“Those little sounds you were making. I knew you weren’t crying.” It’s a small comfort that his expression borders on pain, his gaze flicking to me before he returns it to the road. The truck barrels down the freeway, same way my body rushes toward climax. “What were you doing, June?”
“I can’t,” I whisper, my hand pressed hard between my legs, my eyes squeezed shut.
“You wanted to tell the story,” he says, his voice low and coaxing.
“No—I can’t.” My fingers can’t find purchase in my slick and swollen sex. There’s not enough friction, not enough time, not enough humiliation in realizing he was there. “You saw me?”
“If I would have gone inside I could have made you do anything. And if one of those rough fuckers had heard you? They might have done that.”
The thought is like a thousand pounds of dynamite. His large body across the cab of the truck, the scent of him, the strength of it, is the match. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I don’t touch underage girls. I went back into the hallway and made sure no one else came in. You finished finger fucking yourself and then washed your hands like a good little girl. When you walked out you had no idea I was around the corner.”
I’m so close it almost hurts. That’s how it feels not to come right now—painful.
“I think you would have liked it if I’d gone in, though. Wouldn’t you?”
“No,” I whisper, but it’s a lie. The pulse beating in my sex right now proves that much. This whole story has turned me on beyond bearing. Being trapped in this truck, heading to God knows where makes me burn.
“You would have let me do anything to your body. The same way you’re going to now.”
“No.”
He looks directly at me, his eyes so dark they’re almost black. “Come for me, beautiful. Let me see.”
My body is a traitor. It comes in a matter of seconds, fingers digging into skin, muscles clenching hard, a harsh cry escaping my lips. Pleasure arcs through me, so fast and hard it’s like being struck by lightning. It wrenches my body again and again, and the whole time I can’t take my eyes away from Asher’s.
When the last pulse runs through me, my hand falls away from my sex. My whole body falls against the hard door, not feeling any pain. Not feeling anything except the aftershocks.
Something seems to echo in the cab of the truck. A word. A scream?
Did I possibly sob his name as I climaxed?
God, I did. My throat is still sore from how loud I cried for him. I’m so embarrassed I could melt into a puddle on his warm leather. It’s already damp from my arousal. I wish I could pool into liquid and not have to face him, but I remain stalwartly solid, my limbs heavy but my mind fully aware.
Asher. I can only imagine the smug look on his hard face. I can only imagine it until I look over… only, he doesn’t look smug. His cheekbones are slashes against the sunlight. His eyebrows notched in pain. He looks like a man pushed to the edge of his limits, and then pushed one inch farther.
Two hours ago I was getting ready for the gala tonight. I never could have imagined ending up in this truck. Having my own arousal spread across my fingertips.
And I never could have imagined feeling concern for the man who made me this way.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says, his voice gruff.
The bulge in his jeans has not gone down. The denim stretches taut. I don’t know what he looks like under there, not really. Late-night browsing on Tumblr has not prepared me for this truck.
“Li Industries has been bleeding money for six months, maybe more.”
My gaze snaps to his face, but he’s looking at the road. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, beautiful. Worse. It’s supposed to make you feel worse, knowing that your daddy could have prevented this. The deal we made for your body? That was last fucking week.”
He knew for a week? “You’re lying.”
One broad shoulder lifts. “Halfway expected you to be barricaded in your bedroom when I showed up tonight. Maybe you’d be armed. Instead you came running down the stairs wearing that.”
I look down, forced to acknowledge the ridiculousness of the designer dress. There was probably never any gala. It was something Daddy told me so I would get ready without having to confess the truth. He let me be surprised because he was too ashamed to tell me.
For the first time in this horrible night tears prick the backs of my eyes. I clench my jaw to make sure no sound comes out. I want to yell, to shout that it’s unfair, but I’m too much of a good daughter to do that. And my father knew that about me. He was counting on it.
