He narrows his eyes on me. “I can’t tell if you truly love dick this much or if you’re just trying to convince me that you’re worth keeping on my payroll.” The crux of his elbow jerks as he does something with his hand, something out of sight. “It’s close to working.”
I can see what he’s doing, though. Trying to hide his excited cock. He’s almost as insatiable as I am, but nowhere near as inquisitive. “Didhesuck your cock, or did you suck his?”
“Whatever it took to make him happy.” He pushes the basket of fries to the side and brings an elbow onto the table. “He bought my love, or something that at least looked like love. He bought me and I was for sale. I hooked up with this guy last night and he thought I was for hire.”
“That’s funny.” The thought of him with another man kind of excites me. Wonder what that was like. “Earlier tonight, I almost got my ass spread open by some butch dude who thought I was a full-service whore.”
He points straight at me, displeasure washing over him. “You need a fucking shower.”
“I can’t disagree with that.” I agree half-heartedly, but the scowl on his face tells me I should take his words less as a suggestion and more as a command. “I can go take a quick one in the trucker showers if you promise to still be waiting for me when I get back.”
The metal legs of the chair squeals as I push myself backwards to stand.
“Don’t do anything funny, because there’s one thing you need to know. I don’t share.” He grabs me by the wrist. Firm enough to exert dominance, but not firm enough to leave a mark. “I mean it. If you come back smelling more like jizz than body soap, you’re going to be spending the night on the side of the road. I’m guessing that’s the last place you want to be sitting when the cops start searching for the arsonist.”
What is this feeling?Is it butterflies? The same swarm that lifted me from a dazed existence the first time I laid eyes upon Silas? Something else? That feeling of never being in control. That feeling of never wanting to be in control. Of knowing being in control means losing it, spinning out at the worst possible time. They say eyes are the window to the soul. They say blue-eyed men are the gatekeepers of love and innocence. Guess that’s why the blueness of his eyes more mirrors a dark storm than a glistening sea. No innocence there. Just hunger and control.
“Let me tell you,” I say as I ease myself from his grip, “nothing gets me rocked like a man who puts me in my place.”
I’m pretty damn sure he’s still watching after I’ve turned my back to him. Watching my ass, most likely, but watching nonetheless. Might even put on a little show with a little more bounce in my step than usual. Give him a taste of what he can’t have and hope hedoesn’t peel out of the parking lot as soon as the shower turns on.
I turn the corner at the end of a sterile hallway leading to the bathrooms and showers. Determined to be as quick as humanly possible. Scrub my body of the scents of fire and other men. Just one problem?—
I stop in my tracks.
Lock eyes with one ofthem.
One of the other men.
The last time we locked eyes, I had a gun aimed at his head. That gun is still holstered at my ankle. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not entirely stupid. Pulling the gun again, in public, won’t serve anyone well. Especially myself.
I make a quick turnabout, hoping somehow he miraculously doesn’t remember who I am. A hope that’s quickly dashed as I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy and quick. I move faster, turning back around the corner and making a beeline for Noah.
I grab him by the shoulder as I pass, not slowing down to explain. “Change of plans.”
“It’s funny, you still smell like a fire and your hair isn’t even wet.” He stands up and follows behind.
I push through the double glass doors at the front of the building, and escape into the night breeze. I hold the door open for Noah too, hold it open long enough to make sure Mr. Trucker can see that I’m with someone. Doesn’t seem to slow him down though.
“We should go.” I open the passenger door and slip into the leather seat.
Noah circles the front of the car in a hurry. Clearly notices my desperation but doesn’t ask any questions. We slam our doors at the same time.
And then he’s studying me. Here comes the questions. “You mind telling me what the fuck that’s about?”
I tap furiously on the dash. “Drive and I promise I’ll explain.”
He turns the key in the ignition. The car roars to life, thunder echoing under the hood. His eyes peel to the right as Mr. Trucker approaches the passenger side with a crowbar in hand.
Locks eyes with the man.
Slaps the shifter backward.
Tires peel against the asphalt, squealing over a barely audible rock track from the radio.
Still not louder than theclank, and thethud,and thescreechof the crowbar slamming into the rear panel of the car. Noah slams on the brakes, forcing the car to a sudden stop. Before I can convince him?—
Yeah. No time for that.
