“Oh, god,” she says. “Brent, oh, god.”
She comes and I taste it. She comes hard, her body shaking, the truck rocking on its suspension. I growl my delight and watch her skin turn red, flushed with passion and pleasure. I finish her off and leave her lying back on the seat, panting, breathing hard.
I lick my fingers off and savor her taste.
“Come on,” I say. “We’d better go.”
She crawls further into the back seat. I close the door and get up front.
“I’ll stay back here,” she says, her voice sounding dazed. “Maybe I’ll take a little nap.”
“You do that,” I say, a smile on my face.
“Yeah.”
I look at her in the rearview as I pull out again. She looks back at me, her pretty mouth hanging open, showing me those teeth and lips.
“Remember how I can make you feel,” I say.
“I will.”
I drive back out into traffic and speed toward the one place in the world where Amber will be absolutely safe… and the one place in the world I don’t want to be.9AmberBrent takes pity on me and we break the drive into three days. We stay in decent hotels both nights. He won’t let me have my own room, but he insists on sleeping on the couch both nights.
“I don’t trust that your father won’t track us down,” he said.
“You think he can?” I asked.
“I think he has money and he’s pissed. So we can’t assume anything right now.”
I didn’t argue. I just lay in bed, my eyes closed, thinking about his mouth between my legs and how good it felt, my whole body shaking with pleasure, ripped through with it.
I’ve never felt anything like that before. Never in my entire life. When he said I’d better remember… I believe him. And I know I will.
Except I can’t help but wonder what that means.
The closer to Virginia we get, the quieter he becomes. I can feel the tension coming off him in waves. I know he doesn’t want to do this, but he insists it’s the best thing for me, and I’m not really in any position to argue.
I’ve taken a lot from him already. I hate myself a little bit, but I need him.
And I want him.
I could run away on my own. I have some money. I could figure it out. But I want him to come with me. I don’t know how this happened, how we went from doctor and patient to so much more, but here we are.
Now I’m in his hands. And I love it.
Midway through the third day, we end up in a small town outside of Charlottesville.
“What’s this place called?” I ask as the sign speeds past.
“You don’t want to know.”
I laugh. “Come on. This is your town, right? We’re close?”
He nods once. “We’re close.”
“What’s it called.”
“Loftville.”
I groan. “Are you kidding me?”
He shakes his head, his face dour. “I’m not kidding at all. My great-great-great-grandfather was the founder of this place. I think it’s three greats, maybe it’s four, I forget.”
“Wow.”
“I told you.” He shakes his head. “Obscenely wealthy. Historically wealthy.”
We drive through a town that looks like it never forgot a thing. Historically is the right word. There’s a Main Street with brick buildings and cute little shops, American flags hanging all over the place. Everything looks like it was built in the fifties and then never updated, but kept in pristine condition. People are walking around all over the place and cars are jam-packed along the sidewalk.
“Crowded,” I say. “This place is really cute.”
“We live on the edge of town,” he says. “We don’t really come in here much.” He glances at a building. “We own most of this.”
“Wait— what?”
“We own most of these buildings,” he says. “Most of the town rents from us.”
“That’s insane.”
“I know. We give them reasonable rates. I don’t think my father has raised them in like twenty years, unless he did it recently.”
“I guess people love you guys.”
He laughs at that. “No. Not really. But they like the low rent and all the money we dump into the town so they don’t complain.”
We keep driving. More cute little houses, more little shops. Families smile and laugh. The trees hang above the streets and sidewalks, casting shadows and green-dappled sunlight along the clean paths. Dogs bark, sprinklers spray.
White picket fences around nearly every house.
It’s like the image of a dream of American life. It’s like this place reached the pinnacle of the American Dream in the fifties and just decided not to move on. It’s a cute town, but there’s something off about it, a little bit odd.
As we move through town and into the residential area, the houses become more and more spread apart. Some are large Victorian-style houses with little round ramparts and peaked roofs. Tile and slate are everywhere and the wraparound porches are absolutely gorgeous.