This isn’t about me.
It’s about her.
Sitting in the passenger seat of my truck, wearing the same outfit she wore that day at Sal’s. Clapton, tiny denim shorts, showing off those perfect fucking legs, and the boots I’ve felt digging into my back more times than I can count. If I haven’t lived out every one of my fantasies of her wearing only those boots, I’m damn near close.
Beth picks at the polish on her thumb nail, her eyes staring blankly out the front window, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
We’re more than halfway into our trip and she’s being unusually quiet.
I don’t want her to be nervous about this. I don’t want her to worry about anything, especially not whether this man will accept her, love her. Whether he’ll want to know this amazing woman he’s missed out on for twenty-two years. If he doesn’t, if he has no interest in being her father after spending one second with her, he’s a fucking idiot who doesn’t deserve to live. I won’t let anyone or anything else hurt Beth. Jesus fucking Christ, she’s been through enough. I also won’t let her sit next to me and worry herself sick over this shit.
I can worry enough for both of us. I can also hide it better. I’ve become a fucking master at it the past week.
Reaching across the bench seat, I grab her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. It’s the pressure that does it, the stress of our hands together that breaks her concentration off whatever it is she’s staring at right now.
“Come here,” I demand gruffly. This isn’t a request.
Her bottom lip, reddened from the bite of her teeth, presses against her slightly thinner top one as she thinks it over.
I tug her hand, urging her. “Beth.”
“But I have to wear my seatbelt,” she argues as her free hand unhooks the front clasp of the harness.
I look out the front window. “It’s mostly back roads from here on out. I mapped it that way. We won’t get pulled over, and I’m a damn good driver. You’re fine.” My eyes meet hers. “Slide over. I want you next to me.”
She pushes the straps of the harness off her shoulders. “Um, what am I supposed to do with that?”
I look down at the gear shift she’s eyeing up cautiously. Tilting my head, I grip her thigh and maneuver her across the seat. “Straddle it, sweetheart. I know how much you like having a big stick between your legs.”
Her cheeks lift as she hooks one leg over the gear shift. “Speaking of big sticks . . .”
“The answer is yes.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” she laughs, settling beside me.
God, I missed that sound. I don’t want her to ever be quiet with me.
“Besides,” she continues. “I doubt we have time for anything that filthy mind of yours is thinking up.”
“Beth, if it has anything to do with my big stick and you, my answer will always be yes. And fuck time. It isn’t an issue. As much as I hate to admit this, I can’t last for shit when it comes to you. My only redeeming quality is that I can work that unfairly tight pussy of yours in a matter of minutes, sometimes seconds.”
Her head falls against my shoulder with a soft giggle. “Okay, noted, but I wasn’t thinking about doing anything with your big stick right now.”
“No?” I ask, sighing heavily as I glance down at my lap. “You hear that? Are you as heartbroken as I am?”
“Your penis has feelings?”
“He does, and you’ve just crushed them.”
Her lips brush against my neck. “I promise to kiss him all better later.”
I shift to a higher gear after noticing the change in the speed limit, then rest my hand on Beth’s thigh. “So, big sticks? What’s on your mind, pervert?”
“I was just thinking about last weekend. The bathroom sex romp with Ben and Mia.”
Our eyes lock as we both turn our heads at the same time. Her bold, brown ones, alight with mischief. Mine, broadened with discomfort.
I groan uncomfortably. “Please don’t mention the words sex romp, and our friend’s names in the same sentence,” I beg through a shake of my head. “As hot as you were that night, I’m still trying to forget everything I heard that didn’t come out of your mouth.”
Making eye contact with Mia has been a challenge when I’ve seen her this week. Luckily, she hasn’t seemed fazed by anything she heard in the bathroom.
Ben is a different story.
“See, that’s what I wanted to talk about. Mia made a comment about Ben’s massive . . . member,” she pauses, smiling up at me. “And I feel bad about not giving yours a shout-out. He’s massive too, and very thick. I could’ve said something about it.”
I look down at her, briefly taking my eyes off the road. “Like?”
Talk about my dick. I fucking love when you do that.
“Like,” she echoes, palming me. I groan, arching away from the seat.
“God, Beth.”
She laughs wickedly at the desperation in my voice.
Her hand. God, her hand is a menace.
“How you’re so big it almost hurts,” she whispers, slowly stroking me. “So long, and thick. You fuck me so deep, I think sometimes you’re hitting my spine. And your taste. I love the taste of your dick, Reed, especially after you’ve been inside me.”
Jesus fuck.
I press my hand against hers when she goes for my zipper. “I’m worried we won’t make it to the diner if you touch me.”