The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

It’s only a few miles to the shop, straight down the interstate with a single turn. We’re parking it there for a maintenance check tomorrow.

I know she’ll be fine, but I have to make it look like I’m scared shitless she’ll wreck my baby.

Because it’s her.

If we ever stop giving each other crap, I won’t have a pulse.

She sticks her tongue out and razzes me after firing up the powerful engine. She revs it once, twice, just to prove she knows what she’s doing.

I accept her good-natured joking and a few whoops from the bystanders as I climb out to get in my pickup and follow her.

She honks the horn and waves at everyone as she puts the truck in gear and lurches forward.

Honestly, I’m impressed. She handles it well, rounding the corners away from the fairgrounds and guiding the big truck onto the open road.

I told her which door to pull up to at my garage, and when she does, I punch the remote in my truck to open it up.

Once we’re parked, I climb out, watching as she pulls the monster truck inside and parks it like I instructed.

She obeys too well without a spanking.

Shame.

For the thousandth time tonight, my cock wants to bust through my pants.

Shifting my weight, I walk inside, hit the button to close the door, and arrive at the driver’s door just as she opens it. But she pauses, giving me this wide-eyed look.

“Shel? Everything okay?”

“No. Not okay. Weston, that. Was. Awesome!” she exclaims.

I laugh and hold out my arms, helping her down from the height as she balances on the running board.

“Total awesomesauce!” she says as she grips my shoulders, spinning into my arms.

There it is.

The moment her body touches mine, the desire smoldering inside me flares like a dry forest struck by lightning. Her arms loop around my neck, and she drags her nails against my skin with just the right friction.

I have no willpower.

My mouth moves on hers with a need to mark her.

It’s fucking incandescent.

Hands roaming, tongues searching, breaths harsh and teasing, our bodies pressed so tight there’s no room and it’s still not close enough.

When the kiss ends, there’s a scream in my blood.

I can’t tell what’s pounding harder, my heart or my dick.

“I don’t suppose you have a couch anywhere in this shop?” she asks.

“No.”

She kisses the side of my neck. “But you do at your house...”

My hands are under her pink shirt, feeling the heat, the silkiness of her skin, interrogating her nipples with my thumbs running over them.