“Oh, God,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re totally gonna do this, aren’t you?”
“Want me to stop, love? I will. We can save your nice shirt. Or,” I suggested, jerking him even harder, “you can come all over it. Drench it, like I wanted you to drench me, like I drenched my toy. I came so hard thinking about fucking your cock, riding it and yelling your name, I—”
“Fuck!” Levi’s dick throbbed in my hand, and he exploded all over his dark blue shirt—and I mean exploded, thick streams shooting as high as his shoulder.
It was a serious thing, an orgasm, but I felt like laughing the second he stopped desecrating his poor dress shirt. Oh God. Look at him.
Breathing hard, Levi looked down to check the damage. “Wow. That’s, ah…”
“Impressive.” I took my hand off him and bit my lip. “Got any napkins in here?”
He glanced at me. “Are you laughing at me?”
I tried to keep a straight face. Tried like eighty percent hard, maybe even ninety. “No.”
“Christ, you’re as bad a liar as I am.” He grimaced but he was half-laughing too. “Check the glovebox. I might have something in there.”
I opened the glovebox. Maps. A sunglasses case. A plastic dinosaur. “Nope. No napkins.”
“Fuuuuuck.” Levi looked down at his shirt, and his dismayed expression was so funny to me, I completely dissolved into giggles.
“Thanks a lot,” he said wryly. “This is all your fault, you know. Here I am taking you out on a nice, classy outing, courting you properly, and you caused a big mess. Are you even the least bit sorry?”
“No. Oh my God, that shirt…” I put my hands over my stomach, which hurt from laughter. “It’s everywhere. It was like dynamite or something.”
“It was all you.”
“Um, I’m not sure I want the blame for that splatter-painted shirt.”
He gave me a menacing look. “Looking for birthday spankings early, little girl?”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
He smiled and kept his focus on the road.
The look on her face when I threatened to spank her was hilarious—part scared, part intrigued, part wondering if I was teasing her.
I wasn’t. I had plans for tonight.
But fucking hell. What was I going to wear? I had a couple extra t-shirts in my bag, which would actually be fine for food and drinks at the Journeyman Distillery, but she didn’t know that.
I decided to play with her a little. “I need a new shirt. We’ll have to find somewhere to buy one.”
“Seriously? Let me look in my bag. Maybe I have some tissues.” She scooped up her purse from the floor and set it in her lap.
“Tissues? I need a shop-vac for this shirt. Fuck tissues.”
“Oh, come on. Here.” She took a girly little packet of Kleenex from her bag and pulled one out, fluffing it up. “Let me try.”
“I can do it.” I reached for the tissue, but she held it away from me.
“I’ll do it. It was my fault, like you said.”
She bit her lip like she was concentrating hard, but swiping at the jizz on my shirt with one piece of Kleenex was like trying to soak up Lake Michigan with a cotton ball.
“Maybe I need two,” she said, and her expression was so adorably serious, I wanted to fucking pull over just to make out with her. Tell her I loved her face. Tell her how goddamn happy I was right now, ruined shirt and all. When had I last fooled around like this with a woman?
“Forget it, babe. I’ll buy a new shirt. It’s fine. I’m sure the place we’re going isn’t that dressy.”
“Oh. OK.” She took a couple more swipes at my shirt with a clean tissue but eventually gave up. “I feel bad now.”
“No, don’t feel bad. Are you kidding me?” I took her hand and kissed the back of it, held it in my lap. “That was awesome.”
A few miles down the road, I saw what I was looking for—a sign for a gas station that catered to truckers and road trippers. “I’m gonna get gas.”
I exited the highway and pulled into the station. Before getting out of the car, I ditched the blue shirt and tossed it into the back seat, glad I was wearing an undershirt with no holes or pit stains. I had plenty of those, but since I’d been seeing Jillian I’d actually invested in some new ones. She wore such beautiful underwear, I figured the least I could do was wear t-shirts without yellow underarms. Look at that, less of a caveman already. Mom would call her a good influence.
I liked that.
After pumping gas, I poked my head into the car, willing myself to keep a straight face. “I’m gonna run into the store and see if they have a shirt. Want anything?”
“No.” She cocked her head, pressing her lips together. “You’re going to look for a shirt at the gas station? Don’t you want to look for a nicer store?” She looked over her shoulders, like maybe there was a Nordstrom hiding behind the Quick Save BP.
“No. It’s fine. I’m sure there’s something in there.”
Five minutes later, I came out wearing a light blue t-shirt that said MOTHER TRUCKER on it. Jillian stared as I got in the car. “That’s the shirt you bought for tonight?”
“Yeah. Like it? It’s badass, right? I was tempted by the one that said ‘My Girl Is Dirtier Than My Truck’ but I thought that might not be nice enough for where we’re going.”