Wanderlust Part 15 "Gone"

Here we are, dear readers, with part 15. Oddly enough, Wanderlust has hit almost 18K. We're creeping up on roughly a third of a standard length novel. Freaky deaky, yes?

I went through and tweaked some of yesterday. I read it last night and was LMAO from some of the typos. I'd either lacked sufficient coffee or accidentally ingested some crack because I had about a dozen when all was said and done. Good thing I'm learning how to let stuff like that roll off my back (read as am *trying* to learn).

Anyway, I hope I did better today! And thanks for showing up to read. For some reason when I post my piece of the puzzle and then y'all show up to read I feel...Well, as Jamie Oliver says "then you're smiling!". I am. I am smiling :)

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 15
by Sommer Marsden

I moved faster, holding on, my fingers plucking at him and the sweeping up to hover just above him. I was kinetic energy. I was chaos. I was desperate.

He pulled my face back, trapping my head between his big hands. He cut off all sound but for the slight ringing in my ears from adrenaline and his voice.

"Tell me, Aurelia."

Snowflake

"Tell you what?" But I knew. As soon as he said it, I knew and I swallowed hard, warding off the lump of emotion clogging my throat.

"Tell me," he said again. He refused to clarify, he refused to help me. He stared me down, my head trapped in his grip, his cock nestled deep inside me. I felt his heart galloping under my fingers.

I had to.

I said it.

I blurted it out like a woman ripping a bandage from tender skin.

"Hurt me," I said. "Please."

And there it was. The thing I had never been able to say to Jackson. The thing I had found ways to imply, subtle and clever intimations with strangers. Presenting a white pristine ass cheek. Yanking someone else's hair hoping for reciprocation. Leaving lavender rings of teeth marks on lovers in order to provoke the same. I had showed my wants and demanded them silently and coerced it from many, many lovers, but never—never—had I asked.

"Get in the back," Johnny said. His voice was almost softer than the falling snow and it made every nerve ending in me send an alarm. It also caused my pussy to grip tight to him and he smiled.

"I—I'm bare from the waist down."

He was already moving me, though. He had no intention of me getting out. My open flannel pilfered from his closet flapping in the wind like plaid wings. Nope. He was a smart man who looked for the quickest route from point A to point B. He moved swiftly, with economy in the small space and flipped me over the middle point of the seat. I did a dive into the backseat, sliding crazily between the two headrests.

My palms hit the back seat with a thud and I gave a small cry, a bellow of giddy laughter, but then he was forcing his door open and coming around to the back.

Fear, excitement, arousal—I was full of it. I felt like one big pulse point, my blood a taboo rhythm in my veins. Entering the car quickly, he came at me, frightful and huge and I opened my legs for him before he was even had the door shut.

"Turn over," he growled and the back door slammed behind him.

He flipped me on my belly even as he said it and hiked me up by the waist. He hauled my body higher so that my ass arched into the air and I turned my face to watch him over my shoulder. I manged "What are you—" and that was it.

The first blow fell.

His hand, from my angle, looked as big as a catcher's mitt. It felt like stone, though. A hard unyielding force that met with the pale skin of my ass. The crack was deafening, the pain intense. A swarm of stinging bites of pain that coalesced into a warm ball of agony and then…bled into a pure glow of pleasure.

I hung my head and I moaned. This was what I needed. This was what I craved. This is what Johnny Rose could give me because for whatever reason…I had trusted him to know.

He didn't speak. He didn't make a sound. He simply let his hands fall as they willed. Sparkling smacks rained down on my bottom. Left cheek, right cheek, left, then right. He stilled for a moment and I heard my own harsh breathing. I panted like a dog, my long hair ticking the edge of the hideously upholstered back seat. The wind buffeted the car and just when my heart started to regulate itself, he pressed a fingertip to the now tender flesh on my ass.

That pressure was almost unbearable. Like licking a razor blade. Like kissing an iron. I shivered and he laughed softly and a small sob flew out of me.

I caught him in my peripheral vision nodding, like that was the only sign he needed, and then he gave me four more.

I was weeping openly then. A sound that hurt my own heart to hear it and he pressed his open palms—gently—to my hot, hot skin.

"Open your legs a bit more," he said softly. His voice was the voice of a man in a church. A person who is humbled.

I did it.

The tip of his cock nudged me, parted me—damn near split me, it felt like—and he was in. keeping those open palms on my blushing flesh, the heat from his own hands adding to the blaze on my skin.

I didn't barely have to move. He barely had to fuck me. He entered me, gripped me tight, thrust and said "You were so good, Snowflake."

And I came again. That orgasm I had demanded, it arrived.

He let me have mine. Let me get each flicker and jitter and jolt out of my release and then he grasped my hips in strong fingers and fucked me harder. I pressed my forehead to the shiny chrome release latch, opening myself to him. And Johnny came. I raised my eyes to the metal and caught our beautiful distorted image in the shine.

"Road trip?" His voice was a snapping twig in a quite forest. It startled me out of studying our odd tableau in the reflection.

"Road trip," I said.

"I can take you home to get—"

"I don't want to go home. I'll get what we need new. I have money."

He chuckled, dropped down onto me for a moment. The bigness of him crushing me flat to my belly under his bulk. I let the air puff out of me comically and then we both laughed. My sobs were gone for the moment, tears drying on my face. My soul felt clean at the moment. Something I was pretty sure I'd never experienced—not since childhood. Not since my mother was alive. There seemed to be no taint in me for this breath of time.

"I know you have money."

"And I love to drive."

"I know that, too." His lips found my ear and he kissed it. My hair rustled between my cheek and his stubble. I liked the wild feel of his heart pounding my shoulder blade. My cheek mashed to the ugly plaid seat upholstery.

"I just love traveling," I blurted.

Little spots were appearing in front of my eyes. I would need a deep breath soon, but I put it off. Content to feel Johnny Rose crushing me, pinning me, keeping me safe.

"You love sanctioned travel. Hotels and umbrella-ed drinks and itineraries. This is rogue travel," he ground out against the curve of my ear. "Dingy motels and truck stop food and middle of the night visits to the rest stops that make rich women cringe."

I grinned. "I can take it."

"Dirty floors."

"Got it."

"Bad food."

"Sounds perfect."

"Eighteen-wheelers flying by and guys named Buck who try to pinch your ass when you're heading out to pay."

"I'll kick his ass," I wheezed.

"I do not doubt it." He levered up off me and I sucked in a great breath of sweet air. Johnny ran his fingertips lightly over the pounding, thrumming flesh of my ass cheeks. All of my skin studded with goose bumps. I shivered and he said, "You should see them. They're pretty. Already turning a nice shade of purple under the red."

I wanted to see. I wanted to admire. We needed to go home so I could look in the mirror. There was so much to do, we needed to go to his place. To the bank. We needed to get all the things we needed to get so we could get…gone.

Gone.

The word was sweet.