Five Firemen Carried Me Out, and Not One Will Put Me Down novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: Jo's POV

Jo's POV

The cab of the town grader was barely bigger than a closet, and it was as warm as a kitchen, and I was sitting in Ansel's lap facing the windshield.

It was Monday night, two days after the shower.

I had asked to ride along on the plow run, because I wanted to be alone with the dry one.

Snow came sideways through the headlights on the Hazen Hill road.

He had parked the grader at the turnaround at the top, with the blade up and the engine idling, and nothing moved for a mile in any direction.

"Watch the road," Ansel said into my ear.

His arms were around me.

His hands were under my thighs, on the outside, holding my knees open against his.

I had my parka unzipped and nothing under it but a pair of the bin's thermal leggings.

He had pulled those down to my ankles ten minutes ago, with a patience that nearly killed me.

"I'm watching," I said.

"No, you're not."

"There's nothing to see."

"There's you," he said.

He lifted one hand and slid it between my legs.

His fingers were thick and rough and warm from the heater, and they went through the wet and found my clit.

I jerked.

The dash lights made green stripes on my bare thighs.

"Easy," he said, drawling.

"I've got all night, and the county's only paying me till six."

"Ansel," I said.

"Mm-hm."

"Don't tease," I said.

"I'm not teasing," he said.

"I'm looking."

He opened me with two fingers and looked down past my shoulder.

I felt his breath catch.

"Lord," he said softly.

"Look at how small that is.

"Look how pink."

He pressed one finger in, slowly, to the second knuckle, and I felt myself stretch around it.

"That's one," he said.

"Now two."

I put my head back against his shoulder.

He worked me with those long fingers, in and out and curling, while his thumb circled my clit with a slow ruthless steadiness.

The windshield fogged at the edges.

"There's a girl," he said.

"Soaking my hand.

"You like being held like this?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Like you don't weigh anything."

"Yes.

"Ansel, yes."

"I can feel you shaking," he said.

"Come on my hand, Jo."

I came with a ragged shout.

My body arched, pinned in his lap by his arm across my hips, and my cry went up and fell back dead against the glass.

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