I lower my hand and palm her pussy. She gasps at my touch, and not in a good way. She really expected me to stop, which is hilarious. Nothing would keep me from getting my hand on her. She had to know that.
“I’m not going to play with you, rabbit. I’m just going to hold my hand here.” I try to soothe the panicked rise and fall of her chest with my words. I hold my hand against her warm pussy, with two of my fingers slipping between the closed seam of her lips and resting there. I bask in her fear as she tries to drive and ignore my hand. She gets wetter and wetter with every bump in the road. She swells beneath my fingers, and I feel the contours of her clit as her body responds to me against her will.
“How old were you when you got married?” I ask, deciding she might be more willing to talk with her swollen clit beneath my fingers.
“Eight...teen.”
“Young little rabbit, huh?” My breaths roll over her chest, and she shivers. I feel it in my fingertips.
“Has he been the only one to make you come?”
Her lips tighten, and she refuses to answer me. But I know. Her body responds to my words so fucking well. Her slick, warm excitement coats my fingers, and I fight the urge to swirl my fingertips around her clit and make her come against my hand.
“If you don’t answer me, I’ll touch you,” I growl. She refuses to respond, so I curl my fingers against her. She jolts.
I warned her I would play if she didn’t.
“Yes, he’s the only one who’s made me come,” she whispers with a hint of defeat.
“Don’t you want someone else to make you come? Don’t you want to know how it feels to have another man inside you?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want another man.”
“What does he do to you?” I keep my fingers still against her clit.
“Don’t make me talk about it.” Her gaze cuts to the steering wheel, and she tries to pretend she’s anywhere else. But she isn’t anywhere else. She’s in her car, with me beside her and my hand on her perfect little cunt.
* * *
Selena
His fingers remainbetween my legs, building heat even when they’re still. His grasp is sure as his hand curves to cup me. I answered his questions. Well, I answeredenoughof his questions.
I don’t want to talk about it with anyone, but especially nothim. It’s painful enough to remember the day my life changed forever. The day I learned who I was promised to. I knew what kind of person Bryce was and what his family was like. I knew I would live a regimented life under his thumb and that I would never be happy again. I expected him to watch my every move. But I hadn’t anticipated the violence. He’s an angry drunk, just like his father. The bruises on my body tell a story I try to hide beneath my clothes, and I’m not ready to share. I can’t discuss my marriage or my husband with this stranger.
He won’t even tell me his name, so no, I’m not telling him a damn thing, even as his fingers tease me.
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about it,” I say, as firmly as I can with his hand palming me.
“If you don’t, I’ll make you come, rabbit.” I know he means what he says by the harshness of his glare and the feral growl that leaves his lips as he says my nickname.
I think about it. I consider telling him something to placate him, but I can’t bring myself to utter the words to describe my abuse. I haven’t even come to terms with what I’ve been through. Before I can come up with a lie, his fingers dance against my clit, which begins to throb against my will. My stomach tightens at his touch.
“He doesn’t...do...anything to me. He’s just...controlling,” I say through breaths that are becoming too sharp to control.
“You’re lying to me.” He leans his weight into me and rubs me faster. His thumb slides against my clit, back and forth, and I fight back each moan that rises into my throat. He doesn’t deserve them.
My heart pounds against the wall of my chest. I don’t want him to get me off, but I also don’t want him to discuss my marriage. My hell at home. I can’t tell what’s worse. They’re both terrible options that I don’t fucking want.
I fight back the heat behind my eyes and spread my legs a little wider for him.
“You’d rather come than tell me about your marriage?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
I drop my gaze from the road and nod, slow and unsure.
“Fair enough, rabbit,” he says as I clutch the steering wheel. He rubs against my clit again before he opens me. He slips two fingers inside me, then withdraws his hand and rubs my unintended wetness over my clit. I shudder as my body responds to his touch. It feels so good, and that makes me feel so bad. So guilty.
A small moan leaves my lips, and it darkens his eyes.