"I've got you." One of his hands slides between us, finding my clit again, and he rubs tight circles that make my thighs shake. "Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it."
As soon as he says ‘baby’ the orgasm hits me like a freight train, sudden and overwhelming. I clench around him, my whole body going taut as I bury my face in his neck to muffle the sound I make. He doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop touching me, drawing it out until he finds his own release.
"Fuck," he groans, his rhythm faltering. "I'm so close."
"Yes. Cum inside me."
Those words are all he needs to let go, his hips jerking up as he spills hot and deep, and I feel every pulse of it. His hands tighten on my ass, holding me down against him as he buries his face in my hair, breathing hard.
We stay tangled together in the driver's seat, our hearts beating in sync. The song has changed toPictures of Younow, by The Cure, all melancholy guitar and yearning, and it’s the perfect sound. I always like to note everything like a journal, but this moment? This is just for us.
Eventually, Dom lifts his head and looks at me. His eyes are black and intense, he’s open to me, his heart and soul are accepting this.
"No going back," he says quietly.
"No going back," I agree.
He cups my face in his hands, those same hands that will kill for me, that have already killed for me, and kisses me soft and slow. It's different from before, like it’s a promise. When he pulls back, I rest my forehead against his, our breathing still uneven.
“I love you,” I say, whispering like someone else might hear.
“I love you too, baby, maybe too much.”
“I love you calling me that,” I say as I press gentle kisses against his neck.
“Baby,” he says as he nibbles on my ear. Fuck, we have to leave before I need him to fuck me again.
"We should go," I say eventually. "We have a trucker to find."
"Let’s do it."
With regret, I climb off his lap and start gathering my clothes. My legs are shaky, and I can feel him dripping down my thighs, but I don't clean it up. I like the reminder. The evidence of what we are to each other.
Dom tucks himself back into his jeans and starts the engine. The van rumbles to life, and he maneuvers us onto the highway, heading east toward the truck stop. Toward the witness and whatever comes next.
I reach over and take his hand again, and he threads his fingers through mine without looking away from the road.
We're not just lovers anymore.
We're accomplices. Partners. Two halves of the same dark whole.
And together, we're unstoppable.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DOM
I've been watching him for two days now. Gary Hollis. Fifty-three years old, according to the registration on his Peterbilt. He runs the same route every week, I-40 east from Flagston to Albuquerque, then back again. Stops at the same truck stops and eats at the same diners. Sleeps in the motel when he can afford it, in his cab when he can't. Creatures of habit are easy to predict. Easy to corner.
Easy to kill.
It's four in the morning when I pull into the truck stop parking lot. The place is mostly empty with a few semis scattered around, their drivers either sleeping in the attached motel or passed out in their cabs. No cameras pointing toward the back lot. I checked yesterday.
Gary's truck is parked in the far corner, same spot as always. The cab is dark and he's inside.
Roxy's asleep in the back of the van, curled up under the blankets with her sketchbook tucked against her chest. I can hear her breathing, soft and even. She doesn't need to be awake for this part.
I sit for a moment, letting my eyes adjust. The cassette player is playing low, Kate Bush,Running Up That Hill. All eerie andwhimsical, it makes me think of Roxy. I’m slowly starting to enjoy her interesting taste in music.
