Learning to Be Driven novel · Chapter 3 of 12
Chapter 3: The Overlook
Rafael didn’t tell me no.
The next day, at six in the evening, he was waiting at the same corner in the same blue truck.
I’d slept for three hours.
I’d changed clothes five times.
I ended up in a short denim skirt and a white tank top Andrea had given me.
I got in without a word.
He didn’t say anything either.
He drove along the highway toward the valley, both hands on the wheel, knuckles white and jaw tight.
He took a dirt road that climbed a hill, between potato fields and chilca bushes.
Twenty minutes later, we reached a stone overlook at the top of a hill.
The whole Tumbaco Valley stretched out below us, the lights in the houses just starting to come on, with purple mountains in the distance.
Rafael turned off the engine.
We sat in silence.
“It’s my favorite place,” he said at last. “I come here to think.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“I’ve never brought anyone here.”
I turned toward him.
His gaze was fixed on the windshield.
“I told you to stop seeing me,” I murmured.
“And I told you not to tell me that.”
“So?”
“So I’m here.” He turned toward me. “And I can’t leave.”
Something hot rose in my throat.
I unbuckled my seat belt.
I leaned toward him.
I kissed him.
A long, slow kiss, my hands on his face.
He kissed me back with the same hunger as the night before, but deeper, more sure of himself.
He took me by the waist and settled me across his lap, facing him, my skirt bunched between us.
He kissed my neck.
He gently bit my shoulder.
“I want to see you,” he said.
“Look.”
I took off my top.
I took off my bra.
He looked at me, his eyes dark and unblinking.
“Slower,” he whispered, “next time you do this to me.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re killing me.”
I did it slower.
I brought my hands to my breasts and stroked them in front of him, my thumbs brushing over my nipples.
Rafael swallowed.
His knuckles were white on his knees, as if he were forcing himself not to touch me.
“Touch me,” I said.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see how far you’ll go on your own.”
I leaned over, unbuttoned his shirt, and ran my tongue over his neck, his chest, his hard stomach.
He let out a long, trembling breath.
I slid off his lap and knelt on the floor of the truck between his legs, my knees against the metal.
I unbuckled his belt.
I lowered his pants.
His cock sprang free, hard and thick, pressed taut against his stomach.
I looked at it for a moment.
Then I took it in one hand and ran my tongue over the tip.
Rafael held his breath.
“Lucero.”
“Tell me how.”
“Slowly.”
I lowered my mouth.
I took him as deep as I could, hot, salty, thick, moving my tongue along the underside.
He moaned, his voice breaking.
“Very good,” he said. “Like that. Deeper.”
I obeyed.
I felt his hand tangle in my hair, not pushing, just guiding me.
“Breathe through your nose.”
I breathed.
“Good girl.”
I shivered.
I moved up and down, sucking, one hand at the base, looking up at him through eyes wet with tears from the effort.
He watched me with an intensity that set me on fire.
I slid one hand between my own legs without him asking me to.
I was soaked, slick, swollen with need.
I moaned with my mouth full of him.
The vibration drew a sound from him I’d never heard before.
“Lucero, what are you doing?”
I didn’t answer.
I took more of him into my mouth until the tip touched the back of my throat.
His thighs tensed.
“Stop,” he said suddenly. “Stop or I’ll come.”
I stopped.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“What if I want you to come?”
“Not today.”
“Why?”
“Because today I want to be inside you.”
He lifted me up.
He sat me in the passenger seat, my back against the door, and knelt on the cab floor between my legs.
He took off my skirt.
He took off my thong.
He spread my thighs with both hands and buried his face between them.
His tongue found me without asking permission.
I arched with a cry.
He licked me with a patience that unraveled me, from bottom to top, his whole tongue against me.
Then he used the tip, tracing little circles over my clit.
He slid two fingers inside me, curling them, and my whole body tensed.
“Mr... Rafael...”
“Rafael.”
“Rafael, please...”
“Please what?”
“Don’t stop.”
“I’m not going to stop.”
He sucked my clit between his lips, gently at first, then hard.
My heels dug into his back.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he said, without letting go of me.
“I’m yours.”
“All of you?”
“All of me, Rafael. Take whatever you want.”
He laughed against my skin, and that laugh made me tremble even more than his tongue.
I came with a sharp shudder, clutching his hair, my thighs trembling against his shoulders.
He kept licking me until I couldn’t take any more.
He stood up.
He took me by the hips.
He brought me back onto his lap, straddling him, facing him.
I held on to his shoulders.
He looked at me.
“You have to tell me yes.”
“Yes.”
“Say it properly.”
“Yes, Rafael. I want this. I’m asking you.”
He lifted me with one hand and lined himself up with the other.
I lowered myself.
Slowly, inch by inch, feeling him stretch me open, fill me, take up every part of me.
We both moaned.
I went still, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“It’s too much,” I whispered.
"I know."
"It’s too much."
"Breathe."
I breathed.
The pain dissolved into something warm and deep that filled me all the way to my toes.
"Now move," he said.
I moved.
Up and down, my knees braced on the seat, my hands around his neck, looking him in the eyes.
He held my hips and guided me.
"Faster."
I sped up.
"Deeper."
I sank all the way down.
"That’s it. Just like that, Lucero."
I don’t know why that made me scream.
I clenched around him in a violent spasm.
"Again," he ordered.
"I can’t..."
"You can."
"Rafael..."
"Do it."
I came again with a sob, trembling all over.
"I’m not done with you yet," he growled.
He pulled out of me.
I moaned, empty, my legs still trembling.
"Turn around."
I turned on the seat, kneeling with my hands against the fogged-up window.
He spread my cheeks with his hands.
I felt his hot breath on my back.
"Look at you," he said. "Wet, open, waiting for me."
"Fuck me."
"That fast?"
"Rafael, fuck me now."
He thrust into me in one hard stroke.
I screamed against the glass, my breath clouding the windshield.
He grabbed my hair with one hand and my hip with the other.
He pulled my head back, not hurting me, just enough to speak in my ear.
"You’re mine in this truck."
"Yes."
"Mine on this hillside."
"Yes, yes, yes."
He pounded into me with a hard, deep rhythm that made the seat springs squeak.
Each thrust pulled a scream from me.
My knees slipped on the worn vinyl.
My palms left damp prints on the glass.
His hand slid between my legs and found my clit without searching.
"Again," he said.
"I can’t take it."
"You can."
"Rafael, it’s going to kill me."
"Then you’ll die with me."
I came like that, on my knees, my face against the glass and his hand tangled in my hair.
The orgasm raced up my back like an electric shock.
I could barely breathe.
He didn’t stop.
He turned me over again without pulling out, until I was lying on my back across the seat.
He spread my legs against his chest, my knees beside his shoulders.
I was completely open, and he watched himself slide in and out of me, his eyes black.
"Look at how you take me."
I looked.
My face burned, and I liked it.
"Harder," I begged.
"Say it again."
"Harder, Rafael. Break me."
He growled something I couldn’t understand.
He sped up, and the whole seat shook with us.
The horn honked once, pressed by my elbow, and we laughed breathlessly without stopping.
I felt another wave coming, deeper, from somewhere inside me.
"With me," I said. "Come with me."
"Look at me."
I looked at him.
I came screaming his name, my nails scraping the seat back and my thighs spread against his chest.
Still breathless, I wrapped my legs around him so he wouldn’t pull out.
He came inside me with a roar, buried deep.
He pulled me against his chest with a choked growl, squeezing me so tightly I couldn’t breathe.
The valley grew dark.
The cab was fogged up.
We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time, panting, not moving.
When I finally lifted my head, a white light swept across the windshield.
Headlights.
A car was coming up the dirt road toward the lookout.
Rafael tensed.
"Get down."
I ducked against his chest.
The car reached the clearing, stopped ten yards away, and sat there with the engine running.
It was a brand-new red Mazda, its hood gleaming.
I recognized the license plate.
My blood ran cold.
A guy with slicked-back hair and designer sneakers leaned out the open window, holding up his phone.
Cristian Yépez.
Andrea’s boyfriend.
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