boy joke seems more juvenile now than it did seconds ago. “I was a straight-laced teenager, too. While we’re comparing notes.” I can’t cop up to Dean, though. Not yet. That’s too telling about me. Predictable isn’t a quality I ever want associated with my name.

He nods. “I can tell.”

“You cannot possibly know that about me. I ooze confidence and sultry, sexual charisma.”

He leans forward, but halts several breaths away from my lips. “I’m good at reading people. You put on a good front.”

“Well, I’m not some terrorist you can give a human lie detector test to.”

Tilting his head, he brings his lips close to my ear. “You give it up without even trying. If you don’t want me reading you, hide better.”

My skin prickles. Not just where his lips are—my whole body is aware of his proximity. His intimidating words meant to warn me away, only drench everything below my waist. He’s the wolf and I’m red riding hood. Bring on the bestiality. Bring. It. On. “What if I’m tired of hiding?” I ask. If I just want to be myself and take what I want. And what I want is to give myself to him without any reservations or hang ups about what people think.

“Then spread your fucking legs and give everything to me,” he rasps. His hand skims my knee and slides up my inner thigh. His motion pauses when he realizes I’m not wearing anything underneath. “You’re making this too easy.” The bright lights from the screen flash across one side of his face. Half of a devilish smile winks at me—as if to say, hello, I’m going to destroy your pussy now, the bill will be in the mail.

I pull back so I can look him in the eye. “Is there such a thing as too easy?” I don’t wait for him to answer, with one hand cradling the side of his face I kiss him, opening my mouth to let my tongue brush against his. Hutch pulls me by the hand to get me closer to his body, while his other hand, the more important one, grazes my wetness. “We could have done this earlier. At my house. It would have been more comfortable.”

“I want you to take my fingers inside you,” he commands.

Obeying him is easy, because he’s speaking my love language. I spread my thighs, opening them as far as I can. With both hands, Hutch grabs the skirt on either side and pushes it above my waist. The move fumbles a little as we’re confined to forty cubic feet. With my hands on his shoulders I kneel in front of him. My breathing is already ragged and his cock isn’t even exposed yet. Licking his lips he tilts his head into the light from the drive-in screen. “No one remembers fucking in beds, Valen. You’ll remember this. I promise.”

He thrusts two fingers into me and my knees fucking buckle. Holy Mary Mother of God. I’m not even standing and he’s making my damn knees weak, my stomach flutter, and my head all fuzzy. It has all the qualities of a really good dream. The kind you get pissed about when you wake up before it ends. No matter how hard you try to go back to sleep to finish it, it never works. You’re stuck in reality. At the moment, my reality is better than my dreams.

Pulling the collar of his t-shirt, he yanks it over his head and tosses it into the front seat. His lips crash into mine as he tries to unbutton his pants at the same time. “Let me help you. Smaller hands,” I whisper against his mouth while dipping my fingers in to the top of his waistband. My hands are cool against his warm skin.

His hands grasp the hem of my shirt instead. I make light work of his jeans and slide his black boxer briefs down as far as I can manage. His cock is free, looming between us—like an animal in the wrong habitat. Hello, snake. You’ve entered Valen’s enclosure. I swallow down all my fear about doing this in a car, because let’s be perfectly clear, I have never fucked around in a car before and he’s entirely right, I will remember this for the rest of my life. It remains to be seen if that’s a good thing or not.

“Take a picture, it will last longer. Or suck my dick,” Hutch says, humor lighting his tone. Perhaps I should stop staring. It is quite rude. If it’s my dream I should be able to gawk if I want to.

I scoot back as far as I can and lean down. “Like this?” I lick the tip of his long dick, moaning when a drop of clear liquid hits my tongue. “Or like this?” Running my teeth softly from the tip to the base. I peek up through my lashes.

“No teeth. Tongue. Yes.” He hisses a breath as I return to sliding him down my throat. His hands run through my hair as I bob up and down. With one hand stroking his balls lightly, I’m doing my best porn star audition.

His abs are perfection. They flex in varying degrees depending on what I’m doing with my mouth. It’s artistry up close and personal. I lick his shaft up and down and spit a wad of saliva on the head before I slide him all the way down my throat once again. Gagging, my eyes water from Hutch’s girth and length combined. He has the perfect cock. I wish I could swallow it down and trap it inside my snatch.

“Enough,” he says, gently pulling my head up. “I need to taste your cunt.” Guiding my hips, and positioning my body halfway on the seat and my bottom half in his arms he sets his face in between my thighs. There’s no gentle kisses, or teasing, it’s a full onslaught of clit pleasing, licking, sucking, and sopping wet bliss.

Sighing, I relent and bend to his will, as if I had a choice in the matter when he’s sucking my pussy like a Hoover vacuum. His mouth feels better than any Vincent I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing intimately. I’m sure my face is contorting with pleasure. Orgasms aren’t pretty, flowery things. It’s a fierce loss of all muscle control. Before the big O it’s lithe muscles and soft skin, it’s kisses and slow movements that become more harried, and then with a jerk, and a skewed sense of self, you explode into a frenzy of non-control.

With my free hand I pull his head into me further. I don’t want him to reply, I want him right where he is. “That. Keep doing that,” I say, in a breathless plea. “I’m about to blow.” It’s said half as a joke, because he’s so good at this, but mostly because I’ve been on the cusp of an orgasm since he set to work, and I actually feel like I might explode from the sensations.

He hums in appreciation as he laps at my wet pussy and continues the same pace with his fingers writhing inside me. I let go completely, seeing stars and flashes of light as every part of my body tingles in release. I scream, and it’s not his name, because who remembers names when they’re coming like a goddamn freight train? I claw at the seat that’s digging in my back with one hand, and fist his hair with the other. Gentleness isn’t on my mind and he casually removes my hand before I come away with scalp.

My foot is propped on the door and I push away automatically when the sensations are too much to bear. Slowly, I open my eyes and peek at Hutch. His devilish smile is now a smug, self-satisfied smile. Lips shining in the dim light, he says, “Who was that? Vince who? Oh, Hutch. That’s what you were saying.” My breathing is still ragged, my stomach rising and falling in a furious, well-pleased pace.

“You win today. You win,” I gasp.

He chuckles and leans over me to fish around in the center console. He comes back with a condom in one hand. I tell him I’m on the pill as he rolls the condom down his cock. I readjust, because now he’s sitting, bare assed might I add, on the seat, facing forward.

“Get on top,” he says, nodding his chin to his erection. “And you better fuck me like you mean it because I’ve given you two orgasms today. Pay me back.” His words do funny things to my insides. They make me warm, and also spark a little anger.

“If I don’t want to be on top?”

“Then, I’ll grab your perfect little waist, drag you on top of me, and pull you on my dick. I don’t need you to move. I’ll fuck you wild, and you’ll never have to move a muscle.”

With that beautiful sentiment, I sidle next to him and swing one leg over his lap so my bare, wet cunt is positioned over him. The scent of latex mixes with his cologne, and it takes me under completely. Hutch sets his hands firmly on each of my hips, his thumbs pressing on each hip bone. “Fuck me,” he says. Every nerve ending in my body is focused between my legs. I’m throbbing, empty, in seek of Hutch to remedy the loss—make me complete.

I lean down to find his lips and capture them with mine. Even as his grip tightens I hold tight to my resolve. His lips and tongue possess me. They claim me with the fierceness I feel there. “I think I will,” I say, when he breaks away from the kiss. Hutch stiffens, every beautiful muscle in his body contorting in torturous patience. I slide down onto the tip.

His cock stretches my entrance, and I let my chin fall against my chest—unwilling to control any muscles that aren’t mandatory in this moment. “Look at me,” he says. I force my hips down further, and the sensation of fullness causes me to gasp. Lifting my head, I look at him in the eye. His gaze is stripped of everything. I see him. Inside his fucking soul.

If his cock wasn’t buried inside me right now I feel like he’d be reciting a Shakespearean sonnet, proposing marriage on a jumbotron screen, or maybe, just maybe, telling me he’s in love with me. It’s preposterous, of course, but with a mere look, what-ifs creep in to steal my sanity. Instead of dwelling, lost in his gorgeous eyes, I ride his dick and bury my face in his neck. Despite his obvious command to look at him, I know I can work him so good he won’t care what he’s looking at.

The windows are steamed and the entire car smells like hot, fucking sex. I’m bucking on top of him without regard for anything except his cock and my pussy waltzing in rough, punishing pace. I kiss his neck and his ear, and he pulls my ass cheeks apart to deepen my thrusts. His fingers are warm on my skin, and from this angle, my clit is rubbing against him after each thrust.

“Come on my dick. I want to feel you come,” he rasps, pulling my hair down so my chin tilts up. I’m mildly aware that the movie is still playing behind us because the low speaker just barked out the horrible Madea accent. “Come, Valen,” Hutch orders again.

Skin smacks against skin, breathy sighs morph into moans and tight groans as we both near the peak. His hands grip my ass tighter as he throws me down onto his stiff dick. It’s almost painful. Almost. Crying out, in a strangled cry I tell him I’m coming and it’s all the motivation he needs. The car is shaking with the force of our fucking. I brace my hand on the window as he slams me down, tilts his head back and comes inside me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, through clenched teeth. His hips jut up with each throb of his orgasm. I collapse over his shoulder in my own blissful wave of pleasure. He holds me close, his arms banded around my waist, pulling me against his rapidly moving chest.

After a minute or two, he sucks in a few huge breaths and pushes away to look at me. My body is blocking the light from the screen in front of us, so I can only see the shadowy planes of his face. Grabbing my waist, he lifts me gently off his semi-hard dick. He slides the hulking full, condom off and ties it in a knot. Or I can only assume, by his hand movements in the dimly lit car. “Memorable?” he asks.

I’ll never forget that. Ever. But he didn’t say Honest War.

Grinning, I lean over and kiss his lips. “Passable.”

“And I didn’t even get to see the heart on your hip.”