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Two Years Later: Ashley
Thiscardriveslikea dream. It’s a 1960 Mercedes 190 SL—not the muscle cars Gabe usually prefers, but I fell in love with it. Cruising along this California highway with the top down and Gabe in the passenger seat makes for a perfect day.
He leans his tan, muscled arm on the door, his sunglasses reflecting the road ahead. His other hand comes to rest on mine on the gear stick.
The road winds along the cliffs overlooking the ocean, and he only grimaces a little when I ride the clutch.
The movie that just wrapped is going to win him his first Oscar—I can feel it. I think he can, too, even if he doesn’t want to talk about it yet. That’s okay, that’s what these road trips are for. Gabe needs to unwind, get out of whatever role he was in, and drive.
I love these times, when it’s just the two of us, no outside world. The break from the spotlight is good, even for me. I don’t spend a lot of time in front of the camera, although I did play the role of Clare in what turned out to be a summer blockbuster. I hadn’t lost that opportunity after all, but it’s behind the camera where I’ve found my purpose.
My little production company is finally flying.Trash For Love, Wendy’s part rom-com, part reality TV satire, wrapped last week. With Kate Van Sandt in the director’s chair, we’ve generated a lot of buzz for our little independent film. Our second starts pre-production soon and the third…it’s nothing more than a screenplay and a few notes between me, Wendy, and Kate, but we’ve already whisperedaward potential.
Gabe and I stop late in the afternoon to fill up the tank. He goes in to pay, and I bend across the hood to wash the windscreen, timing it perfectly for when he walks out. Few sounds are as satisfying as a grown man running smack into a garbage can because he’s too busy staring at my ass.
He presses up behind me, his hands slipping over the soft fabric that hugs my body.
“My wife is a menace,” he complains in a growly voice that tells me there is no way we’re making it to the beautiful secluded beach house we rented for tonight without stopping for sex.
I wiggle my ass against him. “My husband is a horndog,” I say as I continue to wash the windscreen.
He takes the squeegee out of my hands, kissing my neck. “You do this to me. Want to vandalize the restroom, for old time’s sake?”
It’s tempting. I’m more than ready for him, but this gas station doesn’t look promising as far as cleanliness goes, and I have a better option. I’ve been studying the maps, so twenty minutes later we’re on a private road, tucked out of view of everyone and everything, but even if we weren’t, I’m not sure it would stop me from hiking my skirt around my waist and climbing onto his lap.
Our lips meet in a hungry kiss, his hands sliding over my body as I free his dick from his pants. I sink onto him, reveling in the way he fills me, in the strangled sound he makes when I move. His fingers dig into my hips, and his mouth is hot on my neck, kissing down to my collarbone. Before he can rip my dress open—he’s destroyed far too many, the man needs to be stopped—I pull it down, my tits spilling out. He’s on them immediately, licking and sucking, dragging his teeth over each taut nipple in turn while I run my fingers through his thick hair.
There’s always this thrill with him, even when we’re somewhere our privacy is guaranteed. The chemistry between us is as strong as it’s ever been. Maybe even stronger. The way he reacts to me, the way I react to him—we’re perfect together.
He makes me come twice before he follows me.
When our hearts have slowed and we’ve both caught our breath, I kiss him long and deep before saying, “You’re going to be dripping out of me for the next two hours because you couldn’t wait. The brand new upholstery is going to be ruined, and it’s on you this time.” I was the one who couldn’t wait, I pulled over on this secluded road, but whatever. He was just as impatient.
Gabe kisses me, then reclines his seat as far back as possible. “Get up here, baby. Sit on my face.”
I don’t need to be told twice. Sometimes it’s good to be a little bad.
The End
