Page 9 of Possessive Trucker

“Country, or my story?” I ask him, wanting to move my legs apart, hoping for something I don’t even understand yet but feeling better for it once I do.

He catches another glimpse of me, and flushed, he pulls at his shirt collar.

“Your story,” he says with certainty. “What happened today?”

Country? I ask myself, feeling like I need to think before I speak.

Thorn’s asking because he cares, and I tell him because I want him to know.

I relay the days’ events and fill him in a little on my farm life background. Country girl tries for big city life and fails is the gist of the story.

“Hardly the big smoke,” Thorn observes, noting the forest lined highway, smiling to himself.

“Big enough,” I let him know. “The town. The hotel…” I trail off. “I thought people would be more honest, that’s all,” I muse softly.

“It’s all fields and sky where I’m from. The forests, the towns down here,” I explain to him. “It’s big enough for me, especially after today.”

He growls low, disappointed again, but I know it’s not me.

“Not everyone is out to screw you,” he says, almost under his breath.

Both of us look up into the mirror and I can’t help but grin to myself.

He opens his mouth to correct himself, but I won’t let him. I know what he means.

“Tell me about Thorn,” I ask, interrupting his train of thought. “Tell me you don’t pick up just anyone. Tell me what it’s like on the road.”

He looks at me sidelong, smiling to himself again. “I started like Kip back there,” he says, jutting his chiseled jaw to one side.

“I was a bit of a drifter in my youth.”

“How old?” I ask, not meaning the way it comes out. Thorn’s brow darkens.

“I’m forty, this year,” he says looking straight ahead. “I paid off one truck, then two, kept building it up and now it’s Thorn Mill and Transport,” he says, finishing with a grin of satisfaction.

“Anything else?” he asks before he breaks out into a wide grin again, his eyes traveling down to my body briefly before they focus on the road ahead again.

I’m impressed, mostly because he’s not spouting off to show off his achievement. He’s just telling me how it is. Answering my questions.

I want to ask him about how he nearly kissed me.

Want to get back to that before it gets lost.

I wait for moments in the silence between us, but the more time that passes, the more miles on the road, it’s almost as though it never happened.

“Where you headed?” he asks finally, reading my thoughts again, a twinkle in his eye leaving it wide open.

I sigh, and instead of looking out the window, I look right at him. “I want you, Thorn… I mean- I want to go where you go,” I stammer, blushing ruby red as my mouth betrays me.

“You still wanna kiss my hand better?” he asks, and I feel my heart race again, my hand reaching out for his without thinking.

I can’t ask myself what I’m doing anymore.

I know what I want, and so does Thorn.

He seems shocked my hand’s out so fast but his is in mine before I know it, and I don’t just kiss it, I hug his huge hand to my face.

I press the back of his hand against my cheek, gripping his huge fingers in mine and squeezing them with a tenderness that I only hope he can understand.

The slowing of the truck makes me look up.

Thorn’s shaking his head slightly.

“Just tell me you want this,” he growls, and I hear myself gasp as I clutch his warm hand closer, pulling it down towards my chest.

“Thorn,” I whimper, saying his name as if it’ll be enough. But I need more.

We both do.

As soon as he finds a rest stop, he pulls in and seconds after shutting the truck off, we’re both out of our seat and into each other’s arms.

Before the diner, before meeting Thorn today my whole life felt like it was a shipwreck.

Now, in his arms finally, I’ve found the shore.

“Thorn?” I gasp again, but he won’t let either of us speak any more.

Words are useless now.

His hot mouth pressing over mine tells me everything in an instant.

Chapter Eight

Thorn

The cabin has a section in the back, a bunk, fridge and television. A space I’ve never been more thankful for until now.

The height of my rig, the tinted windows, the locked doors, it gives us the privacy I know Sophie deserves, but the comforts of the cabin become a blur once she’s in my arms.

Finally.

She moans so long, loud and deep that I almost worry she’s finished before I’ve even started on her, giving her everything I know she deserves.

Then I notice half of what I’m hearing is my own sounds.

Deep, low sounds that mix with hers as I feel us both falling backwards into the low bed in the rig’s cabin behind us.

---