Page 21 of A Shot in the Dark
My hand finds its way beneath my skirt and panties and my finger presses down to massage my clit. I moan my approval.
“Yep. That’s the heat talking. Fuck my luck.” Boots keeps driving. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK.”
“Why don’t you pull over? Join me back here,” I tempt. “There’s plenty of room, even for a man asbigandimpressiveas you.” I slip down far enough in my seat to stretch one leg across the front seat, dangling my high heel in Boots’ peripheral vision.
“Stop that,” he commands and I reluctantly obey, though I continue making lewd suggestions to him, brainstorming things he could do to me if he likes. “I don’t fuck clients in my car.” I sit there briefly, stung, remembering I’m only a client to him—a package to be delivered. It doesn’t matter that I seduced him inthe motel and he seems to enjoy fucking me every time I suggest it.
Fine then. I’ll still get what I want from him. “Never?” I challenge.
“Never!” he snaps. “No food, no drink, no smoking, and no sex in the car.”
But I want him and I want him here and now and hard—and maybe just a little angry. “Then don’t. You won’t fuck me here then either. I deserve better than the backseat of yourfilthycar.”
Boots flicks the turn signal on and we are exiting the highway. He finds the first quiet place to pull over and parks the car, then turns to face me, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “What you don’t seem to grasp is that I have two options, princess: to pop you, or topopyou. You insulting the cleanliness of my abso-fucking-lutely pristine car definitely makes me consider both options nearly equally.” He slides out of his seat and comes back to open my door, sliding in beside me. His fingers sweep lightly and with obvious pride along the perfectly glossy top of the leather seats. “This car is so clean you could eat off these seats.”
“You most certainly cannot,” I challenge, pulling my feet onto the seat between us and dropping my knees to open my legs wide to him.
“Jesus, this heat,” he snarls a heartbeat before he pounces and proves that sunglasses look even sexier worn by someone staring up at me from between my legs.
My head clear and my body calm, it’s only an hour later that Boots starts talking to himself. “I don’t miss deadlines,” he complains. “I never miss a deadline. It’s not just my job, it’s part of my code. I say a thing and I do a thing. I’m a simple man.I have simple tastes and reasonable, achievable goals. This job shouldn’t be so fucking hard. I should be getting ready to move on to my next assignment soon. Not still dicking around with you…” He looks over his shoulder at me. “Why the fuck am I even telling you this?”
I rest a bare foot on the back of his seat and wiggle my toes. “Because you’re always on the road? Because you don’t put down roots. Because you don’t have any friends, just comrades-in-arms? Because,” I suggest softly, “you need someone to talk to, and I’m at least someone.”
“Not according to my orders, you’re not,” he says crisply. “Maybe it’s because I could tell you all my secrets—including ones so dark you’d turn away from me even in your current state. And then? I could blow your brains out and leadership would reward me. They would fuckingpromoteme… What is this fucking life I’m living? What sort of masters did I accept as my own?”
The alarm that should be building in me at his words simply doesn’t have any effect. It’s as if I hear it from a distance, and it applies to someone else. Not me. I am immune to worry. “We all accept a master at some point—greed, lust, power, addiction. You’re a man like any other,” I muse.
He snorts and shakes his head. “Lady, if you only knew…”
“Pull over, Boots. Pull over and come here,” I implore.
“Why?” He signals with one finger for me to lean forward and reaches out to touch my forehead. “You still have some time.”
“Pull over and come here foryou, not for me. Because you need to.”
“I don’t need anything. I’m fine,” he insists, refocusing on the road ahead.
Sighing, I sink into my seat, dozing until the need wakes me again and I entice him to join me in the backseat at another quiet location not far off the interstate. My need is sated quickly, hisbody learning mine, even as his frustration continues to build, recognizing another bit of time has been lost on me.
Time he won’t get back.
Regardless of his frustration, the ground rules and safe word remain in place.
And I come to crave him.
And his belt.
He drives us through the night, commenting, “I don’t even have time for a shave or a smoke break,” and he’s right. The stubble that so readily appeared on our first day together has grown thicker.
Neither of us like it.
He begins getting phone calls and ignores each and every one as if ignoring the problem will make it go away. But I know from the odd things he says to me—and to himself—that trouble is only closing in.
Chapter 8
The fever that undulates through me, sweeping me along, keeps traveling through my veins at faster and faster intervals, a sense of desperation rocketing through me and only intensifying with every passing moment. Desperation becomes panic too easily.
“Aren’t you going to pull over? Fuck me a few times?”
