Chapter Four
Norah
His hand is warm and a little rough as he grasps my wrist and lays my palm on his thigh. I sit there, frozen in a stranger’s truck, unable to make my limbs do what I need them to.
“Go on,” he says.
I swallow to loosen the tightness in my throat. I asked for this, I know, and I thought I could do it when push came to shove. But now that he’s given in, it’s like I’ve forgotten why I thought this was a good idea. He’s the hottest man I’ve ever met, though admittedly a lot older than what I’m used to. I’m attracted to him. So why is this so difficult?
"You look scared," he says.
I scowl. "I'm not."
Even to my own ears, I don’t sound convinced.
"You should be,” he says. “What the fuck are you thinking? Grabbing a stranger’s dick like you know what to do with it."
"I know what to do with it."
"Do you know how to get out of a choke hold? How to stop a guy from choking you with his cock?"
"I know how to punch a guy in the balls, yes"
"That's a good way to piss him off. And a pissed off sociopath can quickly become more trouble than you bargained for. You don't exactly look like you could take a punch."
"You don't know what I can take." What I've already taken...
Cold sweat drips down my back. Maybe my intuition was wrong. What if this guy is dangerous?
He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He sighs, his expression softening. "You shouldn't be offering blow jobs to strangers in the first place. It's dangerous. I'm old enough to be your dad."
"Maybe I like that." I’ve only had one boyfriend, and if he’s any indication, I guess my usual type is tall, dark-haired and lanky. He’s a few years older than me, at twenty-five—okay, maybe more than a few—but my point is, even though this guy is way older than Brody and built like a lumberjack, I don’t completely hate the idea of sucking his cock. Just...you know...not right now.
"How old are you?” he asks.
I stiffen. “Twenty-one.”
He straight-up laughs in my face.
“Sure, sweetheart. If you’re twenty-one, I’m sixty-five.” In the glow from the dashboard, he doesn’t look a day over forty. He pinches the spot between his eyes. “Look, I really just wanted to give you a ride. Your companionable silence from here on out will be thanks enough. All right?”
I lift my backpack onto my lap and fold my arms around it. “Fine.”
He shifts into drive. "Now put your goddamn seatbelt on. And keep your hands where I can see 'em."
He turns the truck around, taking us back toward the main road. I lean my head against the window, surprised to feel at once frustrated and...relieved. I don’t know where I’m going to find money now, but I can at least settle in for the rest of the ride and not have to worry about my safety.
We drive the darkened roads in silence. For the first time in weeks, I feel my body start to relax. At one point, I think I hear my dad whistling, then realize I must’ve drifted off. Not the smartest idea, falling asleep in a stranger’s car. But something about this man makes me want to let my guard down.
Eventually, we come to the intersection I’ve been waiting for. I sit up straighter in my seat.
"Turn left up ahead," I tell him. He makes the turn. I direct him to a dirt road about a mile and a half from the cabin. My body might trust him not to do anything nefarious on the road, but that doesn’t mean I want him knowing where I lay my head. "You can pull over here.”
"Pull over where?" he asks.
"Anywhere along this road.”
He slows the truck to a crawl but doesn’t stop.
"It's pitch black out,” he says.
"I have a flashlight." I unbuckle my seatbelt and unzip my bag, waiting for him to park.
“Where’s your cabin?”
My muscles tense. “It’s around.”
"I don’t like the idea of dropping you off in the woods in the middle of the night."
"I'll be fine, seriously."
He shakes his head. “Just tell me where your cabin is, and I’ll take you there.”
My heart starts to pound. “Stop the car, please.”
“Not gonna happen.” He picks up speed, taking a turn I didn’t tell him to take. "My cabin isn't far from here. You can spend the night and head out in the morning, or charge your phone and call an Uber to take you the rest of the way."
I hug my backpack tightly, not sure if he’s just being a good Samaritan or if he’s actually trying to kidnap me. "Please just let me out. I can walk. Really."
He doesn’t respond.
"Where are you taking me?”
“I told you, to my cabin.”
I reach for the door handle.
"You’ll break your fucking neck if you do that,” he says, and he’s right. We’re going too fast for me to jump without at least spraining something.
I close my eyes and try to calm my heartbeat. This is it. He's going to trap me in his murder basement and flay me alive. A tiny voice inside me whispers, maybe you deserve it.
After everything I’ve allowed to happen?
Yeah. Maybe I do deserve what’s coming.
Finally, the truck slows. I stare out the windshield, having lost my sense of direction in the midst of my panic. The headlights flash across a garage door with a dent that looks oddly familiar, followed by an even more familiar-looking porch.
I sit stock still as the man cuts the engine and climbs out of the truck.
This stranger has brought me to my dad's hunting cabin.
Only, it’s not my dad’s cabin anymore.
He opens the passenger-side door. “You getting out, or would you rather sleep in here?”
I slowly turn to face him. “Silas Walker?”
His expression turns cautious. “How the hell do you know my name?”
“I’m Norah Benson. Jack Benson was my father.”
Chapter Five
Silas
Thank God some other asshole didn’t get to her first. That’s my first thought; my second is a lot less charitable. My dead childhood pal’s daughter just tried to suck my cock.
I knew I wasn’t going to let her put her mouth on anything, long before I pulled into the woods. But I wanted to call her bluff. Maybe scare her a little, so she’d think twice about trying something that stupid again.
Some guys can only think with their dicks. Fortunately for this girl, Norah, I’m not one of them. My relationships over the years have been mostly casual, but I’ve never cheated. Getting a boner from looking at a pretty girl is a natural reaction, but that’s all it is—a reaction. Putting the burden on her to finish what she started is like waking up with morning wood and expecting the dawn to fuck you.
Granted, she had been trying to get me excited, and I’d be lying through my teeth if I said her efforts hadn’t worked. Her small hand rubbing all over my cock had my balls aching something fierce. But a teenager wouldn’t run around offering blow jobs for rides if she had any other options. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m not the kind of guy to take advantage of that level of desperation—no matter how soft her mouth looks.