“Fast food? Oh, baby girl, you are worth so much more than a seventy-seven-cent hamburger. BABY GIRL? My mind reels, and my skin hums with excitement. When did he start calling me baby? I guess around the same time he started touching me. TOUCHING ME… I never want him to stop touching me. I want him to touch me more. Touch me in all the places no one ever has. All the places I was saving for him. I need him to touch me, and I need to come undone for him.
“Uh…” I begin; he’s making me forget things I’ve been doing forever, such as breathing and talking.
“Don’t say no, Ker. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He’s waited? Surely not as long as I have. Since I was ten years old, I’ve prayed to God that he’d let me be Clyde’s. I knew then that no other man would do. From my ten-year-old point of view, he was my knight in shining armor. Always there to rescue me when I climbed too high in a tree or fell off my bike. He always told my brother off when I wanted to hang with them, and my brother thought I was too young to. It was easy to love him back then. I remember the exact second it turned into something more.
Last summer, I was lying by the pool with Annika, my best friend, who happens to be Clyde’s little sister. He came out by the pool. His shirt came off, and I swear, I’d never seen abs like that. He dove into the pool and came up for air. I watched him through my sunglasses. Behind them, I stare at him unabashedly. All that water slid down his body and my mouth dried up, and my pussy got wet. After that, I noticed him more and more whenever he came over to the house, which, now that I think about was still pretty frequent even though Kellen moved out. Come to think of it, so was Kellen.
“I’m not saying no to you, Clyde. I’d never do that.” Something, I don’t quite know what flashes in his eyes.
“Fuck it,” he groans before kissing me. Clyde Andrews, the love of my life, is KISSING me. Stunned, but into it, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. I moan, and he deepens the kisses, his tongue in my mouth. Oh, God. It’s so much more amazing than I ever thought it could be. I whimper like a lost kitten when he pulls away. “Where is your car?”
“In the parking lot,” I manage to say after taking several deep breaths.
“We’ll come back for it,” he says, pulling open the passenger door. I get in, and he shuts the door. I put my seatbelt on as he walks around the front of the car. He climbs into the car and starts it up. I can feel the purr of the car in every fiber of my being as he revs the engine. Though, I am pretty sure I was already revved up by him. “Ready?”
“For what?” I ask, looking over at him, offering him what I hope is a mega-watt smile and not a creepy one. I can’t help but wonder where this will end up. All I can picture is Clyde and I writhing around in a bed, in the dark. God, how I want that.
“Forever,” he says, grinning, as he pulls away from the curb and into the light traffic on the road leading off-campus. I moan, just a little. Forever with this man won’t be long enough, I can already tell.
It’s official. I’m a sopping wet mess.
Only Clyde can clean me up.
three
Clyde
Does she not hear the moans she’s making over there? Because I can. They are all I can hear, even over the tires on the pavement. The tiny sounds are making me hard a fucking rock. I try to adjust my dick, but it’s too painful. Every so often, she makes a little noise and rocks in the seat. I swear I can smell her pussy juice. The scent has permeated the air in the car like one of those little pine trees you hang from the rearview mirror.
“You okay over there, baby girl?” I ask, needing to know if she is as uncomfortable as I am.
“Me? Oh, yeah. I'm good,” she says. I don’t believe her. I stifle a chuckle. Laughing at her probably won’t do me any favors.
"Why now?" she asks. I can't say that I'm surprised by the question. Hell, it was on my own mind earlier today.
“Why not now?” I say, posing a question of my own, because if not now, when?
“Hmm… That doesn’t really answer my question,” she says.
“What do you want to hear? That I waited impatiently for two years for you to turn eighteen? Do you want to know how much of a struggle it was to see you and not be able to touch you? Do you want to know how hard I prayed that you wouldn’t have a date for the prom so that I might be able to sweep in and take you myself? Every minute of every day has been a struggle to keep my cool and not commit a crime. Is that what you want to hear?