Page 30 of Hurts So Good

“Hmm. That’s what I thought.” A pause. “You know, I think I’m going to have to pull over.”

“No, Sir!”

“Oh yes.” He laughs.

My conscience screams at me to hang up, hang up now. I shouldn’t be hearing this, I don’t want to be hearing this! My cheeks are burning, I want to crawl under the table and hide, and already I know I’m never going to be able to look either of them in the eye again. Not without embarrassment and guilt written all over my face.

But instead of hanging up, I fumble for the Mute button, reluctant to take the phone away from my ear for even a moment. Once I’m sure the mute is on, I press the button for Speaker and sit listening to the purr of the engine until there’s silence.

He’s made good on his threat; they’ve stopped.

A sound that I guess is seatbelts being taken off.

“What if someone comes by?” she asks, sounding almost like the educated, unruffled woman I know.

“There’s nobody for ten miles around but cows, love.”

“But…”

“Out of the car now, Anna!”

I jump and put my hand over my mouth, and I can almost feel her heart hammering just as hard as mine as she opens the door. I wonder if it’s fear for her or pleasure. Or both. Some ashamed little part of me longs to know.

I hear shoes scrunch on gravel.

“It’s cold,” she protests, voice fainter as she gets out of the SUV, and I hold my breath so that I don’t miss a word.

“A hot little slut like you shouldn’t mind,” David says. “Now take your jacket off and turn around.”

With her delicate frame, Anna doesn’t like the cold and it’s in the 50s outside. I shiver for her.

“Here’s good enough.” His tone is forgiving, just a little, and his voice sounds closer. “Put your hands on the doorframe. That’s right.”

Vague rustles and movement. Her voice in small sounds of denial or maybe excitement.

“You are lovely like this.”

Like this? Chewing on my thumbnail, I’m dying to know what “this” is. I picture her shoulder-length, brown hair loose because she usually wears it down if she’s not at work.

“It’s so cold, David,” she says, voice shaking. Pleading.

“Your own fault darling. If you hadn’t been wearing that damned bra, you wouldn’t have had to take it off.”

Oh god, he’s got her top off, and her bra. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to let imagination color in the picture of her round breasts bare, nipples puckered from the cold. Is he touching them? Playing with her?

I fidget on the smooth wooden seat of the kitchen chair.

“May I keep my skirt on, Sir?” she asks, not daring to hope. I hold my breath and listen again.

“Yes, you may. But you’re going to pull those wet little panties down… that’s far enough… Now lift your skirt up higher… That’s it. Ass up. Stick it out like a good slut… Perfect. Hands on the doorframe… Good.”

I give up. Eyes closed, I can see her standing there on some deserted country road, holding onto the passenger-side doorway of the Escalade, naked from the waist up, panties around her knees, gooseflesh on her arms and legs and bare ass, David’s tall frame standing behind her to shelter her a little from the wind. Commanding her.

This is so beyond all that’s wrong and unacceptable, but it’s too late to back out now.

I hear David’s voice, cajoling, reprimanding.

“What do you think Kellie would say if she could see you like this?”

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