Auto Erotica Ch. 05

The Pediatric AIDS foundation was having a ball. I hated it. Everyone there was trust fund, or old money, or new money that had married old names. No one really worked for a living and none of them would come within ten feet of a child with HIV or AIDS. They were there for the booze, the gowns, the food, the name dropping.

The speaker was an actress who'd grown up outside the city and had been nominated for an academy award, but was best known for her tan lines and fake blonde hair. My brother was getting properly drunk and still looked resplendent in his tuxedo, even dancing with old Mrs. Howell and keeping steady.

His hair was that dark brown that almost looks black but under direct light is red and brown and an explosion of colors. His tux had a navy and maroon vest that made him look less pale and he had his share of followers. I myself was cornered early by the event chair, Susan Hornsby and her hangers-on Marcia, Ellen, and Jane, who wanted me to pronounce her name "Ja-Nay." Freak.

I wore a floor-length Dior in lilac silk, my hair piled up in curls, the only jewelry was the amethyst earrings, short but heavy in a flower arrangement, and the heavy matching necklace. The set had been my mother's but it looked far better on me.

My mother had been a Hyde, as in Hyde Park, a section of Chicago. She was old-world Irish and had married my father, a poor steel worker. She'd descended into alcoholism and other things, taking my brother and I to Detroit to live in the ghetto rather than face her old friends, these people.

I buried her when I was seventeen and for my brother's sake I had come into this world. For his kids I made nice but I was not getting up on stage. No matter how these people begged.

At long last dinner was about to be served, the ten minute warning came, and I made my way to Andy's table. He was sitting, and he was soused, signaling for another drink. I caught the waiter's eye and shook my head, nodding to the water glass.

"Fuck you, I can drink if I want."

"Don't make an ass out of yourself. Look around the room. Someday Andy Jr. and Katie will be marrying the kids of these people. So make a good impression."

The waiter came back with water and went to poor but Andy threw his hand over the glass. "She doesn't speak for me," he slurred as water splashed off his hand. "Bring me champagne."

Our table was still mostly empty, just the Howells and us, the others desiring a fashionably late entrance. The waiter nodded. "Of course sir." He left, refusing to meet my eyes.

I stayed standing, to enjoy the greater height and authority it gave me. "Andy, fine. Just sit there, drink yourself to death, but be quiet."

"You're such a bitch."

I bit my tongue as Mrs. Howell gasped.

"Am I interrupting anything?" A man said behind me. My heart froze as my brother looked up without a spark of recognition.

I straightened and turned slowly. Sure enough, wearing a crisp tux, clean shaven, hair manicured, and looking nothing like himself, was Patrick Crilly. Or, the man pretending to be Patrick Crilly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked harshly.

"I might ask you the same thing."

Well, hell. I had never expected to find anyone from that world here. My head was swimming and I couldn't think straight. Patrick looked around me to Andy with a forced smile. "Might I borrow your wife for a moment?"

What?!

Andy choked. "Wife? My god," he shuddered. "She's my sister."

The raging tightness left Patrick's shoulders but he still looked at my left hand. I bunched it into a fist as he grabbed my wrist. "Excuse us, then."

"Who are you?" Andy said, standing.

"Patrick, a friend of Aileen's from...work."

"Andrew Reilly," Andy said and shook his hand. Patrick's eyes slid to mine with triumph at learning my last name.

"I'll be right back, Andy." I let Patrick strong arm me to what would soon be the dance floor, but for now was the congregation space for the meet 'n' greet.

"Well, well, well. First and foremost, Miss Reilly, you look good enough to eat."

I blushed and stepped back. "What the hell are you doing here? This is a thousand dollar a plate benefit for people who've already donated at least five grand."

"Answered your own question."

"There is no way that little garage of your makes that much money."

"There's no way your operation does."

"That's where you're wrong. Don't lump me in with all these trust-fund babies. Everything I have I worked for."

"I know your brother by reputation. He's spoiled and pampered, and definitely a trust-fund baby."

"He's my half brother. His side is rich, mine wasn't."

He cocked his head. "I just learned more about you in one minute that I have in a whole year."

"What do you want, Crilly?"

He stroked my arm and smiled that devil's smile. "That should be obvious."

I yanked my skin from that tempting touch. "I was willing to pork the mechanic, but I don't touch old money."

"You have such a way with words, Aileen."

"I'm curt, remember?"

"I remember lots of things."

Oh, hell, my knees were going to give out. "Well, hope that gets you through the night. Goodbye, Crilly."

He grabbed my arm. "Call me Patrick."

"I don't think I'll call you at all."

He only smiled as I pulled away to my boring table.

I was complimented on my beauty, as I should have been. The women picked in my mother's family for generations had been picked like prize horses, not to fill coffers, but to provide beautiful children. Even my brother had chosen a wife who was mentally unhinged but gorgeous, a California blonde, all legs and boobs and no brains.

Dinner was good, as it should be for that much money, and as coffee and dessert was rolled out the speeches began. The major contributors were thanked with a spotlight, and Andy and I got ours and had to stand. The next contributor was one Patrick Wolfe, AKA Patrick Crilly.

"You work with him?" Andy asked.

"Why?"

"The Wolfes made their money in shipping in the south. They financed half the civil war, tried to buy into steel, and settled on Wall Street. That man is richer than Croesus, sis, way to go."

I felt ill. Every other woman in the room was preening for the young man with the mega bucks. Why the hell would a trust fund kid own a garage? Well, to be fair, if his family didn't make anything what did he have to do other than sit around and accrue interest?

Fuck. I'd been intimidated enough when he was just a mechanic, but now?

"I'd like to leave."

"No," Andy said gruffly. "We're dancing and then you're going to charm that man there, Michael Marks." He pointed to a well built man in his fifties with silver hair next to a young woman with fake red hair almost my shade. "He runs the school I want Andrew Jr in, and I'd really like to pork his wife."

"You want me to play wing man for my own brother?" Gross.

"You promised you'd be good." The threat was always there. He knew things, things that would bury me. He knew less than he could, more than he should.

"Fine then."

When people began to stand and the band started up we made our way over and Andy introduced us. The man was James Montgomery, and he was leering at my breasts. We shook hands and he led me out while his wife Jenna made googoo eyes at Andy.

I tried to make intelligent conversation but he wanted to take inventory of my breasts so I made really loose allusions to sex if Andy Jr. got into his school. He promised to have his secretary put my call through, somehow forgetting it was my brother who'd be calling.

Just when I felt ill because of the small thing poking my hip I saw Patrick behind James, tapping his shoulder. "May I cut in?"

James looked at me as if I'd argue and for a moment I wasn't sure who was worse, and then James stepped aside. The next thing I knew I was looking up at Patrick and feeling a little bewildered.

"Wolfe, hunh?"

"Don't hold it against me, Reilly. Why don't I know that name?"

"My father was poor, and he worked in steel. His parents were born in County Cavan, the name wouldn't mean much to you."

"If your brother is a half, why the same name?"

"My father adopted him." Damn it, I hadn't meant to say so much but my brain felt sluggish. He was so warm, so hard, so thickly muscled that everything inside me was feeling twitchy and feminine.

"So who were your mother's people?"

"Hydes."

He danced well, surprising, hell, shocking, but when I thought of him as a Wolfe it made sense. When I thought of him as Crilly it was bizarre. "And yet you say you had to work for every penny? No trust fund for you?"

"None of your damn business, but no, no trust fund for me. I didn't grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth."

"Is that what made you join those...people?" I stiffened, and he sighed. "All right," Patrick continued, "we'll keep that separate and talk like a Wolfe and a Hyde. So do you summer?"

"Obviously not."

"My family does. I like to stay here."

"Why the garage?"

His dark eyes flashed. "Separate, remember?"

"Not fair."

"Ask me whatever you'd want to know about a Wolfe."

I felt every inch of him against me and to my horror my nipples seemed to stretch towards him seeking more. Why hadn't I worn panties? Oh, to avoid lines. Rats. "That's just it. I hate this. If I didn't have responsibilities to my family I'd leave here. I wouldn't set foot in a place like this, I wouldn't worry about causes like this, I wouldn't talk to people like...you."

"You hate the rich."

"That's putting it mildly."

"Well, Aileen, you put me in an awkward position."

"I don't want you in any position."

"Liar," he said with a laugh. "It's awkward because I'm filthy rich and I like it. I didn't use a penny from my family's money to open that garage and I'm proud of that, but I'm not turning my back on all this. I was born to it."

"Fine. Stay in this world and maybe I'll stay in mine." I left him awkwardly on the dance floor and walked to my table, grabbed my purse, and went into the lobby. I stopped in the bathroom and emptied my bladder, washed my hands, tipped the attendant.

The powder room was separate but accessed through the lounge in front of the actual bathroom, and I stepped inside. The hotel had it done in gold and red, there was a counter with gilded mirrors and red velvet benches. Around the room were comfortable looking couches.

The door closed softly behind me and, alone, I sat down to touch up my makeup. Just a light cream color on the eyes, some mascara, some powder on my t-zone. I fluffed on more and just finished when the door opened, shut, and I heard the lock click.

Patrick was standing there, looking ridiculously masculine and dark in the room.

"What are you doing in here?"

"You can't pretend there isn't something here."

"I might have been interested in a simple mechanic who understood the life, but not a rich boy who likes to slum it."

He walked towards me and the heels and dress made my scramble to my feet awkward. I straightened up to find he was close, as close as he had been when we were dancing.

"God knows I don't ask for much," was all he said before he kissed me. Kissed me! I never kissed! I tried to fight but he wrapped his arms around me and just held there. Damn, okay, it felt nice, well, better than nice, but it was against the rules.

I thought about biting his tongue when he licked my lips but he growled at me and I let him slip inside. God, it was good, I had forgotten just how good it could be. I'm not sure when I gave up, but I kissed him back, slipped my tongue inside his mouth and tasted brandy and smoke and man.

I rubbed against him like a cat and put my hands on his shoulders, exploring his muscle through his thick coat. Oh, God, he was so strong and a wicked thrill went through me knowing I couldn't stop him if he really wanted. Somewhere in my mind I knew I wasn't sure if he would stop if I asked and for some evil reason that only thrilled me more.

He pulled back only enough to whisper against my lips, "I want to fuck you."

I responded by shoving off his coat and he let go of my face to help. I kissed him until he was all tangled and let go with a victorious laugh. "I want to touch you," I whispered back against him.

He cursed low but unbuttoned his shirt. I touched the skin that was exposed, all bronzed, hairy, his abs like cobblestones, his body free of marks except that strange prison tattoo on his arm, which I knew now was for show. I petted and stroked while he fumbled with his cuff links until they popped off, pinging against a mirror.

When he was shirtless I touched all over, his biceps were huge, everything about him thick and powerful. He grabbed my hands when they went into his waistband. "Take off your dress."

It wasn't a request and that thrilled me. I stepped back and reached for the zipper under my left arm. It slid down the bodice and the strapless gown fell. I stepped out of it and slung the dress over the round bench in the middle, enjoying the blazing heat of his gaze.

I wore a corset to accommodate the low back and deep v of the bodice, and I favored stockings which were held to the corset with bands. I never could figure out if panties went over or under so I went without.

He just stared at me for a moment, taking it all in. The bulge in his pants was answer enough if it was hard to read his expression, and I felt the adrenaline in my veins surge past reason. "What now?"

"Sit down." He motioned to a couch against the wall.

"It's a little dirty."

He tossed his jacket down and I sat on the lining, facing him and kept my knees together. "Spread 'em," he ordered.

I hesitated. "Be a good girl and I'll reward you. Be bad...maybe I'll spank you."

Hell, my pulse leapt at that and I couldn't even hide how much the thought turned me on. He was there in a flash and somehow I was face down, yet again, but this time on his lap. There wasn't time to collect my thoughts when the first slap hit. He kept his hand on my flesh and slipped it down to tease my pussy, moving against the labia like he would penetrate me but stopping short of it.

He slapped me again then tickled. Slap, finger, slap, finger. With each one he moved deeper and stroked out closer to my clit. I was creaming wet and his finger made slurping noises with each stroke.

I was soon on the verge of orgasm when he stopped and lifted me, turning me like a doll. I was tall enough that this was a novel sensation for me. I could feel the bulge of his erection meeting my pussy and I knew his pants were being ruined. The juices were smeared all over his front and leaking down to his jacket. He'd reek of sex.

"Hardly seems like punishment," he murmured.

"Torture more for you, I suspect," I replied. He smeared his finger on my lower lip and kissed me so I tasted myself on him. Suddenly I was hot and I ached.

As our tongues met he dug my breasts from the corset and thumbed the nipples. I cried out and arched against him, grinding my pussy into him and begging silently for release. "Jesus, Patrick, are you going to fuck me?"

"Damn it woman, I'm trying to think here. You have a condom?"

Shit. "No, I don't carry them to these things."

"Neither do I."

I waited a heartbeat. "I have an IUD, have for a year, and I'm clean, but if you want to stop, I understand."

He stared into my eyes, the brown so dark that his eyes looked pure black. I have no idea what I looked like, other than one horny redhead, but it was enough. He unzipped and adjusted with a speed never before seen on earth and then he thrust up into me.

Too late I realized this meant I trusted him, hadn't even asked if he was clean, and many a good person had gotten an awful disease from the same mistake. I thought he was clean, I trusted him to tell me if he wasn't, what the fuck had happened to me?

He was huge, so thick it almost hurt and I threw my head back when he was seated, moaning low. "Fuck," he swore, and began to move slowly.

It was incredible, chills ran up and down my spine and my pussy felt like it was on fire. I clutched at his shoulders, his fingers dug into my hips, and Patrick was clearly in the driver's seat. That neat bulge at the tip stroked my G-spot with every turn and within seconds I was mad.

He kept me on the edge, bastard, and when I tried to move faster he leaned forward, bit my nipple gently. The pain only added to it, and I whimpered, right there. "Fuck," he swore again and began to slam into me.

I hit the peak right away and he pulled my mouth to his, kissed me, and swallowed the scream of pleasure. He stopped moving and tensed before I was even finished, and I knew he was close. His control was great, and I came down with a smile.

"Hang on," he whispered and moved us. Somehow he brought his legs up and swung around until he was laying down. He lifted me off him with a smacking sound that made us both groan, and together we moved my body around until I faced his feet.

I waited, braced my hands on his hips, but he jerked them back. I was forced to fold my arms into the small of my back and he pinned them there with one hand, wrapping the other in the free hair now spilling from my up do.

He thrust purely from the bottom and it was fucking in-cred-i-ble. I made noises I never knew I could and he grunted, holding back. I wanted a hand free to stroke my pussy but I was forced to move with him. At least he moved so fast his balls swung up and slapped my clit in time to his thrusts and my nipples grazed the top of my corset.

I couldn't hold back, I came like a freight train, but at least I bit my lip to keep quiet and ended up squeaking. He gave a muffled shout as he came and I felt it deep inside of me. The orgasm went on and on and on until he let me go and I slumped forward, sweaty and tired.

Reality returned with horror. He didn't fight me as I scrambled off and dove for the tissues from the box embedded in the counter. I cleaned myself off, tossed a wad at him, and shoved my bunch in my purse. I straightened my tits and jerked my dress up. I put some powder back and shoved the loose hair up.

When I was done his pants were buttoned and he was working on his shirt.

"We have to stop doing this," I muttered and grabbed my purse to go.

"I don't know what you think we have here, Aileen, but I will have you again."

Grimly I faced him with a sigh. "You'll have to catch me first." And then I left him in the women's bathroom covered in my juices knowing he was going to have a hell of a time getting out without an explanation to the ten women waiting in line.