Free The Death of Lorenzo Jones by Brad Latham Page B

onto your hair, Amanda. I’m now going to see if you can hold
your
cookies.”
    He floored the accelerator pedal, and the twelve cylinders responded. Amanda’s hair streamed out behind her. The car hurtled
     on faster and faster, zipping past the few cars on the road as if they were standing still.
    The roar of the engine opening up seemed to startle Amanda.
    “Heavens,” she yelled over the rising wind, “what kind of an engine do you have in there?”
    “Packard Twin Six. I didn’t like the regular Cord engine. It’s a bit underpowered for my money. This Cord can burn rubber
     for a block and still be accelerating.” He delighted in speaking about his car and showing her off to a pretty dame. He was
     never more at home than behind the wheel.
    “Good Lord! How fast can she go?” Amanda yelled over the roar as the needle wobbled above 105 miles per hour.
    Before Lockwood could reply, she exclaimed, “Look out!” Indeed, there was a car going half that speed in the left lane forty
     yards ahead. Lockwood saw it, too, and put on his police siren. The car ahead pulled over sharply, and they didn’t have to
     brake at all. The needle crawled over 115, and still moved on. The speedometer readings went up to 120.
    “Holy Jesus,” was all Amanda could say. Lockwood steered them easily around another Sunday driver, and the velocity crept
     higher.
    “She has racing shocks, so the potholes don’t bother her much. Also,” he yelled over the siren, “she has front-wheel drive.
     Otherwise, by now we’d be in a ditch.”
    “Stop,” Amanda panted. Then she laughed. “No, Bill, don’t stop, go faster. Anything you can take, I can take.”
    “That’s the old moxie.” Lockwood didn’t turn to see if she meant it though. The road commanded his full attention; they were
     now up to 125.
    The siren seemed to get louder. Actually, it wasn’t his siren. It was, he saw, a police car trying to catch up. It made a
     valiant effort, but eventually they lost it.
    The tachometer was showing some strain. The oil heat was up. Lockwood reluctantly slowed to 100. The traffic for the upcoming
     traffic circle was starting to crimp his style, too.
    “Ooh, I loved it,” Amanda cooed sensually next to him, putting her arm over his shoulder. “It seems like we’re almost standing
     still now, by comparison.”
    Thrills warm her up, he realized. Good.
    They were still managing, despite the occasional car, a good 90 m.p.h. The lines on the parkway looked like dots. Damn, he
     couldn’t scare her. She nudged closer to him. A lot closer.
    They braked, and he stopped in a turnoff he knew, a lovers’ lane used by some teenagers. It was shielded from the road by
     a grove of trees, and other cars were there.
    “I suppose you ran out of gas,” she said.
    “You could say that.”

CHAPTER
11
    Lockwood pulled the handbrake, then leaned over and kissed Amanda, tentatively at first. She responded willingly, eagerly.
     Her tongue searched his out as she pressed against him. Encouraged by her willingness, his hand slid into her blouse, caressed
     her full, pear-shaped breasts, then slid down to unclasp the fastening of her skirt and plunged lower.
    Her kisses grew more frantic.
    “Oh, darling—darling,” she was muttering. “Keep doing that, yes, yes.”
    His left hand played over her flesh. No girdle. All that curving body was her own.
    “I want you, Bill. But we can’t—not now. But, I can do something for—for you here, if you let me… .” she said between moans
     of pleasure as his hand pressed her.
    “Yes… ,” Lockwood said.
    She had his shirt open, and her breasts slid down along the hairs of his chest, their nipples tautly erect. Her head moved
     lower, her tender lips kissed his chest, then slowly moved lower and lower.
    Lockwood pulled his hands up and fondled her breasts as she inched her kisses lower. He felt her tearing at the buttons to
     his fly.
    He was tremendously aroused and eager. He throbbed with desire