BAG BOY

CHAPTER 3

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Cougarcougarcougarcougarcougarcougarcougarcougarcougar

He'd have thirty minutes tops for lunch, and I planned to make the most of each one. I parked the Z4 in the corner of the lot at 10:29—no need to appear overly eager though my outfit might have begged to differ. After yesterday's stunt with the towel, today's skimpy tank and micro-skirt felt like formal wear. The boy would be expecting something more than a peanut butter sandwich for his efforts—and rightly so. I intended to deliver.

My rearview mirror allowed me a perfect shot of the front door. Moments after my dashboard clock registered 10:30, Edward appeared, looking every bit as crisp and unsullied as I'd imagined he would. He ran his fingers through his wild bronze hair as he strode directly for me, a man on a mission.

His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but his smile shone as bright as the sun. Playing hard-to-get did not seem to be part of his repertoire. We were definitely on the same page with that one though my sweet cub would have to be satisfied with "getting" what I was ready to give.

Bagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboy

I punched out at 10:30, grabbed my sunglasses, and by 10:32, my ass was happily cradled by the soft leather of her passenger seat. The nearest car was five rows away, and with the Roadster's top down, it felt as if we were floating in our own little sailboat on the sunny asphalt sea.

She wore a big, floppy hat and a pair of designer sunglasses that hid half her face, but she made up for it by wearing the skimpiest red top and red-and-white-striped mini-skirt known to mankind. She was a candy cane dangling on the tree, and I wanted to lick every inch. But she already knew that.

"Good morning." I wanted to tell her she looked beautiful, but it felt too forward. I wanted to tell her how sweet her car was, but I didn't want to sound like some dumb kid with a hard-on for a hot car. My hard-on was all for her.

She plucked my left hand from my thigh, leaving a trail of shivers up and down my leg. Intertwining our hands, she ran her finger inside the rubber band and smiled. "Tell me how it went last night."

My thoughts drifted. "Touch yourself for me, cub," she'd said last night as the towel fell away. My left hand glided obediently, curled around the tip. She licked her lips and watched. The hand felt foreign, but not at all unpleasant, as if someone else were doing the stroking. Her. The rubber band rose and fell with each stroke, a reminder I was under her spell if not her command.

She stared at me with those same golden-flecked eyes that watched me in my bed last night, waiting not entirely patiently for me to speak. I squirmed in my seat. Not answering was not an option; I knew this.

I cleared my throat. "It went well." I failed to mention she'd applauded me last night.

She grinned. "You're not much of a talker, are you?" An observation, not a criticism.

"I've always felt that actions speak louder than words." That sounded mature. I mentally patted myself on the back.

Still smirking, she let go of my hand to pass me a sandwich and a carton of milk. "Bon appétit."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure . . . speaking of which . . ." With a wink, she reclined her seat.

I took a bite of my sandwich, but it sat like a lump on my tongue as I watched her fingers disappear under her skirt. She turned to face me. "Aren't you going to eat?"

I moved my jaw and ground up the bread and peanut butter with my teeth. After a while, I swallowed but didn't taste a thing.

Her legs fell open; her right knee came to rest against the center console. So close . . . too close. What I wouldn't give for an invitation to place my hand right there, on her knee. To graze the length of her well-toned thigh with the palm of my hand, until it disappeared under her skirt. But clearly, this was a peep-show matinee I'd been invited to, view-only. I wasn't complaining.

I bit off another corner of my sandwich so she wouldn't stop to scold me again.

She smiled at me, and a tingle shuddered down my spine. Her breathing picked up; so did mine. Gaze fixed on my mouth, she flexed her hips and pumped toward invisible fingers. I grasped my sandwich with both hands so I didn't do something epically stupid. My dick had swollen, creating a most uncomfortable predicament, but I wasn't about to risk an adjustment. If a trapped boner was the price of admission, I would hand my ticket over with gusto.

I fixed my focus on the fleshy party of her thigh, the squeeze-release, squeeze-release of the muscle mesmerizing me as she rocked her pelvis toward those naughty fingers. The red and white cotton fluttered from the movement of fingertips beneath it; her tiny skirt inched up, up, up . . . a flash of white appeared.

Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow.

Her mouth fell open. A flash of tongue peeked through her parted lips. She let out a soft mewl. I thought I might come in my pants.

I wondered if she'd be angry with me.

I wondered if I'd get fired if I went back to work with a big cum stain on my khakis. I couldn't decide if I cared.

I would've killed for a second pair of eyes so I could watch all of her at once. My gaze ping-ponged back and forth between the shadowy white triangle at the edge of her skirt and the wild look of ecstasy in her eyes as she finally let go. I couldn't have said which sight turned me on more . . .

Or knowing she'd lured me here to watch.

Fuck me, I'd hit the kinky cougar lottery!

Blinking up at the cloudless sky, she released a long, blissful sigh. As relaxed as her orgasm had left her, I was the exact opposite, the picture of tension. I was seconds from bursting, and nobody had laid a finger on me.

I tried dousing my horniness with two-percent milk. Guzzle. Guzzle. Swallow. Nope, still horny as fuck.

She shook her head as if waking from a very satisfying dream, glanced over at me, and raised her seat back to normal. I noticed she didn't pull her skirt down, just retracted her right hand from her panties and rested it in her lap. "As soon as you finish your sandwich, you can have dessert."

Whatever dessert was, I wanted it now. I gulped down the last three bites and sent half the pint of milk down after it.

Her smile sent crinkles to the edges of her cheeks. "Open your mouth and close your eyes."

I'm not proud. I did that.

Her fingers passed between my lips, and her musky juices hit my tongue. I licked her fingers clean and thanked her for dessert.

"You're welcome"—she chuckled softly—"but that wasn't it."

I felt the blush rise to my cheeks. "Oh."

A fork touched my lower lip, and I opened my mouth again. A sweet, warm pastry crust hit my tongue along with the taste of blueberries in a thick syrup. "Mmm, that's delicious."

She giggled, a soft, sweet sound that didn't really match the demanding woman who'd so thoroughly taken over control of my life. "Better be careful. You don't want to make your other dessert jealous."

I wished I could've seen her expression just then, but I'm no cheater. "Not to sound ungrateful for the pie or anything . . ."

"Yessss?"

"I'd take that other dessert very happily any day of the week."

"Noted," she said. I could've sworn there was a smile in her voice.

"Would you like more pie?"

"Yes, please."

"You can open your eyes." The fork returned. I was starved for more of her, but the pie was pretty damn delicious.

She fed me the rest of the pie, one unrushed bite at a time, while we eyed each other with an intensity that gave me goosebumps. Someone older and more suave might've come up with something smooth to say, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out anything worth breaking our connection.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I pulled it out and swiped the screen to silence the alarm. "I have to go back inside now."

Her eyebrows rose. "Do you always set an alarm for your lunch break?"

She had me by the balls, and we both knew it. "No. I had a feeling I might get distracted."

She grinned. "And?"

"And," I said, grinning back, "I'd rather not get fired today." Just when this shitty job was getting interesting.

"Hmm, I guess I'll let you go then." She winked and reached for the cellphone sitting in the cup holder. "I'll need your cell number."

My brain was busy wrapping itself around the idea that she "let me go" . . . and what it might look like if she'd held me captive instead. Stripped naked and tied up in her bed to do with as she pleased . . .

She jiggled her phone in front my face. I cleared my throat. "Sorry." I recited my number and prayed she'd call me.

With no promise of another meeting, all I could say was, "Thank you for lunch. Everything was perfect."

"My pleasure." Yeah, I guess there was that.

I stayed until the last possible second before exiting the oasis of her Roadster. I jogged back to the store, imagining her eyes on my ass the whole way. I attempted to be graceful. Somehow, I managed to slip into the employee break room just in time to punch in at 11:00.

Tanya was heading in for her break, and she gave me a funny look before sneering, "Your teeth are blue."

Yes, to match my balls.

I wore those blue teeth as a badge of honor for the rest of the day.

Cougarcougarcougarcougarcougarcougarcougarcougarcougar

My instincts had been right about this one; he was a good boy. Despite his youth and obvious enthusiasm for the chase, this bag boy had manners. He knew how to keep his hands to himself and wait for an invitation.

Even better, he didn't feel the need to fill the air with the usual blah-blah-blah. His quiet restraint was a goddamn relief after Seth's non-stop natter. This boy wasn't the type to take gifts that weren't offered, and I appreciated that more than he could know. Not surprisingly, he also wasn't volunteering more than I'd demanded, and that might just have been the je ne sais quoi that kept me thinking about him long after I washed the taste of his tongue off my fingers.


Author's Note: Here's to blue teeth and blue balls and je ne sais quoi! Thank you all for taking this story as it comes to me.

Many thanks to the amazing Chayasara for agreeing to dive back into this one with me! And for the record, we do have our rare "creative differences," due to my occasional refusal to adhere to the constraints of the English language. Don't blame CS for anything that looks weird. ;)

XOXO
~BOH