He parks the truck and kills the engine, but neither of us moves.
We sit there in the dark, breathing each other in. The silence grows taut, stretched thin between us.
Then he turns to me—and the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing that can put him back together—undoes me completely.
I reach for him at the same time he reaches for me.
It’s instant. Carnal. Like striking a match in a dry field. Our mouths collide, teeth and tongue, breath stolen as our hands claw for purchase. I climb into his lap, straddling him with a desperation that borders on wild.
His hands are everywhere. He palms my ass, grinds me against him, and I gasp into his mouth when I feel how hard he already is. I roll my hips, chasing the friction like I’ve forgotten we’re in a truck, like I don’t care if the windows fog and the whole damn world sees us.
“Olive,” he groans against my throat. “God, I missed this. Missed you.”
I answer with a low, hungry moan, grabbing the hem of his shirt and yanking it up. He hisses when my nails scrape his stomach. I rock against him harder, faster, aching for him like I’m trying to erase the months we’ve spent apart with nothing but skin and sweat.
He shoves my shirt up, mouthing down my collarbone, biting just hard enough to make me gasp. I reach for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, needing him, needing this, right now.
That’s when I feel it.
Something soft beneath me. Not the seat. Not him.
Fabric.
I freeze.
My fingers close around it slowly, and I bring it into the faint glow of the dashboard lights.
A thong. Black. Lacy.
Not mine.
Everything inside me goes still.
His hands fall away like I just turned to ice in his arms. I feel him shift. Hear the curse slip from his lips.
“Shit.”
I scramble back into the passenger seat, heart pounding, shirt half-up, shame burning hot across my skin. I yank it down, but the sting is already there.
“You’ve had someone else in here?”
His mouth opens. Shuts. He blinks, like he wasn’t expecting this part to matter.
“Olive—”
“When?” My voice cracks. My throat’s raw. “How long ago?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
I look down at the fabric in my hands, my fingers trembling. This moment was supposed to be everything. And now it’s shattered. I throw the thong at him like it burns. Because it does.
“I should’ve known,” I whisper, barely holding the tears back. “God, I should’ve known.”
I fumble with the handle, shove the door open.
“Olive, wait?—!”
But I’m already gone, slamming the door behind me, walking blindly into the night. Gravel crunches beneath my boots, cold air slicing across my skin, but I don’t care.
