Miles for Love Series Box Set, page 100
I said almost.
I’ve never known a woman to be so liberated. I love it. As she works my cock up and down, using her hand and her mouth, she’s turned me into a grunting, panting ball of lust. The waves of pleasure are left and right, sending me to all kinds of places that I’ve never been before. I don’t want her to stop, but I know that I have to, or else…well, you know. Gently taking her by the arms, I pull her up, so she’s straddling me. Impaling her, I cup her face in my hands, and kiss her like she’ll die if I don’t.
Pushing my pelvis up and down, it feels so fucking amazing I can’t stand it. She’s got me so hot it’s like I’ve lost control. We’re going at it on her couch like we haven’t seen each other in months. Pumping into her, kissing her like there’s no tomorrow, she’s moaning in my mouth, feeling every inch of me, and I’m as hard as a rock. But it’s all her fault. Losing my mind I’m so ready to come, but I want to get her there, get her as hot as I am, first.
Finding her breasts with my mouth, I suck and lick her nipples, as my hand slides down to her clit, and I circle it with my middle finger. I can feel her tighten inside the second I make the first pass.
“Oh…God,” she practically growls, “I love it when you do that.”
Music to my ears.
As I continue thrusting, licking, circling, I can feel her bearing down, holding her breath, grunting, and most of all, tightening. My mouth moves from one breast to the other, and then it happens. With a breathy, ragged grunt, her insides begin to quake, and she comes on my cock so hard, it practically sucks me just like she did a few moments ago with her mouth. The orgasm is so intense I have to stop myself from biting her nipple as it pulses through me.
She’s losing her shit, crying out in ecstasy, having an official Meg Ryan kind of orgasm. I swear to God her neighbors can hear her. Not that I blame her, I mean, I’m not exactly praying in silence under her. I’m making enough noise to wake the dead. We’re almost drowning each other out. This is more dramatic than I’ve ever been or experienced. But it’s also, hands down, the best sex I’ve ever had. I’m guessing that’s because Ripley’s the first woman I’ve ever loved like this. And if my cards are played out right, my last.
Her sexy ass rests on my lap, as she finds my lips, kissing me tenderly. My hands cradle her back, pulling her close. We kiss like a hundred times before we stop, drinking in the beautiful afterglow, taking in the love between us. It’s unreal how much I love her. My body is literally humming after making love to her. I’ve never felt this way. And I get the feeling that she’s never felt this way before, either. “Mmm…” I murmur against her lips. “That was…you were…” I trail off.
She nods, raking her hands through my hair as we’re nose-to-nose. “So were you.”
My voice is low. “Baby, you ain’t see nothin’ yet.” I wink. This is true, because this is only the second time we’ve made love. There are a million other things I want to do to her. She grins against my lips, kissing me more. I’ll never get sick of her kissing me. Her lips are so soft and full, and sexy as hell, especially when they’re wrapped around my cock, like they were a little while ago. God…damn, that’ll keep me happy for a while.
As I look into her eyes, they widen for a moment, and I rake a hand through my hair.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Shit.” I grin tightly, suddenly angry with myself. “I forgot to use a condom.”
Her face falls. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Sorry…I guess I was kind of…caught off guard there.” I explain. “Especially after…” I gesture to the air, indicating the oral pleasure she gave me. “Not that I’m blaming you, baby, because…damn.” I smile. “That was the single most pleasing thing I’ve ever had.”
“Then it was worth it.” she matches my smile.
“I suppose that’s one thing we haven’t discussed yet, sweetheart.”
“What? Having children?”
“Well, that’s how you make them.” I’m being matter-of-fact.
She bites her lip. “I think it’s weird having a baby with you if I’m still technically married to Paul, but once that’s over, I’m ready when you are.” She says, searching my eyes. “I hope that’s not too…”
I shake my head. “It’s not too…anything. It’s honest. And that’s all I ask of you.”
“And how do you feel…you know…if I got pregnant accidentally.”
“Well, I love kids.” I kiss her. “And I love you.” I kiss her again. “Put the two together, and we’ve got a whole lot of love, baby.”
“But it has to be the right time.” she clarifies.
“Of course.” I say, as though what we’ve just done is our free pass. I’m well aware that it might not be, but I try to put that in the back of my mind.
She changes the subject. “So, did Grant tell you all about him breaking up with Frankie?”
I rub her back as we speak. “Yeah. There’s something going on with him, though. It’s nothing to do with Frankie. She’s great. He even said so himself.”
“He’s deep, is he?” she smiles, teasing.
“He can be.” I kiss her, and then I change the subject. “So, where’s this chocolate you were chowing down on? Did you save me any?”
She lifts off me and slides her bathrobe over her shoulders. “Don’t do that.” I say, looking as disappointed as I feel.
Grinning, she winks at me. “The windows in the kitchen are open.”
“Ah,” I nod, reaching for the tissues on the end table, cleaning myself up. I put my underwear back on while she’s gone, and head to the washroom. When I return, she’s on the couch, with two glasses of water, and a bowl of Hershey’s Kisses on the coffee table. “I’d much rather just kiss you.” I comment.
“What are you doing with your underwear on?” she asks teasingly, ignoring my comment.
“You seriously want me to sit on your couch naked?”
“After what we just did on it, I think the point is moot.”
I smile. “I love your thinking.”
She winks, taking a bite out of a chocolate.
As we sit together, enjoying each other’s company and the distant afterglow of our lovemaking, neither one of us has any idea that the next twenty-four hours will change both our lives forever.
Chapter 20
Paul
The warden taps on the steel bars separating me and the nasty thug next to me. “You’re up, wife beater.” I love my new nickname. This warden is a true sack of shit. Once my lawyer gets me out of here, for however long until the trial, I’m going to pound the living shit out of him. They taunt me with photos of my wife, before and after. I have no recollection of what happened, and I swear to God it didn’t. We were at the restaurant, having a nice time, and that’s all I remember. Far as I’m concerned, she was attacked by someone else and is trying to pin it on me.
How the hell they got hold of those photos is beyond me. The goddamn internet is a fucking curse. Ripley is okay, though. Her brothers made a point of coming to tell me that, acting like I wouldn’t be satisfied until I finished her off. In no uncertain terms they told me that if I ever laid a hand on her again, it would be my last, and I better pray that they keep me here for life, because they’ll kill me if I’m freed, no matter what the court says. Fuck them. Fuck them all.
I’m glad that Ripley’s okay. Don’t get me wrong. I mean, I love her. I always have. She’s my wife. I’d never want anything but good things for her. I’d give anything to be with her, at home, right now. Instead of in this freezing cold, hard as a rock jail cell. Nobody is telling me a goddamn thing, except when my lawyer shows up. He told me that there would be an arraignment today, and that’s all I know. I hope to God I don’t get driven to the courthouse in a goddamn paddy wagon like the last time. These inmates are fucking savages. Killers. I’m being tried for attempted murder, and even at that I’m pleading temporary insanity, and that’s on my lawyer’s suggestion, and only because of my blood-alcohol level the night of Ripley’s attack.
I still don’t understand what happened. I mean, I was drunk. How the fuck can I beat her up so bad if I’m drunk? It’s fucking impossible and ridiculous, but my lawyer says that I blacked out. I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. They stripped me down, took my clothes for DNA testing, and found Ripley’s blood spatter on me, under my nails, her DNA all over me. But hell, she’s my wife. Of course her DNA is on me. But why her blood, you ask? Well, that blood could be from anywhere. Could even be menstrual blood for all I know. I mean, she’s my wife. We lived together. Who fucking knows, but I didn’t do it. I know that much.
“Up, asshole.” The warden repeats as I rise slowly. My fucking ass is killing me from the steel bench inside the cell. I’ve asked if I can call my wife, but they won’t let me. My first phone call, after I sobered up, was to my lawyer. And he’s advised me not to make contact with Ripley for now. I feel like shit that she was in the hospital, in critical condition, and they wouldn’t so much as let me call the damn hospital to ask how my wife was doing. Sons of bitches. At this point I’ve lost all track of time and space. I have no idea what day it is or what time it is. They confiscated everything from me, including my fucking underwear. I’m in prison garb, and it sucks.
“What’s going on?” I ask the warden as I approach him.
“What do I fucking look like?” he barks. “Get the fuck away from me. Your fucking breath reeks.”
Well it should. They give you like thirty seconds to shower and brush your fucking teeth. What do you expect? I barely got to rinse my balls off before they pulled me out of the shower. He brings me down the hall, past the room with the plexiglass partitions, where I see my lawyer and anybody who comes for a visit. So far I’ve had two visits from my lawyer, and one from my mom, plus one from Ripley’s brothers. All of those times I prayed it was Ripley coming to see me. I swear she’s got to think that this is a mistake. I’m no murderer. I didn’t try to kill her. I swear to God I didn’t.
When I see back exit doors open, and two cops standing there, I know that I’m going to the courthouse. Since the paddy wagon is nowhere in sight, I grin inwardly. I’ve learned that an actual grin gets you grief from the warden, so I keep my teeth well hidden and my lips straight. Not that I have anything to smile about in this fucking place, but even a sarcastic smile is dangerous here.
“You ready?” One cop says to the other when they see me. The one officer is older, with a shock of graying hair poking out the sides of his hat, and thick, black-rimmed glasses on his face. The other guy, I’ll call redhead for obvious reasons, could pass for his son. They’re both built the same, and they both wear glasses, only the younger cop’s glasses are made of that space age titanium, and you can barely tell he’s wearing them, except that he didn’t spring for the anti-reflective coating, so the light from outside pings off them.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Redhead says to Grampa.
The warden is surprisingly gentle shoving me into the backseat of the cop car. He’s probably on his best behavior with two cops supervising. I wish they’d been here the other day, when I swear to God he was going to fucking sodomize me after doing a physical inspection. No fucking dignity is allowed in this place. What dignity you have they stamp out the moment you take your first shower.
My scalp grazes the roof as I get in the backseat. There’s that wonderful plexiglass again. It’s everywhere. I feel like I’m a fucking rabid animal. There is a tiny airhole carved into the six-inch-thick plastic, and about a thousand metal rivets attaching the barrier to the first half of the car’s interior. It smells like old pizza, sweaty shoes and piss back here. I’ve learned the art of breathing through my mouth since I arrived in the slammer. Most of my cell partners have stank like nothing short of death.
I barely get inside when he slams the door, inches from my hand. There’s the last breath of fresh air for a while. The two cops get in the front, acting like I’m invisible. It’s so nice being ignored. It’s so nice how we’re guilty until proven innocent. At least it feels that way. “We going to the courthouse?” I ask, interrupting them.
“That’s right.” Grampa answers, looking back at me. At least he gave me eye contact. Most of the time you don’t get that here.
“Has my lawyer been notified?”
“I haven’t got a clue, son.” Grampa answers. “We’re just following orders.”
“Fair enough.”
I don’t want to ask any more than necessary. I mean, he’s being nice now, but if I push too hard, he could turn into a real asshole, as I’ve learned. It’s nice to be outside. The weather is beautiful, even though the windows have to be rolled up.
The car is started up, and we’re on our way. The two cops are involved in idle chatter, so I stare out the window for a while. Then I overhear them talking about something, and I can’t help but listen in.
“So, what the hell happened to your pants?” Grampa chuckles. “You didn’t let your mom iron them for you?”
“Na, I had them dry cleaned.” Redhead scoffs. “I’ll never use that place at the back of the grocery store again.”
“But this isn’t the first time I’ve seen your pants look like that.” Grampa points out.
“Yeah, I thought at least the dry cleaner would be better at ironing than me. I suppose I was wrong.”
“They’re scorched.” Grampa says. “But it does look like you pissed yourself.” He smiles.
“Get lost.” Redhead whines.
“Sorry,” I interrupt, trying to be as polite as possible. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
Grampa, who is in the passenger side, looks over. “What’s up, partner?”
“If you’re having problems with scorching, just use wax paper.” I advise.
Grampa looks back at me. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, just…put the wax paper on the material, so it’s between the iron and the pants. It prevents scorching.” I add. “I…have to wear suits and dress pants all the time, and I had the same problem.”
“Okay, cool.” Redhead says with a little impressed scoff. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” I add. “And don’t use the steam setting on them, either. It encourages scorching. The steam setting should only be for delicate things like blouses and pure cotton items.”
Redhead frowns. “Good to know.”
Grampa looks over at me. “I was there the night they brought you in. What the hell were you on? Word is you tried to kill your wife.” He asks like a concerned father, so I don’t take offense to the accusation.
“My lawyer says I had a black out.” I admit. “I drank some wine is all. A lot of it, to be honest, but just wine. I wasn’t on anything, I swear.”
“I never heard of such a thing.” Grampa comments. “You pleading guilty?”
“Hell no. Temporary insanity.” I say adamantly. “There’s no way I did it, but my lawyer says that I haven’t got a snowball chance in hell of getting out innocent if I plead it. Ripley…err…my wife’s DNA is what’ll ruin that for me. But I swear to God I don’t remember a thing. I wouldn’t hurt her.”
Grampa shakes his head, the look of concern is still on his face. “I can’t imagine such a thing. That happening and you don’t remember. What a mess.”
“You can say that again.” I agree.
“I wish you well.” Grampa says, and it’s the first time since I’ve been here, that I felt like anyone gave a shit about me.
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
He winks at me.
We’re in the middle of a busy highway. It’s the morning rush hour. One minute cars are going at a decent highway speed, the next we’re at a complete stop. At this moment, we’re decently cruising the highway, when suddenly the car veers to the left abruptly. I slide to the right in the back, and I see Grampa’s gaze dart to Redhead. Redhead is flopping around behind the wheel, like he’s at a rave, high on ecstasy or something. “Shit.” Grampa grunts, undoing his seatbelt.
I sit up straight, or at least I try to, but Grampa doesn’t reach Redhead fast enough, and he must be hitting the gas pedal, because we’re flying down the highway, sideways, barely missing about four cars. Grampa turns on the sirens and the lights, hoping that cars will get out of the way. “He’s having a fucking seizure!” I shout, helplessly. My first instinct is to undo my seatbelt to try to help, but the fucking plexiglass barrier prevents me from doing anything other than sit back here and wait to fucking die.
We’re driving over a bridge with brush underneath, between two cities, and only a cement barrier is there, keeping us from driving over it. Grampa can’t get his leg over to hit the brake pedal. Redhead’s body seems to be locked in place while he’s seizing. Grampa tries to get control of the wheel, and I pray that he’ll grab the emergency brake, but I’m not sure if that’ll just place us out of control with the speed that we’re reaching.
He grabs the wheel, but we’re going too goddamn fast. We veer, hit, veer, hit the guardrail on one side, “Oh, mommy, oh, mommy,” I’m repeating like a mantra. I topple over, hitting my head on the other side of the car, and it dazes me. And thank God…we hit the other side, do a one-hundred-and-eighty turn, and smack the car that’s coming at us head-on. Like I said before…
…that’s all I remember.
***
Ripley
Frankie is waiting for me at the restaurant when I pull up. She texted me to let me know that she already got us a seat. The place is one of those that offers express lunches, and thirty minutes or it’s free kind of deals, which is why this is our usual spot whenever we get together for lunch. I expect her to look forlorn when I see her, but she’s her normal, chipper self, which impresses me.
“Hey,” I say, somewhat breathlessly, as I approach the table.
“Hey,” she says, rising to give me a quick hug. “I’ve already ordered the usual. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I would’ve let you know if I wanted something different.”
“Cool.”
“Man, I thought I was never going to get here. Did you see the back up from the highway?”
