Page 211 of Ride With Me

“I’m Silas,” I offer, to break the heavy silence between us.

“Mmm.” He doesn’t give me his name. Should I ask for it? Would asking his name make him think I feel the need to be able to identify him later?

I jump when a beep chimes somewhere in the car.

“Seatbelt, Silas.”

Oh right. I pull the strap over my shoulder and across my chest, then click it into the slot.

“How did you end up ‘lost’ out here?”

I can almost hear the air quotes, like he doesn’t believe my story. My brain races to come up with something plausible.

“I, um…”

“Ran away from home? What’s the matter, your daddy too strict with you?”

Oh shit. The level of disdain in his voice is doing something weird to me. Making my skin prickle with something more than the summer heat or the air-conditioning’s chill. My dick stirs and I fold my hands together in my lap to shield it.

He glances down at my lap, like he’s not fooled at all. “It’s polite to answer a question when you’re asked, boy. Has your daddy not taught you to respect your elders?”

I definitely don’t want to say anything bad about my Daddy, especially not to this man. I swallow a couple of times to moisten my mouth. “My Daddy is not too strict. He’s kind and gentle and gives me everything I need.”

There’s a snort, like he doesn’t believe that for a second. “Then what are you doing out here all alone?”

I risk a glance at his lap, then at his large, strong hands that are gripping the steering wheel. “Well, I’m not all alone now, am I?”

“If you’re looking for something your Daddy hasn’t yet provided for you, that can be arranged.”

That’s the whole point here, isn’t it? The reason I stuck my thumb out on the side of the road. The reason I got into his car in the first place.

His hands are flexing against the steering wheel. Like he’s keeping himself from doing something with them. Grabbing me?

Doing something to me?

Hurting me?

Those butterflies in my stomach turn into flapping, shrieking birds.

CHAPTER 2

His right handlifts from the steering wheel and stretches toward me across the console between us. He moves slowly and I have time to bat his hand away, or duck out of his reach, or even open the car door and escape.

I don’t, though. He fits his hand around my throat. His thumb and middle finger press into the pulse points just below my jaw.

“Are you afraid?” His tone is curious rather than concerned.

I can still breathe, mostly, though my head is getting light and my heart is pounding. “Yes,” I manage to whisper.

“Good,” he says. “But I think we can do even better.”

Wait, what? What does that mean?

He lets go of my throat and, like a flash, grabs my dick and squeezes it through the fabric of my jeans. He squeezes hard and the zipper bites into my flesh, since I’m not wearing any underwear. I arch up into his hand, though the seatbelt keeps me from lifting my hips too much.

“Fear turns you on, I see. What else turns you on, boy?”

He’s squeezing and kneading my dick and I’m so hot my brain is melting in my skull. I’m not wearing my cage, andI’m honestly worried that I’ll come in my jeans before he does anything else to me.

---