Page 8 of Come Ride With Me
And when she finally popped, when that bubble of pleasure finally exploded inside of her, she screamed until her throat was raw.
“Yesss, baby,” he crooned from somewhere. He was still close, she could smell him. And he was still touching her, maybe, probably because her body still felt warm all over.
But Mica couldn’t see and she couldn’t move to reach out to him. All she could do was lay there on that fluffy cloud of pleasure and enjoy every glorious moment of the aftermath.
The way she shot up in that bed, heart racing, eyes wide. Mica immediately pressed a hand to her chest, forcing herself to calm the hell down.
So, this is what a wet dream felt like? But weren’t they just for men? The questions floated into her mind moments later, after she’d finally accepted that it was all, in fact, a dream.
Which was a hard thing to swallow considering how swollen her pussy felt and how wet her panties definitely were.
She made her way quickly to the bathroom to strip off her nightgown that had been sticking to her skin and the panties that were likewise damp. This couldn’t be what happened to a normal woman after having a normal—albeit highly sexually charged—dream about a guy she just met.
To be fair, Nash Waters was more than just a guy. He was a co-worker, sort of. Except in actuality, she owned the company where he worked, so technically he should be called her employee. He was gruff and edgy, his face in a perpetual frown at all times. At least the times that she’d seen him. Only, that frown was quite possibly the sexiest look Mica had ever seen.
He had a strong jaw, lined with a close and neatly cut beard. His lips could be construed as big—as hers could be also, a fact that her elementary school classmates made painfully clear—but they were proportionate to his face, she thought, and for some reason she wanted to lick them the way he’d licked her lower ones in her dream. Shaking her head, she leaned into the shower stall to turn on the water. Since when did she want to lick any part of a man?
Since last night’s dream, that’s when.
And that didn’t mean that she didn’t like men, or sex for that matter. She just didn’t recall wanting to lick or suck or bask in anything she’d done with the men in her past. Not the way she was with this dream.
Mica stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed. She immediately moved beneath the warm spray of water, letting it rain down over her head and her body. Nash’s hands had been strong, his fingers intentional as they roamed parts of her body only ever felt by her and her doctor. His were big hands, calloused and strong. It didn’t make sense how good they felt along her skin. With each touch she’d shivered even though heat was flowing steadily throughout her body. In the dream he’d used his fingers to enter her in a place she’d never thought would be entered. Hadn’t wanted to be entered, so how her imagination could have conjured just how amazing that would feel, she had no clue. Even now, her body trembled with the delicious thought. A thought that should’ve been forbidden, but now, wasn’t.
When her thighs continued to shake, she dipped a hand down to cup her juncture in the hope of calming the persistent ache there. Squeezing her thighs tight she tried to will all the emotion and reactions from that dream to cease, but the touch and the pressure only spurred them on and she groaned.
Her other hand moved to her breast and she gripped it tightly, biting down on her lower lip to keep from screaming. Would Nash palm her breast like this? Would he put his masterful mouth on them, suck her nipples into his mouth the way he had her clit? With that thought, her hand moved of its own volition, fingers, slipping between her plump folds to glide along her already moistened slit. And before she could wonder if she should be doing this to the imagery of a man she definitely should not be dreaming about, she was pressing two fingers into her center, pulling them out, then thrusting them back in again. All while the memory of his fingers in her rear replayed in her mind. That same feeling she’d experienced in her dream, the building pleasure that stormed through her body, was happening right now. As she fingered herself, played with her breasts and languished in the warm water cascading over her oversensitive skin, she moaned and sighed. She kept her eyes closed but let her body feel every single peak of pleasure. In her mind, Nash was moving inside her, while in reality it was her fingers doing the work. Shaking her head she convinced herself it didn’t matter. Not here, alone in her shower, nothing mattered, except the end. And she raced to get there, pumping her fingers fiercely, letting the screams rip from her throat to echo throughout the bathroom. Until her muscles gripped her fingers and her release gripped her soul.
“Ah, ah, ahhhhh,” she screamed and then panted as her legs shook and she moved the hand from her breast to brace against the shower wall.
Falling in this shower, hitting her head, and knocking herself unconscious as a result of a much-needed orgasm was not on her to-do-list this morning.
Neither was letting thoughts of this man she didn’t even know interfere with her purpose for being here. This job was too important to get sidetracked. Especially by a man that surely had better things on his mind than the likes of her. Not that she didn’t think she was attractive. Mica was self-assured enough to know that she was a beautiful and intelligent woman. Pride and self-esteem had never been problems for her. Yet, it was out of habit that she’d learned to sense when someone concluded she was biracial and wondered more specifically about her biological identity. She didn’t care. She was proud of her Caucasian mother and now that she finally knew who he was, her Black father.
Banyon wanted to know more—about her identity and what she was doing at Bellamy Motors. Nash hadn’t looked at her as if he thought her racial make-up was offensive or a problem. She’d seen the look of people who thought she was less than because she obviously had a percentage of Black in her, so she knew it well. No, the look Nash had yesterday when they’d first met was full of questions. He wasn’t sure why she was there or what to do about her presence. Neither was Banyon. Mica wondered why she cared about one and didn’t give a damn about the other.
In actuality, she shouldn’t care about either. She hadn’t come here looking for a man or a relationship, or even a tryst. And while that dream had proven to not only be entertaining but also a reminder that it had been a very long time since she’d focused on physical satisfaction, now was not the time. Figuring out what was going on at the dealership and preserving the legacy her father had left for her was Mica’s priority. It had to be.
“Salut maman,”Mica answered the phone, speaking in her native French language.
She’d just finished applying her make-up. It was a little more than she’d done yesterday, a very light silvery blue shadow on her eyes, mascara, blush, an extra coat of her favorite gloss which was aptly named ‘Fussy’. Her clothes were also a little different today. She’d found the iron and had unpacked another one of her suitcases. Her slacks were navy blue and a little more fitted at the hips. She paired them with a blue camisole and a kelly green cardigan. Staring at herself in the mirror Mica smiled at the splash of color. She zipped the sides of the black leather booties on her feet and then fluffed the big curls she’d proudly accomplished with the curling iron fifteen minutes ago.
“Just checking on you,” Cecile replied in English. Her mother spoke both English and French fluently and had made sure that Mica did as well. “How was your first day at the office?”
More than satisfied with how she looked, Mica moved away from the mirror and headed to the bed to toss the tube of gloss into her purse.
“I wouldn’t actually call it an office,” she told her, reverting to English as well. “It’s an actual dealership. Like people really come there to buy motorcycles.”
Mica tucked the purse under her arm and switched off the light before exiting the bedroom.
“Well, that’s what the solicitor told you wasn’t it?”
Mica nodded and replied, “That’s correct.”
It had taken her a few times of calling Finksburg a solicitor and him smiling politely before reminding her that in America the term ‘lawyer’ was more commonly used. Mica was actually happy she’d recalled the change in terminology when Banyon had referenced the lawyer yesterday. The last thing she needed was for that guy to have any cause to correct her.
“So how did you like it? Or rather, how did they like finding out that you are now their boss?” Cecile added a little chuckle. “I’m sure it’s quite a bit to swallow considering you are probably the youngest person in that place.”
“That might just be true,” Mica replied. “The part about me being the youngest. I only met a couple of people yesterday. The general manager and the shop manager. I plan to meet everyone else today.”
