My arms tense, one hand in his hair and one hand on the steering wheel. I throw the weight of my body forward, releasing my seed into the back of his throat. Shot after shot, and he swallows it all.
I’m still fighting to catch my breath when he comes back up, wiping wet lips clean with the back of his hand. “Thank you.”
And the world goes black like it always does, andI’m left of the thoughts of what I’ve done. What I’m still going to do. It’s the only time I ever think ofhim.Right after I’ve come and my mind breaks all over again.
I’m on this highway to die.
To end it all.
It’s the little moments that keep me alive.
But just for a little bit at a time.
CHAPTER 4
SEVEN
You can tella lot about someone by the way they eat. For example, this man sitting in front of me has no qualms about making a mess of himself as he devours his food. The double-stacked hamburger is long gone with a battlefield of crumbs littered across the small square table. Ever seen a man trying to impress someone eat like a neanderthal? Neither have I. Complete Daddy energy but in the package of a twenty-something who’s been blessed by the gods. Reminds me so much of Silas, without the flare for human suffering under the guise of walking the holy path.
I wager this man has never set foot in a church, much less a compound of brainwashed zealots. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t have the capacity for bullshit. Straight to the point. Doesn’t look a smidge like the homosexuals Magnus warned us about. Feminine, flashy, and ready todrag you to hell with them, as if cocksuckers were knights of the Devil himself. Those are my favorite kinds though. But Magnus—may he rest in eternal hell—never would have pegged this man to be one ofthem.
He’s a different kind of knight. Strong and muscular, with a body hidden behind a black tee and layered with a black and blue plaid shirt that’s rolled to the elbows. There’s a splatter of white paint near the hem of his shirt, but it’s probably just mayonnaise. Certainly, I know I didn’t miss a drop. Never do. Lick it clean. Swallow it all like a cure for a hunger I can’t sate.
His face is drawn in extremes. A diamond jaw with sharp cheekbones surrounded by a softness that’s contrasted against a thick layer of scruff. Eyes that pierce, stab, and scream,I own you.The kind of gaze that’s impossible to turn away from. An allure of safety, temptation, and savagery. Eyes that undress and beg to be undressed with a magnetic pull that makes it difficult to choose between staring into his soul or staring at his cock.
I choose cock.
I glance down, but the table obscures my view.
Back to his eyes then. The darkest of blues, bordering on black. He’s watching me now. Studying me with an inquisitive furrow of his brow. I force myself to look away and pick at the basket of fries before me.
Most people eat breakfast as the sun rises in the morning. Not this man, and now apparently not me either.
As he continues to watch me, he digs into a pile of french fries that are covered in nacho cheese and onions. “What are you running from?”
“That’s a wild assumption to think I’m running from anything.” Manipulation is a game, and telling tidbits of the truth is a strategy. Give a little and hide a whole lot. Telling him I set fire to my own car makes him believe I’m not lying about anything else.
“Everyone’s running from something or someone, especially those who—” He leans across the table and whispers, “Those who set their own car on fire.”
“Touchè, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Okay fine.” He cleans the yellow cheese from his fingers with a wadded napkin. “If you’re not runningfromsomething, where are you running to?”
The second rule of manipulation? Knowing when, and how, to divert a conversation. I lean back in my chair and fold my arms over each other. “It just dawned on me that I’ve sucked your dick and you’ve bought me food, and I still don’t know your name.”
He tongues the inside of his cheek, a look of displeasure passing over his lips. “You’re not a fan of subtlety, I see.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean you’re being too loud.”
“Oh sorry.” I lean over the table. “Didn’t realize you were on the down low.”
“I don’t care that anybody knows you sucked my dick.” He scowls, and then whispers, “I care that people will hear the other part. That you don’t even know my name. Trust me, I’m not afraid to fight a single soul up in here.”
“So what’s your name?” It’s a question I should have asked before, but between almost being run over and racing to see what’s underneath his jeans, there wasn’t much time.
“Noah Ri—” He stops himself. “Noah Ford.”
