Page 4 of Endurance
It’s neat and tidy down there. Not bald, which I’m happy to see. Men shaving their cocks bald gives me the creeps. It makes me think of prepubescent boy penises and completely kills any attraction I have to them. A man should be as he is meant to be. Manly, hairy, and masculine. The overly groomed fellows flittering around east London these days just don’t get my engine revving.
But Tanner’s package is like a well-manicured garden, trimmed just enough and wreathing one of the most beautiful penises I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s not standing at full salute by any means, but you can see some seriously glorious potential. I swear I see it pulse right as—
“Stop staring at my trouser snake and drive!” Tanner shouts as I notice flashes going off from somewhere in the dark behind us.
“Bloody hell,” I exclaim, looking over my shoulder for any oncoming traffic. “Tanner, if those are paparazzi and they get a shot of me, I’m fucking dead!”
“You’re dead? I’m on strike two! If I get caught, I’m suspended from the team.”
I begin pulling out of my parking stall and make my way away from the flashes, feeling a jolt as I gun the accelerator. “I can’t believe you’ve put me in the middle of this.”
“Well, I didn’t askyouto come, did I?” he barks, resting his hand on the back of my seat to look behind us.
My jaw drops at his nervy comment and I flick my hand up to knock his arm away from me. “I’m saving your arse from the looks of it.”
“Oh, remind me to send you a fucking thank-you card,” he grumbles, looking out the window away from me.
I quickly slam my brakes and he lurches forward, bashing his head on the frame of the door. “You can get out right now!” I screech, the volume making my ears ring. My narrowed eyes go to the rearview mirror and I see the vultures begin running on foot toward us again.
“Ryan!” Tanner exclaims, turning toward me with a shocked expression and rubbing a spot by his eyebrow. “You’re fucking nuts. I can’t get out. Just drive!”
“No,” I say through clenched teeth and narrow my eyes at him while pulling in an ounce of my control. “You don’t get to squish around on my brand new leather seat with your filthy bare arse and then give me a tone. That’s not how this works.”
The flashes are getting closer as traffic whizzes by us with some rude honks. His steely blue eyes meet mine, narrowing to mirror my expression. I don’t want to be photographed with him but, more than that, I don’t want to be taken advantage of like this.
His voice is deep and authoritative when he replies, “This isn’t a fucking joke, Ryan. This is my life we’re talking about.”
His shoulders rise and fall with intensity that swallows up the little bit of air we have left in the car. I’m breathing heavily, too, because no one gets up my shirt like Tanner Bloody Harris. We’re staring at each other, both trying to eye-fuck the other into submission while the paparazzi get closer and closer.
His puckered lips purse with frustration and a dimple forms on his right cheek. “Belle Ryan, will you pretty, pretty please, with sugar and cherries on your tits, help me out right now and fucking drive?”
The corner of my mouth wants to lift into a victorious smile, but I hold back and turn my glare toward the road and floor it, leaving the flashing leeches well in our wake.
God, he gets me revved up. Almost as much as my car. Gunning my little Mercedes is quite fun, actually. I so rarely get a chance to drive her like this, mostly because I like to take the Tube just to piss off my father. He thinks the Ryans have an image to uphold and that requires us to have the best of everything. Even though I’m twenty-seven years old, he insists on buying me a new car every year. The last car he took back to the dealer only had four hundred fifty miles on it. The look on his face when he saw that was priceless. I can only imagine his face if he were to see me now. Maybe I’m dismissing a great opportunity by not enjoying the cars he gives me. Zipping around like this is thrilling. I don’t think I’d be half bad at driving a getaway car should 007 ever stop me in the middle of the street to chase down a criminal.
Tanner exhales heavily once we’ve finally got a couple miles down the road. My gaze shifts over to him when he shoves his hands through his long, messy blonde hair that nearly touches his shoulders. He circles his palms around to scratch through his beard a few times, obviously deep in thought, and I have to will myself not to sneak a glimpse at his unit again. It’s just sitting there staring at me like a one-eyed monster.
I’ve been driving around aimlessly for five minutes with no direction from him on where he wants me to drop him off. The longer the silence stretches, the weirder it begins to feel, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Whose wife did you screw this time?”
He scowls. “No ones.” Discomfort radiates off of him as he drops his hands down to his package now that he has the mind to cover himself.
I roll my eyes and hold the wheel with one hand so I can peel off my black cardigan with the other. I hand it over without looking. I can feel his eyes on me, and I’m praying to God he can’t see my nipples pebbling beneath my thin tank.
“No bra?” he asks.
I jerk the wheel just the slightest bit and swing him unexpectedly into the window frame again. His head makes a satisfying crack.
“You should buckle up.”
He groans and rubs his head. “You should come with a warning label. Dangerous machinery, proceed with caution.”
“Stop looking at my tits and you’ll be a hell of a lot safer.”
“Says the woman who was eyeing my tube steak like she hadn’t eaten in days.”
I bark out an incredulous laugh. “That is disgusting, even coming from you. Is that how you get all those footie slags in bed? Smooth words liketube steak?”
I glance over and catch his satisfied smirk. “No, they take far less effort than you.” He leans closer to me and his voice is husky as he adds, “I bust out the big guns for you.”
