The flush that spreads across my cheeks could light a match. No one is supposed to know what I do at night. How does this man know? “No,” I whisper.
“We’re gonna fix that,” he says, his voice thick with lust. “You reach down and touch yourself now.”
I shove my hand between my legs, hard enough that it doesn’t feel good. He can’t make me feel good, especially when he’s not even touching me. He’s driving for Christ’s sake.
“Now, don’t be rough with that little pussy. That’s my job. Right now you just want to find your clit. You know where that is? Where it feels good, beautiful. Where it feels sharp and right and good.”
My fingers obey him even though my mind doesn’t want to. I rest my forefinger on my clit, closing my eyes at the quiet relief. “This isn’t good,” I say, but that’s a lie.
“Of course it is,” he says, casual as you please. The only sign that he’s moved by what’s happening is the bulge in his jeans. He doesn’t acknowledge his own arousal except to tighten his fist on the steering wheel. “You’re gonna have to endure this no matter what. Might as well get a little pleasure out of it. Now you’re going to play with that clit of yours while I tell you a story.”
“I don’t want to hear a story.”
He gives me a slow smile. “You’re right. It would be much more interesting to hear you tell the story. I’ll start it for you. One day you went to visit your daddy at one of his shopping centers while it was still under construction…. Don’t ignore your clit, beautiful. Make little circles.”
I glare at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you want me to show you?” He reaches across the console, and I make a high-pitch sound of protest. He laughs softly. “Then touch yourself.”
I move my finger slow and crude, not like I would if I were in bed alone. This isn’t really for my own pleasure, my hand between my legs. It’s for his. “I meant the shopping center.”
“Right, the story you’re telling me. About how you got out of the town car and walked up the steps, not knowing that the men were on shift change. They started whooping and hollering at you soon as they saw you in that plaid private school uniform, didn’t they? Gave you an earful.”
My mind flashes to that day, so many years ago. I can smell diesel in the air, feel the overbright glint of sunlight off the exposed metal beams. Looking fine, sweetheart. You need directions? I can show you were to go. Look at that chest. Flat as a board. Bet your nips are bright pink though.
A thrill of fear ran down my spine in that moment. The same fear I feel now in the truck. Blood races through my veins. My mouth opens on a graceless pant. That afternoon I had kept running down the hallway until I left them behind. This time there’s nowhere to run.
Asher’s eyelids look heavy now, his expression hard. “That’s right, beautiful. You remember.”
Only then do I realize that I’m touching myself harder, faster, worrying my clit between my forefinger and middle finger, pressing together to send sparks of pleasure through my body. “Were you one of them?” I say, my voice thready.
“You could say that. I was coming up the stairs after you, planning on telling you that you weren’t allowed in the construction site without a hardhat. Safety precautions. Then I heard the men hassling you, talking about your teenaged body.”
Oh God. I’m working myself harder now, getting hot when I shouldn’t be, shouldn’t be. My hips are moving against the stiff leather. I remember how warm I’d felt between my legs. “I never saw you.”
“I was the foreman, even back then. I didn’t mind the men giving a beautiful woman a whistle, letting her know she’s appreciated, no matter how rude it is. But I wasn’t going to let them give shit to an underaged girl. Not on my watch. Made it up the stairs and laid Jimmy DeLuca flat on his back.”
My cheeks are probably red as a fire hydrant. “Is he the one who said—?”
“He’s the one who said your pussy was probably tight enough to bend steel if he tried to shove some inside of you. Is that what you meant?”
“Oh God,” I whisper, slipping my forefinger lower, to where liquid desire pools at my sex. I spread it over my pussy lips, rocking my hips against the slippery friction.
“Broke his nose,” Asher says, his voice conversational. “And the other guys backed off real quick. Then I went after you. Figured you’d be upset. Might find you crying in the ladies room.”
Every muscle in my body locks up, because I know exactly what I did in that bathroom as a seventeen year old in a half-built shopping mall. “You didn’t find me,” I say, desperately, needing it to be true.
