My mind flashes to that day, so many years ago. I can smell diesel in the air, feel the overbright glint of sunlight off the exposed metal beams. Looking fine, sweetheart. You need directions? I can show you were to go. Look at that chest. Flat as a board. Bet your nips are bright pink though.
A thrill of fear ran down my spine in that moment. The same fear I feel now in the truck. Blood races through my veins. My mouth opens on a graceless pant. That afternoon I had kept running down the hallway until I left them behind. This time there’s nowhere to run.
Asher’s eyelids look heavy now, his expression hard. “That’s right, beautiful. You remember.”
Only then do I realize that I’m touching myself harder, faster, worrying my clit between my forefinger and middle finger, pressing together to send sparks of pleasure through my body. “Were you one of them?” I say, my voice thready.
“You could say that. I was coming up the stairs after you, planning on telling you that you weren’t allowed in the construction site without a hardhat. Safety precautions. Then I heard the men hassling you, talking about your teenaged body.”
Oh God. I’m working myself harder now, getting hot when I shouldn’t be, shouldn’t be. My hips are moving against the stiff leather. I remember how warm I’d felt between my legs. “I never saw you.”
“I was the foreman, even back then. I didn’t mind the men giving a beautiful woman a whistle, letting her know she’s appreciated, no matter how rude it is. But I wasn’t going to let them give shit to an underaged girl. Not on my watch. Made it up the stairs and laid Jimmy DeLuca flat on his back.”
My cheeks are probably red as a fire hydrant. “Is he the one who said—?”
“He’s the one who said your pussy was probably tight enough to bend steel if he tried to shove some inside of you. Is that what you meant?”
“Oh God,” I whisper, slipping my forefinger lower, to where liquid desire pools at my sex. I spread it over my pussy lips, rocking my hips against the slippery friction.
“Broke his nose,” Asher says, his voice conversational. “And the other guys backed off real quick. Then I went after you. Figured you’d be upset. Might find you crying in the ladies room.”
Every muscle in my body locks up, because I know exactly what I did in that bathroom as a seventeen year old in a half-built shopping mall. “You didn’t find me,” I say, desperately, needing it to be true.
“Those little sounds you were making. I knew you weren’t crying.” It’s a small comfort that his expression borders on pain, his gaze flicking to me before he returns it to the road. The truck barrels down the freeway, same way my body rushes toward climax. “What were you doing, June?”
“I can’t,” I whisper, my hand pressed hard between my legs, my eyes squeezed shut.
“You wanted to tell the story,” he says, his voice low and coaxing.
“No—I can’t.” My fingers can’t find purchase in my slick and swollen sex. There’s not enough friction, not enough time, not enough humiliation in realizing he was there. “You saw me?”
“If I would have gone inside I could have made you do anything. And if one of those rough fuckers had heard you? They might have done that.”
The thought is like a thousand pounds of dynamite. His large body across the cab of the truck, the scent of him, the strength of it, is the match. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I don’t touch underage girls. I went back into the hallway and made sure no one else came in. You finished finger fucking yourself and then washed your hands like a good little girl. When you walked out you had no idea I was around the corner.”
I’m so close it almost hurts. That’s how it feels not to come right now—painful.
“I think you would have liked it if I’d gone in, though. Wouldn’t you?”
“No,” I whisper, but it’s a lie. The pulse beating in my sex right now proves that much. This whole story has turned me on beyond bearing. Being trapped in this truck, heading to God knows where makes me burn.
“You would have let me do anything to your body. The same way you’re going to now.”
“No.”
He looks directly at me, his eyes so dark they’re almost black. “Come for me, beautiful. Let me see.”
My body is a traitor. It comes in a matter of seconds, fingers digging into skin, muscles clenching hard, a harsh cry escaping my lips. Pleasure arcs through me, so fast and hard it’s like being struck by lightning. It wrenches my body again and again, and the whole time I can’t take my eyes away from Asher’s.
When the last pulse runs through me, my hand falls away from my sex. My whole body falls against the hard door, not feeling any pain. Not feeling anything except the aftershocks.
Something seems to echo in the cab of the truck. A word. A scream?
Did I possibly sob his name as I climaxed?
God, I did. My throat is still sore from how loud I cried for him. I’m so embarrassed I could melt into a puddle on his warm leather. It’s already damp from my arousal. I wish I could pool into liquid and not have to face him, but I remain stalwartly solid, my limbs heavy but my mind fully aware.
Asher. I can only imagine the smug look on his hard face. I can only imagine it until I look over… only, he doesn’t look smug. His cheekbones are slashes against the sunlight. His eyebrows notched in pain. He looks like a man pushed to the edge of his limits, and then pushed one inch farther.
Two hours ago I was getting ready for the gala tonight. I never could have imagined ending up in this truck. Having my own arousal spread across my fingertips.
And I never could have imagined feeling concern for the man who made me this way.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says, his voice gruff.
The bulge in his jeans has not gone down. The denim stretches taut. I don’t know what he looks like under there, not really. Late-night browsing on Tumblr has not prepared me for this truck.
“Li Industries has been bleeding money for six months, maybe more.”
My gaze snaps to his face, but he’s looking at the road. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, beautiful. Worse. It’s supposed to make you feel worse, knowing that your daddy could have prevented this. The deal we made for your body? That was last fucking week.”
He knew for a week? “You’re lying.”
One broad shoulder lifts. “Halfway expected you to be barricaded in your bedroom when I showed up tonight. Maybe you’d be armed. Instead you came running down the stairs wearing that.”
I look down, forced to acknowledge the ridiculousness of the designer dress. There was probably never any gala. It was something Daddy told me so I would get ready without having to confess the truth. He let me be surprised because he was too ashamed to tell me.
For the first time in this horrible night tears prick the backs of my eyes. I clench my jaw to make sure no sound comes out. I want to yell, to shout that it’s unfair, but I’m too much of a good daughter to do that. And my father knew that about me. He was counting on it.
I close my eyes against the burn. It’s a losing battle. Tears singe my cheeks.
A hand covers mine, squeezing gently. Enough that I feel comforted from a man I should know better than to trust. Everything is upside down. My father has abandoned me. Asher Cook consoles me. I don’t know which way is up anymore, but I know one thing—the night isn’t over yet.