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“To spill your dirty little secret, obviously.”
Her voice was soft and damp to match her neglected pussy, so neglected she was doing stupid, reckless things with this sexy young country boy, so compact and sensual in his clingy gym shorts and saggy tube socks.
Evening was drawing ever closer by now, the night as soft and languid as her new friend’s syrupy accent and his thick, curious smile. The shadows across Shane’s face made it look sharper than it was, and far more dangerous. His soft, dry chuckle was low and coarse and sent another shiver where Tatum could afford it the least.
“Gonna be hard to top that one, Tatum.”
“You’re telling me, Shane. That’s why it’s gotta be extra secret-y, feel me?”
Shane nodded as if he understood. He reached for his grape soda, wrapping those long, expressive fingers around the can as if showing them off for her. It worked. She watched his every move, from his wet, plump lips around the lip of the can to his Adam’s apple, bobbing up and down as if taunting her overactive libido in the waning sun. When his thirst was finally sated, Shane set the can down and glanced back at her with an almost palpable look of defeat in those vulnerable green eyes of his.
“Not sure how dirty it is, but … will pathetic do?”
Tatum scolded him with her eyes, feeling protective in a way she honestly shouldn’t. “Nothing about you is pathetic, Shane Dixon. You hear that? Absolutely nothing.”
Shane clucked his tongue and peered off just behind her, so long she was tempted to glance over her shoulder to see if, perhaps, someone else was standing there after all. “Oh yeah?” he clucked, as if he hadn’t heard a single word she’d said. Then their eyes met and he admitted, “What if I told you I’ve never seen a woman naked before?”
Tatum openly scoffed, with many openly scoffing noises. “I’d call bullshit, that’s what.”
“Well, it’s not.”
“It must be, Shane. You dated your high school sweetheart for four years, didn’t you?”
“Sure, no doubt, but she had rules, my sweet Emily did.”
Tatum sat gently up wondering if, against all odds, Shane’s story could possibly be true. “What? Kind? Of rules?” Her voice was suddenly crisp and clean, as it might have been had she been a real reporter and not just some hack already crushing on the subject of her first big story.
“Her daddy was a preacher in town. We both went to his church every Sunday morning for service, so the fact that we did anything at all always took me by surprise.”
“But you did things, right? Grown-up things? Together?”
Tatum wondered what Emily looked like, and imagined her to be the hottest thing in all of Kernersville, Kentucky. Teased blond curls, probably. Big jugs pressing against her tube top collection, one in every different color—pastels, probably, heavy on the pink. Ripe, pale butt cheeks flitting in and out of her Daisy Dukes every time she strutted down the high school halls, cowboy boots clomping on the cheap school board linoleum as she blew blue raspberry bubbles from between her creamy frosted lips.
Profiling? Sure, damn straight. But it seemed just the type of girl a good, God-fearing country boy like Shane would be attracted to back in the day. “Not at first,” he continued somberly, as if reading someone’s eulogy in his hometown church. “Not for a while. We were young, just kids, and it was hard to find a place to be private back then. But in our junior year her daddy bought a new house, a two-story, and he and the missus had the master bedroom downstairs, and well, Emily got her own bedroom upstairs.”
Tatum shivered with a kind of voyeuristic delight. “Let me guess,” she almost purred, panties growing damper with each syllable as she pictured the scene. Shane hot and horny as he crept in the window and Emily ripe and ready between the sheets. “There just happened to be a big old tree right outside her window, right?”
Shane blushed, nodding quietly in the shadows of his battered ball cap. “Her daddy got up early each morning, so he went to bed early every night. I’d sneak over after dark, sweaty and grungy from baseball practice.”
Tatum pretended to wrinkle her nose, although in fact the thought of Shane sweaty and sticky in the dark made her motor rev into an even higher gear than it already was. “Really? That wasn’t against one of Emily’s rules? Cleanliness is next to godliness, as I remember correctly.”
“Not really,” Shane mused, as if considering it for the very first time. “Actually, she kind of seemed to like it.”
Tatum gave a begrudging nod. Maybe she and Emily had more in common than she thought. “But … only in the dark?” she prodded, eager for more salacious details from sexy Shane’s adolescent past.
Shane nodded. “She insisted on it.”
“But why? That’s crazy.” For the life of her, Tatum couldn’t imagine missing a single moment of Shane’s taut, youthful body in her bed, given the chance. Even so much as blinking would be out of the question!
“She said to look upon a naked man before marriage would be a sin.”
“But not fornicating in the middle of the night while your Baptist preacher sleeps downstairs, none the wiser?”
Shane chuckled. “I never said it made sense, damn, girl. I was just a horny high school jock trying to get in his girlfriend’s pants, can you blame me?”
“I guess not,” Tatum murmured. She tried to ignore how sexy the thought of being with a teenage Shane might be. “And her other rules were?”
“They weren’t rules, so much, as just demands, I guess?”
