Then she felt him.
She felt him stroke her, softly, first over the curve of her sex. Then slowly, slowly easing into that slick seam. And even that was enough to tell her what she should have already known. His fingers were thick. They were thick and they were solid, to the point where it felt like being rudely spread. The sensation actually made her gasp.
But not in fear or horror.
“Ohhhh fuck, that feels so good,” she found herself blurting out.
And she couldn’t stop herself rubbing faster over her clit. The need to come was now so intense it was impossible not to, and even more so when he worked his way to her slick little hole. Rubbed it that way, too, until she came very close to bucking into his hand.
Then he murmured the words “Oh, so ripe and ready,” and she did.
Her hips lifted of their own accord, and when that happened so did the thing he had intended. One maddening finger, gliding in. All the way in, right up to the last knuckle, so fast and thick it made her cry out. It made her buck against him, at first accidentally.
But then less so.
And he knew it.
“Yeah, fuck my hand. Take what you need,” he said,and she did. She did. She rutted against that exquisite contact until the pleasure just seemed to build low down in her belly. Until she almost didn’t want to stroke her clit anymore, at all. She wanted to chase whatever this was. She wanted to feel him filling her, working her, saying to her, “Oh yeah, you’re gonna do it for me?”
Though it shocked her, when she realized she was.
I’ve never, I can’t, she almost said. But instead it came out as a stunned kind of understanding that shewas. “Oh mygod, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” she gasped as the pleasure started to break. Voice nearly panicked, body hardly able to process the intensity of whatever this was.
But he seemed to process it just fine.
“Yeah, I know, baby. Nice and hard, too, huh,” he said, as if it were fine and normal. Ordinary, even. Commonplace. Instead of the weirdest sex thing to ever happen to her. She could feel her pussy tightening around his nowreallyworking fingers. And each time it did, this heavy sensation just seemed to get hold of her. It swelled outward, through her clit, through her belly. Made spirals that had her wanting to grasp his hand and make him stop.
And especially when she realized something else.
“I’m going to make a mess, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she moaned, thinking of Derek, of Christian, of the boy from the agency she used to work at telling her it wasn’t natural for a girl to come that way. And then it happened.
She came all over his hand in a slick spill.
More than once, too. Every pulse of her orgasm made it worse, made it messier. And yet all the way through,he didn’t say one single word of protest. He said a sweet name instead. “Baby,” he said. “Oh baby, yeah, that’s it. That’s it, oh, that’s fucking hot. That’s so fucking good. That sweet little pussy creaming for me.”
And what then?
She didn’t know. All she could really process was that this was easily the most intense sexual experience of her life. In fact, she almost told him so. She almost fuckingthankedhim, in fact. She came within an inch of it, and only stopped because he got there first. “Well,” he said, into the heated, sex-thick air. Then when she held her breath, expecting some confession of his own greed, some question as to whether she could do the same for him, he finished the thought. One simple word as he turned over and put his back to her again.
“Goodnight.”
Fifteen
It seemed like the best thing to do was just not to think about it. Never even mention it. Throw herself into the job at hand, like nothing had ever happened. But there was one very major problem with this. The job at hand involved spending every second of every day with the man nothing had happened with.
And he seemed not only intent on being as oblivious and blasé as that casualgoodnighthad suggested, but actively fine with carrying on as he had before. Playing the game he had, before the woods. Being all pretend solicitous.I guess that really was just part of it, too, she thought, as he barely reacted to her laying out a little picnic in her lap on the way to the next stop. She’d gathered together some things at the last gas station they’d hit, and now she placed them all atop a napkin.
A bag of pretzels, two apples, a muffin.
And she knew he was really deep into the game when he didn’t even say anything about the boiled egg. She started to peel it, carefully, and instead of raging about the smell or the mess he suddenly slowed to a stop. Shelooked up to find he’d swung them onto a stretch of dirt that overlooked what seemed like a pit.
But then she sat up straighter. She peered over the dashboard.
And she saw the bowl of deep green just beyond the sort of cliff face they were perched on. A valley, she realized, a deep and beautiful valley filled with creepers and trees and bushes. Soft and lush looking, in a way that made her want to turn to him and exclaim like some soppy teenager.
It’s so easy to forget this isn’t real, she thought.
About ten seconds before he said:
