The Rideshare Driver Drove Me Home Four Nights in a Row novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: The Roof Deck

The wind on the roof of the garage was cold enough to hurt, and I didn't feel it.

Mateo parked at the far edge with the nose of the Camry pointed at the lights of the city, and he cut the engine.

The hood ticked and cooled.

The roof deck was empty, a wide gray floor of concrete with painted lines and one flickering lamp at the ramp.

Nobody could see us from the street.

"Get out," I said.

He got out.

I got out on my side and walked around the front of the car, and I stopped in front of the hood.

It was still warm under my hand.

Mateo stood three feet from me with his hands open at his sides.

His hair was blown flat, and he was waiting to be told.

I liked him waiting.

I unbuckled my belt and took off my pants and my underwear and left them on the concrete.

My legs went cold at once, and my skin rose in bumps.

I laid my forearms on the hood, and I bent over, and I looked back at him across my shoulder.

"You said I would ruin you," I said. "Go on."

I heard him take two steps.

I heard his zipper.

Then his hand came down on the small of my back, flat and heavy.

He slid it down over my bare ass and gripped.

"Look at you," he said.

His voice was rough in a way it hadn't been before.

"Look at what you did to me on Colfax. I couldn't think. I almost put us in a pole."

"Then fix it," I said.

"Hold still."

He put two fingers inside me from behind.

I was so wet that they went in at once, and my forehead dropped onto the warm paint.

"You've been like this since the red light," he said.

"Since the shallots," I said.

"What?"

"Never mind. Keep going."

He laughed, low, and curled his fingers and pressed up, and the sound I made came out of my chest on its own.

"Louder," he said. "I like that."

"Don't tell me what you..."

Headlights swung across the concrete.

They came up out of the ramp below us, white and flat, and swept the far wall.

A security cart.

I could hear its electric whine and the crunch of its tires, two levels down and coming around.

Mateo's hand closed over my mouth.

"Shh," he said, in my ear. "Somebody's down there."

He had moved against my back, fully, with his chest over me and his weight pinning me to the car.

I felt him then, hard and hot against my bare skin through his open jeans.

"Don't make a sound," he said. "Not one."

He took his fingers out, and I whimpered into his palm.

"Shh."

The headlights moved across the ceiling of the level below us.

He guided himself to me with his other hand and pushed in slowly, one steady inch at a time.

I bit down on the heel of his hand.

It was thick, and it hurt a little, and then it didn't, and I pressed back against him to take it.

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