Jennie

Having grown up on a farm, in a rural area, homeschooled, and with social anxiety doesn't mean I never had a boyfriend. I did. Not a lot, but a few, and most of them were long term. Well, longish term.

Also, having four older brothers meant dating could be difficult—and often secretive. In addition to the secrecy came the challenge of finding opportunities for privacy. Even now, at twenty-five, I've never lived away from home for long. Because of the farm, none of my siblings have strayed very far from the hub of the family wheel. Everyone lives within a few miles of each other.

Sure, the house we all grew up in was big, with lots of places to sneak off to—barns are decent places to make out in, if you can get over the smell. And animals don't generally rat you out—unless you happen to kick over a bucket and it lands in a cow stall, scaring the crap out of them.

Even with the challenges I faced in the dating world, I went out with a guy who had her own place for a while. That proved helpful in expanding my sexual repertoire and putting theory into practice; however, based on my most current experience, that guy wasn't all that great in bed. Certainly not as giving, skilled, or well endowed as Lali.

Suffice it to say, I don't put up a fight the next morning when Lali suggests we get the rest of my things and bring them back to her place. But first we have more sex. And then a shower, which leads to more sex. I can see how that particular location might be a little dangerous with someone who isn't as strong or agile as Lali.

Being intimate with someone who is in such amazing physical condition is pretty fantastic. Not only can she pick me up and carry me around like I weigh as much as a bag of potatoes, she can also hold me up—with the help of the shower wall—and give me an orgasm. It's extraordinary.

She's rather extraordinary, really.

After last night there's a shift between us. It feels like we're connected in ways beyond intimacy.

We make a quick breakfast, get the rest of my personal effects from my crappy cabin, and return to her place. And yes, we have more sex. Actually, that's pretty much all we do for the rest of the day. That and eat. I wander around in one of her button-down plaid shirts, and she wanders around in her boxer briefs—my request, obviously.

I've never had a fling before, and I'm aware that's what this is. She lives in New York, and I live in Washington. She has to run an alpaca farm, and I have to finish my master's and get a job, eventually—or start my PhD, whichever makes more sense.

So I try not to worry about what will happen when I go back home. Instead, for the first time in my life, I just let myself enjoy the time I have with Lali and hope that my heart can handle it. I also enjoy sex with her. A lot. So that helps too.

Days bleed into each other as Lali and I settle into a routine. We make meals together and go boating almost every day, and I even manage to work on my thesis paper. Her internet reception is far superior to what mine was, so I'm actually able to get quite a bit done . . . all things considered. As the days on the calendar count down to her impending departure, everything that doesn't involve spending time with her takes a back seat.

A few days before she's supposed to go home, Lali changes her plans. My ticket is open ended, and she doesn't have any obligations until the middle of July, so she suggests that she stay longer. My heart skips a few dangerous beats at the thought of more time with her. I'm so attached to her already, and this is only going to make it that much harder when we have to leave. But I'll take a bruised heart in exchange for more time, and she delays her departure so we both leave closer to mid-July.

Two weeks before we're supposed to fly back to Seattle, we run out of condoms. It's not really a surprise, considering how quickly we've been going through them. We're in the kitchen, making coffee and toasting bagels, me in my favorite uniform—one of Lali's flannel plaid shirts—and her in her boxer briefs.

She reaches over me, erection poking me in the hip as she grabs two mugs from the cupboard above my head. She sets them in front of me, moves my hair aside, and presses a wet kiss to my neck. She follows that with the gentle scrape of teeth.

"Lali." It's more moan than warning.

"How am I supposed to resist you, especially when I know there's nothing under that shirt." Her fingers dip beneath the hem and skim along bare skin. I bat her hand away, spin to face her, and put a palm on her chest. Not that it's much of a deterrent, since I hum in appreciation instead of pushing her away—and brush my thumb over her nipple. In the short weeks Lali and I have had to explore each other's bodies, I've discovered that her nipples are a hot zone. So are her neck and the V of muscle at her hips, leading to the hottest hot zone of all.

She grabs me by the waist, picks me up, and deposits me on the counter. Her palms curl over my knees.

"It's been, what, two hours?" I drag my nails down the side of her neck and relish her low groan.

"Two hours too long. I'm going through withdrawal." She puts pressure on the insides of my knees, a silent request to let her in.

I spread my legs, my appetite for her as voracious as her is for me. "We need to go to town."

"We will, but breakfast and orgasms first, and not necessarily in that order." Lali slides her warm, rough palms up my thighs, biting her lip as she pushes the flannel up, exposing me. I'm already wet. It's pretty much perpetual with Lali. "Fuck, Jennie."

"Not until after we go to town." The statement comes out a little breathless—but also with conviction. I internally pat myself on the back for being responsible.

Lali rests her forehead against mine. "I could just slip it in there for a couple of strokes, like two or three. That'd be okay, right?"

I snort a laugh. It's definitely not a becoming sound at all. And it turns into a moan when Lali pulls her boxer briefs down and rubs the head of her erection along the inside of my thigh.

"I told you we should've gone to town yesterday," I murmur, half-entranced by the way she keeps rubbing the head along the crease in my thigh, up one side and then down the other, over and over again.

"You feel so good." She circles my most sensitive skin, and I moan. "Just two strokes bare, Jennie, please."

The toaster pops behind me. "The bagels are ready."

"Fuck the bagels."

"That might hurt." I suck in a breath as she drags the head of her erection down, parting my lips, passing my entrance. "One stroke. In and out. That's it," I say before I fully consider the ramifications.

Lali's eyes flip up to mine, and her chest rises and falls. Her gaze drops, and so does mine. "You're sure?" She's right there, hand shaking, erection kicking in her fist.

"Once. One time."

The head slips in, both of us look down, and I clench around her. It's such a terrible, wonderful idea. She pushes in another inch on a low groan. "God, Jennie, look at you." She frames my sex with her hands, thumbs sweeping over me, and pushes all the way in.

I moan, long and low and desperate. Because it feels so good, and I know it's so wrong and bad and dangerous. But I wrap my legs around her waist anyway, keeping her in me as I roll my hips. Her mouth drops open, and her lids flutter, her fingertips digging into my thighs as her forehead comes to rest against mine. "You feel so good like this—so fucking good, Jennie."

"You too." I unhook my legs from her waist and put a hand on her chest. "But it's not safe."

Her lust-heavy gaze meets mine, torn and desperate. She looks down, and I follow her eyes, watching as she eases out on a plaintive groan. As soon as the ridge appears, I push her back and slip off the counter, dropping to my knees. Engulfing the head, I taste my own need. Lali's hands slide into my hair as I take her in as far as I can.

We end up on the floor, me straddling her face while I take her in my mouth, competing to see who can make the other come first. I would've won if she hadn't added her fingers.

Afterward we toast new bagels and drink lukewarm coffee for breakfast. "That can't happen again," I say between bites of bagel.

"I know. I'm sorry. I promise I've always been safe in the past and that we'll be safe from here on out. I got carried away. Right after this we'll go to town and stock up, okay?" she leans in and kisses my cheek, lips moving to my ear. "You feel like velvet, and you taste like heaven. I would stay inside you forever if I could."

I push away from the table. "I'm getting dressed so we can go."

"Good idea."

Fifteen minutes later, Lali and I are fully dressed and ready for an outing so we can restock condoms—and maybe food, although that is definitely second on the to-do list.

It's fairly warm today, crisp like that time between spring and summer in Washington.

She spins the truck keys on her finger. "You know what we should do?"

"If it involves your penis and my vagina, it needs to wait until we get back from our shopping trip."

She grins wolfishly. "You have a one-track mind, don't you?"

"Only when I'm around you, apparently," I mutter.

"Jennie! Catch!" Lali shouts.

I raise both hands defensively, because I am not known for my excellent reaction time, and am rather surprised when my fist closes around the object she's tossed my way. "I am not good at catching things, so I don't suggest you do that again."

"You can be good at anything if you practice enough," Lali replies.

I glance down at my palm and find I'm holding her truck keys. "I don't have my license, remember?"

"I know. I'm going to teach you how to drive."

I glance at her monster rental truck with all the bells and whistles. "No. Nope. No way." I toss the keys back to her. My aim is terrible, but she still manages to snag them out of the air before they hit the ground.

"Why not?"

"What happens if I ruin that truck?" My father has the base model, and it's expensive as heck. I can't afford to ruin a truck.

"You're not going to ruin it, Jennie. I'll be right beside you, teaching you what to do. We'll take it slow."

"But I might scratch the paint. Or hit something." I've seen a lot of roadkill on our trips to town. I would prefer not to add to that body count.

Lali arches a brow. "You grew up on a farm. You have to have driven a tractor."

I cross my arms over my chest. Of course I've driven a tractor. "Not the same, and you know it." I can back up into the fence or accidentally hit the side of the barn and no one will get mad at me for scratching it, since farm machinery is meant to get beaten up.

A half grin tips up the corner of Lali's mouth. "You're right, not the same at all. A tractor is way more difficult to drive than a truck. You'll be a pro in no time."

"Tractors are meant to be ridden hard—trucks like this one, not so much." I make a flaily gesture toward her sporty, unscratched, undented rental. It's rather intimidating and fancy.

Her half smile turns into a full-on grin, and her eyes move over me in a slow, hot sweep. "I'll make you a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"I'll let you ride me however you want if you give it a try."

"How would that be different than any other day?"

She taps her lip thoughtfully. "Hmm, you have a point. You're pretty demanding when you're naked."

"I'm trying to be helpful!" I defend myself. "I don't see the point in being a passive recipient. Unless you'd prefer I keep you guessing as to what I like and what I don't."

Lali drags her tongue along her bottom lip. "I fucking love how expressive you are." Palm flattening against my lower back, she pulls me into her, her erection pressed against my stomach. "Please, Jennie. Let me teach you something new."

I glance at the truck and back at Lali. She looks so excited and turned on by the prospect. When I said I didn't have a license, I didn't mean that I can't drive. I can. But I'm not comfortable on highways, and I've only ever driven on country roads—and always in a beat-up pickup truck, not something nice like her rental. Still, Lali thinks I don't know how, and if she wants to persuade me to learn, who am I to take the opportunity away from her?

I'm sure I can handle driving on the road into town. Plus, I won't have my mother beside me, freaking out when I get even close to the speed limit. She drives like an eighty-year-old on Sunday.

"Okay. I'll give it a try."

Lali helps me into the driver's seat—which is mostly just an excuse to touch my butt—and adjusts the seat so I'm closer to the gas and brake pedals. She rolls down the window, closes the door, and pulls her phone out of her pocket. "Smile, baby."

I give her a cheesy grin, excitement and nerves battling as she snaps a picture and rounds the hood. She gives me a brief rundown of all the dials and knobs before I slip the key in and turn the ignition over. The engine rumbles to life. I wipe my hands on my thighs, since I put lotion on before we left the cabin.

"Hey." Lali places her hand over mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Don't doubt yourself, Jennie. You got this."

I realize she must think I'm anxious, so I follow her instructions, shifting the truck into gear and tapping lightly on the gas pedal, sort of like I would when I'm driving a tractor. She lets me get the feel for the gas and the brakes by circling the wide-open driveway a few times. Every time I hit the brake, the truck lurches to a stop, gravel spitting from the tires. At first it's not purposeful—the brakes on her truck are particularly touchy—but I'm having fun watching Lali be so attentive and concerned, so I keep doing it.

"Sorry." I bite back a smile when she not-so-subtly braces a hand on the dash.

"You're doing great—you just need to get a feel for how sensitive the gas and brake pedals are. Kinda like when I go down on you. If I want to make you come fast and hard, I need to hit your buttons like I mean it, but if I want to drag it out, then I'm gentle. Same principle."

I cock a brow. "Is this whole driving lesson going to be explained in sexual analogies?"

She grins and shrugs. "Seemed like a good comparison."

I roll my eyes but take her advice, barely tapping the gas when I want to speed up and gently moving to the brake when I want to stop. It's actually a pretty accurate analogy. Eventually I make my way down the long driveway. When I reach the main road, my nerves become real. While it's not a busy road, logging and transport trucks use it frequently, and the speed limit is higher than I'm usually comfortable with.

Lali stretches her arm across the backrest and gives my neck a reassuring squeeze. "You got this. Just take it slow, and you'll be fine."

The road is clear of traffic, no one coming in either direction. As far as "learning" to drive goes, this is probably ideal. I signal left, toward town, and ease out of the driveway. I'm currently only doing about twenty-five miles an hour, much lower than the posted speed limit. I check the rearview mirror. "What happens if someone comes up behind me?"

"You can always pull over and let them pass. Give it a bit more gas, gorgeous." The pet name warms me from the inside.

I do as she instructs until I reach about forty-five miles an hour. "How do people drive on the freeway when everyone is going this fast and they're all so close to each other?"

"You get used to it. You're doing great."

I like the praise, so I keep easing the speedometer up until I'm going the posted speed limit. "This is a rush!" I tell Lali.

She laughs. "It's fun, right?"

"It is!" I glance over at her, taking my eyes off the road for a split second. Or maybe it's a little longer than a split second, because when I shift my focus back to the road, a little red squirrel is bounding across the pavement. "Oh shoot!" I put on the brakes, tires squealing as the tiny rodent freezes. No one is coming in the other direction, so I swerve around it, managing to avoid turning her into a pancake. A few minutes later I pull into the parking lot of the pharmacy without additional animals playing chicken with the truck.

Lali reaches for the door handle. "I'll be right back, unless you want to come in with me?"

"Um, I'm okay to wait in the truck."

She leans over, drops a kiss on my cheek, and jumps out. As soon as she's inside the store, I unbuckle my seat belt and switch to the passenger seat. Five minutes later Lali leaves the store as a blonde woman dressed in skintight jeans and a fitted sweater is about to go inside. She looks like she belongs in a commercial for perfect hair. Perfect everything, actually. I immediately hate her when she smiles at Lali in a way that tells me she appreciates what she sees.

Her eyes flare, and for a moment her gaze shifts to the truck. Lali accepts a hug from her, and a tight feeling settles in my stomach as she runs her hands down Lali's arms. It's familiar. I don't like it. She glances down at the bag, a coy smile on her lips as she tries to peek inside.

When Lali moves it behind her back, she flips her blonde hair over her shoulder and grabs the lapels of her down vest. Lali's expression hardens, and she shakes her head, prying her fingers from her vest. Her expression shifts from friendly to irritated.

Lali motions to the truck. Her gaze follows her, and her eyes widen. I look down at my lap, suddenly uncomfortable. Lali said she's been coming here for years. I'm not the only woman to notice how attractive she is, and based on how good she is in bed, I'm definitely not the only woman to experience her skill set there.

The rest of their conversation is short and stilted. Lali holds the door open for her and returns to the truck, her expression tense, which tells me more than I'd like—not just about who they are to each other but also about my feelings for this person. I shouldn't be jealous. This is a summer fling. But somewhere along the way my heart forgot to consider what my brain knows: that this has to end.

Lali opens the driver's side door and climbs in, tossing the plastic bag on the center console. "Sorry about that."

"Sorry about what?" I keep my hands clasped in my lap so I don't give in to the urge to bite my nails or fidget.

She makes a general hand motion toward the store.

"Oh, you mean your friend? She was flirty." I hate that it comes out sounding bitter, catty, and insecure.

"Charity flirts with everyone who has a dick. Doesn't matter if they're twenty or eighty." Lali smooths her thumb down the back of my neck, and I jerk away.

"You don't need to placate me, Lali. It's obvious there's something between you. I know I'm not the first woman to share your bed." And I'm well aware that I won't be the last either.

"Hey, can you look at me for a second, please?"

I reluctantly shift my gaze to meet her.

"Charity works at one of the bars here. She's stuck and looking for a way out, or an escape, and I've made it clear I'm not going to be that person. When I come here—it's always been to spend time with my dad and my brother, not hook up with random women."

"She's beautiful, though."

She shrugs. "She's not my type."

"And I am?"

"Yes. You're exactly my type. You're gorgeous, smart, funny, adventurous, and just so fucking sweet. You don't have anything to be jealous of, Jennie."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten short with you."

"I'm going to say something, and I hope you don't take it the wrong way, okay?"

"Okay?" It's more of a question than a statement.

"I like that you're jealous."

"You do? Why?" I've never considered jealousy a positive emotion. It indicates a level of insecurity and vulnerability.

"It means we're on the same page, because if the tables were turned and it was you coming out of that store and me sitting here watching some guy flirt with you, I probably would've made a huge ass out of myself."

"How do you mean?"

"There's no way I could've played it cool. I would've been out of the truck making sure she knew you were mine and that she should back the fuck off." Lali cringes. "I probably should've stopped while I was ahead—now I sound like a possessive douche. What I mean is, I want to be the only one you get jealous over, that's all. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it makes sense."

With that, we head back to the cabin and make good use of that residual jealousy—and the condoms.