Chapter 5: The Long Way Home
The engine rumbled to life, a low, throaty growl that vibrated through the bench seat and up into Emily's bones. She watched Isaac's profile as he pulled out of the gravel lot, his jaw set tight, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. The muscles in his forearm were corded, tense, and she could see the pulse beating at his throat. He was wound tight as a spring, and she was the one who'd wound him.
The road unwound before them, dark and slick with recent rain. The headlights carved a tunnel through the mist, revealing twisted oaks and the skeletal silhouettes of fence posts. The cab smelled of him—leather and pine and that clean, masculine heat that seemed to radiate off his skin like a furnace. She'd noticed it before, back at the booth, how warm he ran. Now she wanted to feel every inch of that heat.
She shifted on the bench seat, edging closer to him. He glanced at her, a quick flicker of pale blue in the dashboard's green glow. "You should probably buckle up," he said, his voice rough.
"I don't want to." She reached out, letting her fingers trail across his thigh. The denim was worn soft, and beneath it she could feel the hard ridge of muscle. He tensed at her touch, a sharp intake of breath that told her everything she needed to know.
"Emily." Her name was a warning and a plea wrapped in one.
"Hm?" She kept her voice light, innocent, even as her fingers drifted higher, tracing the outline of his erection through his jeans. He was already hard—had been since she'd climbed into the truck, she realized. The thought sent a thrill through her, dark and delicious.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth as her palm pressed against him. "Jesus Christ."
"Just keep your eyes on the road, Isaac." She unclicked her seatbelt, the sound sharp in the quiet cab, and slid across the bench until she was pressed against his side. The truck swerved slightly as his knuckles went white on the wheel.
"You're going to get us killed."
"You trust me?" She popped the button on his jeans, the sound loud in the silence. He wore no underwear beneath, and when she dragged the zipper down, his cock sprang free against his stomach, thick and heavy and straining.
The sight of it made her mouth water.
Isaac's breath hitched as her fingers wrapped around him. He was hot in her hand, hotter than any man had a right to be, the skin velvety over an iron-hard shaft. She could feel him twitch against her palm, feel the leap of his pulse beneath her touch. She ran her thumb over the broad head, spreading the pearl of moisture she found there.
"Fuck," he hissed.
Emily smiled, a slow, sly curving of her lips that she knew he could see from the corner of his eye. "You like that?"
"You're going to be the death of me."
She leaned down, her chestnut hair falling around them like a curtain. The first touch of her tongue against his length was long and slow, from root to tip. The taste of him flooded her—salt and musk and something darker beneath, wild and woodsy. Metallic almost. She ran her tongue around the flared crown, lapping at the slit, and Isaac's hips bucked off the seat.
"God—Emily." His voice was wrecked, barely a whisper.
She took him deeper, her lips stretched wide around him, her tongue swirling over the sensitive ridge just beneath the head. Her fingers curled around the base, her fist pumping in time with the movement of her mouth. Sucking. Licking. Devouring.
The truck's headlights washed over a curve in the road, and Isaac's knuckles were bone-white. He was trying to hold himself together, trying to focus on the asphalt through the windshield, but his concentration was crumbling like dry earth under a flood.
"Did you think about me?" she murmured against his slick skin, her breath hot on his cock. "Back in high school. Did you think about this? About my mouth on you?"
"Jesus, Emily." His hips thrust involuntarily, pushing deeper down her throat. She took him, all of him, her hands moving to cup his balls. They were heavy in her palm, drawn up tight and hot. She could feel how close he was. The strain in his thighs, the way his cock pulsed against her tongue.
A sharp cry escaped him as she deep-throated him. The truck swerved violently, the tires squealing on the wet asphalt, and Isaac's arm shot out—not to push her away, but to brace himself against the door panel. He was shaking, his whole body trembling with the effort of keeping them on the road.
"That's it," he panted, "fuck, just like that, baby, take me down that throat—"
The praise was filthy, ragged, wrung from him like a confession. It made her tighten around him, made her suck harder, faster. Her hand worked his base, twisting and pumping as her lips sealed tight around the thick girth. The sound of it filled the cab, wet and obscene.
"Look at you," he continued, his voice barely human. "Wet-eyed and drooling on my cock like you were made for this. You were made for this, weren't you?"
She looked up at him, her eyes watering, blue-green meeting pale blue flushed with gold. She didn't stop. She worked him harder, faster, her free hand pressing against his thigh as she bobbed her head over him, driving him deeper.
He was close. She could taste the pre-cum flooding her mouth, smell the sharp, animal musk rolling off him in waves. She wanted to push him over the edge, wanted to feel him come apart inside her mouth.
But then the headlights caught a gravel driveway. The truck slewed sideways, tires crunching, and Isaac wrenched himself out of her grip just as the engine died. He was heaving for breath, cock still hard and slick and glistening in the green glow of the dashboard.
Emily sat up, her lips swollen, her chin dewy. She looked at the house—a low, dark silhouette that hunkered amid pine shadows. Then she looked at him. "Why did you stop me?"
Isaac's chest was rising and falling too fast. He stared at the windshield, at the black shape of the house he called his own. His hand was on the gear shift, knuckles white again. "Because I wanted to feel you come on my mouth, not swallow it down like some—" He shook his head, a shudder ripping through him. "Fuck."
He turned to her, and the look in his eyes made her breath catch. There was heat, yes, but also a desperate tenderness that warred with the animal hunger. He reached out, his thumb brushing the slick corner of her lips. He tasted himself on her and made a sound low in his throat.
"I'm about two seconds from losing my goddamn mind, Emily."
"Then lose it."
He shook his head. "Inside. Get inside now."
He didn't wait for her. He shoved open the driver's door and was out of the truck in a motion too fast, too fluid, blurring at the edges. Emily blinked, momentarily disoriented, but she scrambled across the bench seat, following him out into the cold, pine-scented night. The gravel crunched under her shoes, and the door to the house swung open before she reached it, Isaac there, silhouetted in the warm spill of light from within.
He was breathing hard, one hand braced against the doorframe. His pupils had swallowed the gold in his eyes, leaving them dark and bottomless.
"Now," he said again, and it was not a suggestion.