My Tow Driver Found Me at 2 A.M., and Home Could Wait novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Bench Seat

In the cab she tells him to use her and not be nice, and he does exactly that, over the seat with his hand on her mouth, and then gives her his jacket, her wedding ring still in the cup holder.

His mouth was hot and tasted of coffee and cold air, and for a second he didn't move.

Then his hand came up into my hair and closed.

He kissed me back hard, with a groan that I felt in my own throat.

I got a knee on the seat on either side of his thighs.

The steering wheel dug into my back.

I didn't care.

"Use me," I said against his mouth.

He pulled back an inch.

"Carla."

I had told him my name over the phone, and he said it like he was checking it was true.

"Don't be nice to me," I said. "Don't ask me if it's okay. I'm telling you it's okay. Use me."

His blue eyes went dark in the dash glow.

"Get off me," he said. "Get on the seat."

I got off him and onto the bench with my back against the passenger door.

"Jeans," he said.

I undid them.

He took hold of the waist and the hem of my underwear together and dragged them down my legs, one boot jammed against the door so they came off only one leg.

The cab air was cold on my skin, and my whole body jumped.

"Open."

I opened my knees.

He went down off the seat and onto the floorboard, and the cab was so tight he had to fold his shoulders in.

He put both hands under my thighs and hauled me forward until my ass was on the edge of the seat.

Then he put his mouth on me.

There was nothing soft in it.

He used his whole tongue flat and hard, and he held me open with his thumbs and he ate me fast and greedy.

I made a sound I hadn't made in years, and I clapped my hand over my own mouth.

"No," he said, and pulled my hand away and pinned it on the seat. "I want to hear it."

"Levi."

"There it is."

He went back in.

He found my clit with the point of his tongue and worked it in short, hard strokes.

I heard the wet sound of myself in the dark.

My free hand went into his hair and held on.

He grunted against me, and I felt the sound everywhere.

"Fuck," I said. "Right there. Don't stop."

He didn't stop.

He pushed two thick, rough fingers into me.

They were stiff and knuckled and scraped at me inside, and I came up off the seat.

I wanted it harder, and I told him, and he gave it to me harder.

My thighs shook on his shoulders.

I felt it gather low in my belly and tighten, and tighten, and I wasn't ready.

"Stop," I said. "Stop, I'm going to."

He didn't stop.

It broke, and my back came off the door and my heel hit the dash.

I came on his mouth with a cry that filled the whole cab.

He kept his tongue on me through all of it, slow now, until I shoved at his head.

"Enough. Enough."

He lifted his face.

His chin was wet and his eyes were wild.

"Turn around," he said.

I turned.

I got on my knees on the bench seat facing the passenger window, with my forearms on the top of the seat back and my forehead against the cold glass.

I heard his belt, and the zipper.

Then his hand was between my shoulder blades again, pressing me down.

It was the same hand, in the same place.

"Is this what you want?" he said.

"Yes."

"Say it," he said.

"Fuck me. Hard. Don't wait."

He pushed into me in one long thrust.

He was thick, thicker than I was ready for, and I felt it stretch and burn, and I gasped against the glass.

"Fuck," he said behind me, thick-voiced. "You're so tight."

"Move."

"I will."

He pulled out almost all the way and drove back in, and the whole truck rocked on its springs.

His hand came up and clamped over my mouth, and he fucked me.

He didn't go slow.

He took my hip in his other hand and he drove into me over and over, hard and fast, the slap of his hips against my ass loud in the cab.

My cheek slid on the glass and fogged it with every breath.

I bit the heel of his hand.

He grunted and pushed in deeper.

"That's it," he said into my hair. "Take it. You wanted it. Take all of it."

I nodded under his palm.

I was crying out into his hand with every thrust, and I didn't hear what I was saying.

He angled his hips, and the head of him dragged up the place his fingers had found.

My knees slid out from under me.

He caught me by the waist and hauled me back onto him.

"Don't you go anywhere," he said.

I couldn't have gone anywhere.

I was made of nothing but the place he was moving in.

I had not been touched like this since before I was married, if I ever had.

There was no care in it, no checking, no pause to see if I liked it.

He was giving me exactly what I'd asked for, hard enough to leave bruises, and some animal part of me had been waiting for it since March.

"Harder," I said into his palm.

He took his hand off my mouth.

"Say that again."

"Harder. Fuck me harder. Don't be careful."

He laughed, short and ragged, and he was harder.

The seat springs shrieked.

The glass squeaked under my cheek.

He pushed my hoodie up under my arms and bit the back of my shoulder.

I felt his teeth go in and not let go.

"Mine for tonight," he said around the mouthful of me. "You hear that? Tonight you're not anybody's wife. You're just this."

"Yes."

"Tell me what you are," he said.

"Yours. Tonight. Yours, Levi, don't stop."

I hadn't known I could want a sentence that much.

He gave me the hardest run of the night then, one hand in my hair, my head pulled back and my throat open to the dark, and every thrust shoved a sound out of me that I couldn't have held in for money.

He reached around, found my clit with two fingers and rubbed it, fast and rough, in time with his hips.

"Come on my cock," he said. "Come on."

"I can't, it's too much."

"You can," he said.

"Levi."

"You said use you."

I screamed.

It was a long, dragging orgasm that clenched down on him until he swore, and my vision went white at the edges.

It took my breath and my knees and my voice.

He didn't let up.

He held on to my hips and slammed into me three more times, and I felt him swell inside me.

He shoved in to the root and went rigid.

He groaned against the back of my neck, a deep broken sound, and his whole body shuddered against mine.

He came with his teeth in the collar of my hoodie.

I felt it all.

For a long moment neither of us moved.

My breath was loud in the cab, and the windows were white with steam, and the ticking of the cooling engine came back.

He pulled out slowly, and I felt every inch of the loss.

I turned and sat down on the seat and pulled my knees to my chest.

I was shaking.

He was in his open jeans, with his sandy hair stuck to his forehead, looking at me, breathing hard.

Then my eyes stung.

I was crying.

It wasn't sad.

It was anger, at nothing, at everything, at twelve years of being handled with a thermos and a warm voice.

"I'm not crying," I said.

"Okay."

"I'm not."

"Okay," Levi said.

He didn't touch me.

He reached behind the seat, found a bottle of water, cracked the cap and held it out.

I took it and drank half.

He took off his Carhartt jacket and held it open.

I looked at it.

I didn't thank him.

I leaned forward and let him put it around my shoulders, and it was heavy and warm and smelled of diesel and him.

He did up the top snap under my chin.

His fingers were steady now.

"Better?" he said.

"Don't be nice."

"After," Levi said. "That's now. This is after."

I pulled the jacket tighter.

The ring sat in the cup holder where I'd left it, catching a little light from the elevator lamp.

I did not look at it.

I looked at the windshield and the fog and the long dark field.

I knew exactly whose bed I had left and exactly whose truck I was in, and nobody had made me do one thing.

He started the engine.

He turned the heater up all the way.

"Shop's got a bunk room," he said. "A cot and a lock on the door."

I thought about the closet in Hays and the quiet recliner, and about my mother's dark house with the power off.

"Fine," I said.

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