Page 43 of Whispers of My Skin

Always has, always will I guess.

I can’t deny how much just looking at him turns me on. Joel was always tall and lean, but he’s filled out considerably over the years. Now, he’s a man, not a boy, and I love the feel of his solid muscles, gained from hard ranch work and not some stuffy gym full of posers. He’s all male, all man, and for now at least, all mine.

I’m all his too, putty in his hands, powerless to resist. He can do whatever he wants with me and I will let him.

“Okay, yes. Take me home,” I whisper. With no hesitation, Joel takes my hand and starts looking for the exit.

“Hey, we can’t just disappear, we have to let Fermin know we’re leaving. He didn’t bring his own car,” I point out.

Joel curses, but fortunately we find Fermin in a corner, perched on one of the sofas, chatting and flirting in the middle of a crowd of guys and gals.

“See? I told you,” I giggle at Joel’s wide eyed expression.

“If you must, you pair of lightweights,” Fermin rolls his eyes at the news we’re leaving. “At least I can say I tried my best to get you to let your hair down. But hey, whom I to judge? You have fun however you choose, and I’ll see you both back at the ranch tomorrow.” He gives us a knowing wink.

“But how will you get back if you don’t come with us?” I worry.

“I’ll Über, it, babe. No sweat.”

Without further ado, Joel drags me out to his truck in the parking lot.

After the stifling heat of the nightclub, I shiver in the cool night breeze. I’m missing the warmth of Joel’s body wrapped around mine.

“Relax, baby. I’ll keep you warm,” Joel murmurs in his deep throaty voice, and I nearly combust on the spot.

Soon, we’re heading down the interstate, which at this hour is almost deserted. Joel reaches over and runs his hand up and down my leg. From my knee to the edge of my underwear. Teasing, building the sexual tension and anticipation between us.

But when the truck suddenly starts accelerating, Joel frowns, taking his hand from my leg to tightly grip the steering wheel.

Something’s not right.

“What’s going on? We’re getting faster,” I ask worriedly.

“I don’t know,” he finally says after a few seconds that feel like an eternity. “The truck isn’t responding.”

I want to stay calm, but Joel’s tense expression has me scared.

I grip the edge of the seat—this wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. I was kind of enjoying being a little scared of Joel and what he had planned for us.

Being scared to death on a white-knuckle ride home—not so much.

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