Flock

“You two need a moment alone?” Russell snarks snidely, catching our latest exchange before lining up his cue to the ball and taking his shot.

“Here’s an idea, shut the fuck up,” Sean says easily, just as he reaches me, pulling me to him. The man has confidence in spades, a smile that could melt the panties off a nun, and eyes that convey everything without him speaking a word. Every day I become more drawn to him, and every day I feel the tie that’s begi

“Missed you,” he holds me to him tightly as I bask in his arms, my eyes meeting Dominic’s behind his shoulder before he pushes out the back door of the garage without a word.

“Why does he hate me?”

“Ignore him.”

“Kind of hard to.”

“He’s good at that,” he says, softly pressing a brief kiss to my bare shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he leans in and inhales, damn near drawing a moan from me. “Smell good too.”

I turn my head so our lips are close. “Thank you.”

“This for me?” His knuckles run up the side of my dress, and the ache starts at my core with the memory of rocks digging into my back, cascading water, and his wicked mouth. He reads my thoughts, his eyes flaring, and this time I’m the one who’s brandishing the canary-eating smile.

“Maybe.”

“Trouble,” he murmurs. I bite my lip and I swear I hear a faint groan.

“We playin’ or what?” Russell snaps us out of our intimate bubble. Sean rolls his eyes as we break apart and he fishes two beers out of a nearby cooler. I accept one, knowing I’m not going to drink much of it. The minute he cracks his beer, and the music gets turned up, I grab my stick and the games commence.

And I’m horrible. Despite my best efforts, my depth perception is off, way off to the point it’s embarrassing. And the guys have no issue razzing me about it. After scratching my way into another loss to Jeremy, I push my lip out and head for a seat on the couch, instead opting for Sean’s lap. He allows it, ru

“I suck.”

“You do,” he agrees.

I grind my elbow into his side.

“Easy now. It takes practice,” Sean murmurs as I lean back into the stroke of his hand. The rhythmic feel of his fingers lulls me into a state of want as I watch him crack up with his friends. After another few games or so, I’m completely absorbed, in his smell, his hands, the timber of his voice, the feel of him. Everything about Sean turns me on, not just the way he looks but also the workings of his mind. It’s a draw that has me dizzy, aroused continuously, and enraptured in a way I’m not used to. Sean, in a way, is a new drug. More potent. More addictive and altogether just…more.

He turns to me, seeming to read my thoughts and his grin widens. “Something on your mind, Pup?” He’s well aware of exactly what I’m thinking, but I don’t play into it.

“I’m… Will you teach me how to drive?”

“You know how to drive.”

“No, like you drive.”

My eyes rake his face and lower. And we share a second or two, lost in those seconds in that cave. I know he’s there. His body draws tight as I lean into him.

“Please?”

Wordless, he stands, holding me to him as he nods at Tyler. “We’re going to take off.”

Gri

“You’re really going to let me drive?” I eye his prized possession.

“Let’s see what you got.”

Amped, I slide into his car, loving the feel of the wheel at my fingertips.

Sean glides in next to me. “Know how to drive a stick?”

I nod. “My mom had one. I learned on it.”

I check the car is in neutral and turn the engine over, giving it a chance to warm up.

In my sundress, I appreciate the cool feel of the bench seat beneath the material on my thighs.

“How did you guys manage to find all these classics?” I glance around the cabin in awe of the state of it. It’s been perfectly restored.

“They were all in my family, my uncle collected them, and when he died, we restored them. That’s how we all got started fixing cars.”

“They’re so rare. Aren’t you guys ever afraid to wreck them?”

“What’s the point of having something if you don’t use it?”

“Good point,” I say, securing the ancient seatbelt around my waist and run my finger over the SS on the wheel. Doubt creeps in and he drowns it out, his reassurance falling easy from his lips. He’s not nervous, which makes me less so.

“It’s just a car. Easy on the turns, these weren’t made for mountain roads.”

“That’s true, so why do you drive them?”

A flash of teeth. “Because we fucking can.”

I shake my head at the pride in his eyes.

“You’re such a man.”

“Thank you. Now, you’ll get used to the give on the wheel, but take your time in figuring it out.”

I nod, studying the gear shift and frowning. “This isn’t like the one I learned on.”

“Take it slow,” he says, ru

I grin over at him, and my breath gets stolen by his expression, the thump in my chest a sign of growing invitation. The cabin fills with tension, the good kind, as he rests comfortably on his side of the car.

“Ready?”

“So fucking ready,” he murmurs, before pulling his hand away.

Within a few grinding seconds of the clutch and a wince on my part, we’re off.

Sean guides me through the first few minutes, his voice gentle and assuring as he helps me navigate my way through the winding roads. Once we’re safely away from sharp turns, I give it some gas, and he gives me a few more pointers, while I memorize the clutch pattern.

“You’ve got it.”

“Not quite.”

“No,” he says, ru

Music thrums low through the speakers and Sean lifts from where he sits, turning the dial on the dash. “Good one,” is all he says as he cuts all communication letting me know the lesson is over and I’m on my own.

The Black Crowes begin to bellow, “She Talks to Angels,” as I’m granted my freedom, and I take it, anxious for the high. Between the music and steady buzz of the car, my whole body erupts in goosebumps. I can feel the smile on my face as the wind whips through my hair.

We’re flying, my heart soaring as I switch gears, surprising myself with the ease in the transition before I hammer the gas.

Sean doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move next to me, his trust mine as I begin to sing along with the lyrics, with him. I’m somewhere between screaming and singing when his fingers push away the thick hair at the nape of my neck and stroke down my arm. Senses heightened, my body sighs into his caress. He covers my neck, my arm, and slides his hand down to where his hand covers mine on the gearshift before drifting back up, and then he strokes my chin with his knuckle. My pulse skips when he slides the spaghetti strap of my sundress down, his fingertips ghosting over my skin.

My lips part at the touch, as I begin to slow and peek over at him. One second passes, then another, before I’m turning onto one of a dozen deserted roads and shoving the gear into neutral and pulling the brake. We sit there, feet apart, his fingers stroking, coaxing me into a frenzy as I wait.