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What a Sunday.
Late as always, Rachel rushed out of the shower flying through her expedited morning routine. She whips the towel around drying her tight body, using it afterwards to wrap her long wet hair. Next she applies lotion to her limbs with the speed of light.
Into the closet . . . what to wear?! She never knows whether to try and make a good first impression at these damn things. ‘No time’, Rachel thinks as she slides her no-show low black panties up over her hips. Bra . . .bra!! Where the hell was her front clasp black bra?! She finds it lying in the second sink — the one she uses as a ‘catch-all’ since there’s no one to use it. She shrugs into the bra; it slips up over her tan shoulders as she draws the cups over her full breasts and secures the clasp. Just for a second she catches her reflection in the bathroom mirror. If it weren’t for the wild-eyed frenzied thing going on with her face she thinks, ‘not bad’.
She dabs patchouli oil on her wrists and in the hollow of her neck and discards the towel on the floor. She violently brushes her hair, cussing through the tangles. Back in the closet she selects a simple wrap dress and slips it off the hanger and over her head in one continuous motion. Pulling it down, it falls over her curves and lands flirtatiously at the knee level. She grabs a pair of medium heeled ankle-wrap sandals, her favorite chandelier earrings, and slides on her watch which shows that she’s now 20 minutes behind.
Back on the unmade bed, she rushes with her shoes and her earrings. Rachel reaches for her purse, double checking that she has her cell phone and her makeup bag. At the bedroom door she does a final check of the room and spots an earring winking crystal and serene on the end of her messy bed. It’s always this way with Rachel – twenty minutes late and 1 earring short. She lunges for the earring and is out the door.
On the highway traffic is inexplicably light and she makes up some time. ‘Good Day to Run’ is playing loud and she sings out letting the song work to lift her mood. One hand on the steering wheel tapping out the beat, the rearview mirror acting as her makeup mirror, she applies mascara at 70 mph. She loves this song. It makes her wish for a good looking, broad shouldered cowboy in old boots and perfectly broken-in Levi’s. One who smells like cologne and beer and can dance like nobody’s business. Tall and strong — spinning her round the dance floor — the centrifugal force of the two-step point turns fanning her hair around her– the song and the man filling all her senses. It’s so good she can almost feel it.
She’s belting out the last stanza and zipping up her makeup bag when the tire blows. Somehow she manages to get the car to the shoulder. Rachel always has a way keeping calm and making the right moves when all hell breaks loose. Rolling to a stop she pushes the button to turn on her flashers. It’s then she realizes that her hand is shaking and her breathing is erratic. She grips the steering wheel to settle her nerves and lets out a long loud string of expletives that begins with ‘holy’ and ends several seconds later with ‘son of a bitch’. She closes her eyes and tries to calm down so that she can think of what to do next.
She takes her cell phone out of her purse. She has to call Carol to tell her that she isn’t going to make it.
The call goes to voicemail and she listens to Carol’s chirpy voice message while watching the cars whoosh past her. Beep! “Hey Carol, it’s Rachel. I was on my way but I’ve just had a blowout. Can you believe it?!! I’ve had one helluva morning! I woke up late so I’ve been hauling ass — I wasn’t paying attention. There was probably something in the road. I don’t know. I didn’t see it. Either that or my freakin’ tires are bald. Guess I’m not going to make it. I’m sorry for. . .” The tap, tap at the window startles her. She registers a bronze belt buckle and the tongue of a well worn brown leather belt, jeans, and ½ tucked hem of a navy t-shirt. “Look. I’ll call ya later.”
“You ok?” he asks. Sam was driving several cars behind her and saw her swerve off the road trailing the remnants of her back passenger tire. Rachel snaps the phone shut and rolls down the window.
“What?” she asks a little dazed.
“You ok?” Sam asks again. “I saw you head off the road. It could’ve been bad. I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t need help.”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m fine,” she offers weakly.
“Good. Good,” Sam says as he bends down to the window. “Gotta spare?” he asks casually.
Rachel stutters, “A what? Oh. Well, to tell you the truth I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you have a spare?!” He can’t help himself, Sam smirks. “Pop the trunk.”
“What?! Why?” she retorts rather frazzled.
“Your trunk. I’ll check and see if you have a spare.”
Rachel is dumbstruck. She’s not sure if it’s the blowout or the fact that this underwear model of a man has just appeared out of nowhere and is now asking to get into her trunk. He’s tall, maybe 6’1″ or 6’2″ gaziantep escort and muscular with wavy dark hair and a chiseled, sun kissed face. She’s tongue-tied — a definite rarity. Instead of sitting there struck stupid she fumbles around trying to find the button to the trunk under the dash. Damn the car makers! Why did they always hide the f-ing buttons!
Sam watches her for a moment and tries hard not to smile. Her long dark hair is loose and wet. As she leans forward to find the trunk release it falls forward and the scent of her hair rises up to his nostrils. It smells feminine and flowery. Through the veil of her long wet locks he can just see her dark seductive eyelashes and the flesh of her cleavage rounding up over her silky black dress. Her skirt had risen part way up her lean, tan, bare thighs. He notices the muscles in her calves as they flex when she presses the heels of her high-heeled sandals against the floorboard. She is flustered and raw and damn if she’s not the most beautiful thing Sam thinks he’s ever seen.
After a moment he realizes he’s staring. He walks back to check out the tire and give her time to compose herself and to find the button. The tire is shredded, and with good reason. There isn’t any tread left at all. “Women!” he thinks as he rips a few loose flaps of rubber from the wheel.
Rachel finally finds the button and presses it. She sits up then and takes a deep breath. Just breathe, she tells herself. She checks her rearview to see where he has gone and finds herself looking back in her impromptu ‘makeup mirror’. Before adjusting it she checks herself and brushes her hair back from her face. ‘Here goes nothing’, she sighes and steps out to see if she can help locate the spare.
He is already digging around in her trunk. As she walks to the back of her car she catches him bent over and rummaging. His long legs are set slightly apart showcasing an ass that definitely needs to model underwear. She watches the muscles in his arms dance as he shifts things around — his shoulders fill out his shirt then narrow into a broad expanse of muscular back and waist. The smooth bronzed skin of his lower back is exposed a little where his t-shirt is coming out of his jeans. God if she doesn’t love the rolling plains of a strong man’s back.
“Having any luck?” Rachel asks, catching him off guard. Sam rises up startled and strikes his head on the trunk lid.
“Christ!” he exclaims reaching up for the spot of the pain as he extricates himself.
“Oh I’m sorry!” she says, her hands flying up to her face to hide the spontaneous laugh. “Apparently my car’s out to kill today.”
Rubbing the top of his head Sam turns. “Guess so,” he says with a smile. “I’m Sam.”
“I’m Rachel. Listen, thanks for stopping to help.”
“Not a problem. Although I don’t know how much help I’m going to be. Seems you don’t have a spare.”
“Yeah,” Rachel says sheepishly, “I was afraid of that.”
After jacking up the car and getting the wheel off, Sam offers to drive Rachel to a nearby shop to get a new tire. Rachel thanks him for the offer but says that she has AAA. He tells her it’s not a problem and that he’d hate to think of her waiting out on the side of the road for a tow truck.
“It can take a while. I can’t just leave you here. I was just going to get breakfast anyways. Hey! You hungry? Let me buy you breakfast and then I’ll take you to get another tire.”
“Actually I’m famished. You sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” he says grinning.
“Ok. Well then, Great! I’ll get my purse.”
“I’ll just throw your wheel in the back of the truck.”
As she walked back to the driver’s door, the thought hit Rachel that this could be a very stupid thing to do. To give herself a moment to think it through she gets in and turns on the car. She closes the door, rolls up the window, and locks the doors. Her mind is racing: What the hell am I doing?! He could be an ax murderer! I can’t just jump into a car with a stranger! But he’s gorgeous and he stopped to help! He’s offering to buy breakfast! Would an ax murderer do that? Yes! Remember all those movies? Don’t be stupid! But there’s something about him. That’s what they said about Ted Bundy. He’s not Ted Bundy. Really?! Just tell him. . .” Tap. Tap. It’s him. Rachel rolls down the window. Sam leans in.
“Relax. I’m not an ax murderer. C’mon. I’m hungry.” And with that he walks back to his Chevy.
‘Oh my god! Was I talking out loud??!!’ Rachel thinks, mortified, as she grabs her purse and gets out of the car.
“Do I have your word on that?” She asks as she climbs in the truck and closes the door. Sam turns in his seat to face her. “You have my word,” he croons as he puts the truck in drive. “Buckle up.”
They drive for a while then exit the freeway and turn onto Fairmont. Sam is a casual yet attentive driver. He looks as if he were born to drive this thing. The ride gives her time to calm down and study him further. They talk little. Sam can feel her watching him and finds it distracting. He feels a little self conscious. He uses his peripheral vision to drink her in. He can’t risk looking over at her because she has her right leg crossed over her left and her luscious thighs are showing. What’s more that seat belt is snug against her little waist and the shoulder strap is nestled between her breasts. It’s driving him crazy and he’s sure he’d give himself away.
Off Fairmont they take Yale and arrive at a tiny run down place in the middle of a string of shops. The beat up sign reads Bienvenido Breakfast Taco. The parking lot is not paved and it’s full of pot holes. Despite the dilapidated appearance, there’s not an empty space in the lot.
“You’re in for a treat, Rachel,” Sam tells her, spying a car’s break lights indicating that someone was pulling out. He puts on his blinker and pulls forward and can’t help but register Rachel’s tits bounce with the truck movement. “This is the best breakfast taco in town. I woke up craving these suckers.”
“Really?” she says teasingly. “So that’s what brought you my way? A craving?”
Sam cuts the engine and his heart skips a beat. Was she flirting? “Yep. You’ll see,” he replies, opening his door — glad for the cool blast of air, “One bite and you’re hooked.”
“Can’t wait then, I’m starving, ” Rachel replies.
“Hold on, I’ll get your door. Sometimes it sticks.” Sam runs around to the passenger door and opens it with a sweeping bow. “After you Ma’am,” he says dramatically and watches as she slides down off the seat, dress riding up even more.
“Why thank you, Sir,” Rachel replies in her best Southern drawl. As she walks ahead towards the entrance, he takes notice that, despite the uneven terrain of the run down parking lot, she walks like a lady — perfect posture and graceful steps in her high heels. It’s a stellar walk. Sam’s eyes roam over the swaying curve of her full hips and the amazing way her perfect ass looks as that dress moves over her backside. Was she wearing panties? He couldn’t tell. As he opens the restaurant door he takes a slow deep breath and thinks ‘down boy’ to the swelling in his jeans.
Inside there are no tables available so they place their order at the counter and find a picnic bench outside. It’s one of those balmy spring mornings where the sky is robin’s egg blue, the sun is warm, and the air feels like a cool kiss on the skin. Rachel tips her face to the sun to keep from staring at Sam. She can’t help herself. He’s got great eyes – bedroom eyes – brown eyes that drink her in. “The sun feels great,” says Rachel, running her hands through her damp hair to let it air dry. “For a crappy morning, this is turning out ok,” she says looking at him and smiling brightly. “Thank you, Sam, for saving my crappy morning and bringing me here.”
Her smile floors him. With her hands in her hair and those full lips and big eyes he can’t help himself. “You’re beautiful,” he blurts out, exhaling the breath he’s been holding. “You’re beautiful and you’re welcome.”
Rachel feels her cheeks fill with color and her eyes beam at the compliment. “Wow!” she exclaims. “Keep that up and you’ll make my whole week!”
Breakfast arrives and Sam’s right – it’s delicious. They share surprisingly easy conversation. He’s a commercial building contractor, she’s in marketing. She’s 28, he’s 32. Both like country and rock music. She tells Sam of her rush of a morning, trying to make it to Carol’s charity fundraiser, of not paying too much attention on the road. He watches her facial expressions and the way she talks with her hands. He watches her mouth form words, her lips.
“So, are you in a relationship now?” Sam asks, dragging his finger through the last of the salsa and sucking it off of his finger.
“Huh?” Rachel mumbles as she watches his finger and his tongue.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he repeats.
“Oh! Uh. No,” she stammers, taken off guard by this sudden switch of conversation.
“I find that hard to believe,” he suggests, looking her over.
“I see,” she smirks as she catches his looks. “What about you?” she asks.
He doesn’t respond immediately and Rachel finds her disappointment rising. “Well. See. After my last girlfriend and I broke up I thought that I’d give women up for Lent,” he says his eyes lit with cynical mischief.
Rachel laughs. “Oh! So you’re a religious man AND you’ve sworn off women.”
“No, no. Just taking a break. Sometimes it’s important to fast.”
“So you’re single then, and just taking a break.”
“Obviously.” He winked.
As they walk back to the truck Sam stops Rachel at the passenger door. He reaches over to open her door and brushes her arm with his hand sending a bolt of electricity right through her. “Rachel,” Sam says looking straight into her eyes imploringly. “Do me a favor.”
She stands stock still looking up at him feeling the current pulse through her.
“Please don’t wear that seatbelt,” he whispers, closing his eyes in embarrassment.
“What!?” she asks, flushed and a little confused.
“Your seatbelt. It was driving me crazy the way it nuzzled in between your breasts,” Sam confesses, his eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted with the sharing of his thoughts. Rachel’s face breaks into a wicked grin. “What? This seatbelt?” she asks sliding past him back and settling back into the truck. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she teases dramatically pulling it across her and fastening the belt. “It wouldn’t be safe,” she states matter-of-factly, pulling the shoulder strap, letting it slide in between her swollen cleavage.
Sam watches, amused by her brazenness. So she wants to play.
“Safety is important. You should be careful,” Sam says low, reaching in across her, slowly sliding a finger across the lower belt until he finds the fastener. Rachel feels his fingertips stroke lightly across her abdomen and her breath catches in her throat. He leans into her so that his lips are close to her ear as he clicks the locking mechanism free. His fingers trail up the shoulder strap, slipping their way up in between the curves of her tits. “But see now, you keep that up and we might have a wreck,” he says tauntingly as he slowly feeds the shoulder strap back up through her cleavage.
His warm breath on her cheek caresses her skin. She turns her face to him as his hand travels carefully up her chest, following the harness as it winds its way back into its box.
“Want me to drive?” she purrs into his mouth, their lips almost touching,
At that Sam tilts his head back and laughs, caught off-guard in the heated moment by her sense of humor. He finds her intoxicating and sexy as hell. Sam can’t remember the last time someone had turned him on so much and made him laugh to boot. “I saw the way you drive, remember?” he replies teasingly as he lets go of the belt and securely closes her door.
Rachel was shaking her head and smiling out the window as he eased himself back behind the wheel. “Where to now, Sam?” she asks sweetly, crossing her legs giving him a nice view of her bare skin.
Sam was asking himself the same question. He was desperately trying to come up with an idea that might keep her in his truck a little longer. Just the smell of her alone was driving him insane. It was earthy and sensual and there was something sweet there too. He couldn’t place it but it caused him to throb. He had been fighting an erection all through breakfast, but that last interchange made him surrender the fight. His cock is now painfully swollen and bent in his pants. He desperately needs to adjust himself but doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he has a hard on. His pulse is going crazy and he turns on the truck on to get air moving before he starts to sweat. Out of habit he reaches back and grabs for his belt, pulling it down and efficiently clicking it into place.
“Uh uh uh,” she says, uncrossing her long legs and sliding over in the seat until she is next to him. She reaches down and presses the button to release the lock. “Fair is fair, Sam.” Rachel says cooing as her hand moves over the latch. She looks up at him seductively and slowly drags it across his cock.
Sam groans low as he feels her hand run over his raging erection. His pelvis jerks slightly as she lightly eases her wrist, then her forearm across him letting the belt recoil.
“Rachel, now that’s not fair,” he whispers huskily as he turns toward her. With her arm across him like that her breasts are pressing against him. He looks at her, his eyes lustful. She lets his seat belt go and brings the tip of her index finger to his lips.
“Shhh now,” she whispers as she traces his full mouth with her fingertip. “The way I see it, turnabout’s fair play. Wanna play with me, Sam?” she asks enticingly, wetting her mouth and bringing her finger to her lips. “I want to warn you. You’d better be careful. I play dirty.”
Sam’s lips are tingling from her touch and his cock lurches in his pants. He watches as she slowly sucks her slender manicured finger into her mouth, teasing him with both the action and her words. He fights the urge to push her back onto the seat and take her right then and there. But she’s inviting him for a game of tease. It is painfully obvious that she knows what she’s doing. It’s worth the wait just to see how far it goes.
He wonders how wet she is right now. If this teasing is doing to her body what it’s doing to his. ‘Game on,’ he growls low as makes his next move.
His left hand moves up and traces the underside of her right breast through her dress. It is sensitive there, he knows that, and her shudder pleases him. He gently moves his hand up until he’s cupping her breast in his hand feeling its fullness, the swollen weight feeling so good. Her bra is made of something thin, no padding – all silky fabric and flesh. He slides his thumb up over her nipple which is taught, protruding hard and demanding through her dress. He feels her lift to offer it as she sucks in her breath. He looks hungrily into her big brown eyes which are wide with awe as he pinches her nipple firmly between his thumb and index finger.
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