Chapter 17: The Roadside Claim
The rain began as a soft spit on the hot metal of the hood, sizzling near Ellie’s cheek.She didn’t move. His words, ‘I made a mistake,’ echoed louder than the thunder rumbling in the distance. They coiled around the other words, the possessive, bruising ones, and strangled them. Her thighs trembled, a mixture of exertion and the chill of the evening air on her damp skin. She felt his release, a slow, warm trickle down her inner thigh.
Josh’s hands, which had been cupping her face with a sudden, disorienting tenderness, dropped to his sides. He took a half-step back, his breath fogging in the cooling air. The headlights of his car cut two yellow shafts into the gathering dark, illuminating the swirling drizzle.
“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice stripped of its earlier gruff command.
“I’m cold,” she whispered.It was only part of the truth. Her body was a map of conflicting signals: the raw, throbbing ache between her legs a counterpoint to the ghost of his lips, surprisingly soft on hers at the end. The rough grip on her hips against the gentle brush of his thumb on her cheekbone.
He moved quickly then, shrugging out of his leather jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. The lining was still warm from his body, smelling intensely of him, of sweat and rain and sex. He guided her, his hand on the small of her back, not to the passenger door but around to the back seat.He opened the door, a dark cave compared to the twilight outside.
“In. Get warm.”
She slid across the cool leather, drawing her knees up, his jacket enveloping her like a shell.He didn’t close the door. He stood there for a moment, a silhouette against the slate-gray sky, running a hand through his rain-damp hair. Then he climbed in after her, pulling the door shut with a solid thunk.
The world narrowed to the sound of rain pattering on the roof, the fog of their breath on the windows, the confined scent of their intimacy.He didn’t look at her. He stared straight ahead, his jaw working.“That guy,” Josh said finally, the words sharp in the quiet. “Did he hurt you?”
Ellie shook her head, the motion feeling slow and heavy.“No. He was just… persistent.A friend of a friend. He didn’t like that I wasn’t interested.”
“He put his hands on you.”
“He was drunk.”
“That’s not a fucking excuse.” Josh’s head snapped toward her, his hazel eyes dark in the dim light.The anger was still there, banked but hot.“You looked… you looked scared. You looked like you did in my kitchen this morning.”
The mention of the kitchen was a slap. Ellie flinched, pulling the jacket tighter.She had seen it all. The brutal coupling, Lily’s triumphant defiance, Josh’s surrendered fury. She had watched, and then she had run.“Why did you stop?” she heard herself ask, the question barely audible. “Why did you stop for me?”
A bitter, tired sound escaped him, not quite a laugh. “You think I know?I saw his hand on your arm, and I just… snapped. Like something broke.” He finally turned fully to face her, his big frame filling the space. “After this morning, after what you saw… you shouldn’t want me to stop. You shouldn’t want me near you.”
Her courage, when it came, was a faint, sputtering thing. “But I do.”
He studied her face, her wide soft eyes, the vulnerable part of her lips. “Why?”
She had no answer that made sense. Because when he looked at her, she didn’t feel invisible. Because his attention, even when it was harsh, was a flame she was desperate to touch, even knowing it would burn. Because in the moment he bent her over the car, in that shocking, painful invasion, she had felt more claimed, more seen, than in all her careful, quiet years of existence.Instead of speaking, she moved. Shrugging off his jacket, she climbed into his lap, straddling him in the confined space. His surprise was a stiffening of his body beneath her. She placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle through his damp t-shirt.“Ellie…” His voice was a warning.
“You said I was yours,” she said, her own voice trembling but clear.“So have me.”
The last thread of his restraint snapped. His hands gripped her hips, hard enough to leave marks. He yanked at the button of her skirt, ripped the zipper down. She helped him, wriggling until the garment was pooled around her ankles on the car floor.Her soaked panties were already torn from before. He tore them the rest of the way off with a sharp tug.
He was still hard, his cock lying thick and heavy against his stomach.She reached between them, her fingers tentative, wrapping around him. He hissed, his head falling back against the seat.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his eyes raking over her.“My shy, quiet Ellie. Playing the whore in the back of my car.”
The crude word sent a shock through her, a jolt of shame that twisted instantly into arousal. She guided him to her entrance, the blunt head pressing against her wetness. She sank down slowly, a low moan escaping her as he stretched her, filled her. The angle was different, deeper.She could see every flicker of pain and pleasure on his face.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his hands coming up to squeeze her breasts through her thin top, his thumbs rubbing hard over her nipples.“Take it. Take all of it.”
She began to move, an awkward, slow rocking of her hips. He let her set the pace for a moment, his eyes glued to where their bodies joined, watching himself disappear into her.Then his patience shattered. He took over, gripping her hips and driving her down onto him, forcing a faster, harder rhythm. The car rocked with their motion.“Is this what you wanted?” he grunted, his thrusts becoming punishing. “After seeing me fuck her? You wanted your turn?”
“Yes,” she gasped, the admission torn from her.“You wanted me to ruin you? To make sure no one else would look at you the same way?” He shifted his grip, one hand tangling in her ponytail, pulling her head back to expose her throat. His other hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing rough, tight circles.The dual assault was too much. The pain in her scalp, the deep, relentless filling, the frantic pressure on her sensitive nub. She shattered, a silent, open-mouthed scream as her orgasm ripped through her, her pussy clamping around him in rhythmic, milking spasms.The intensity of it blurred her vision.
Feeling her convulse around him tipped him over the edge. With a final, brutal upward thrust, he buried himself inside her and came, a raw, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he pulsed, spilling his seed deep into her convulsing heat. He held her there, impaled, as his own release subsided, their harsh breathing the only sound in the steamed-up car.
Slowly, he released her hair, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. He pulled her forehead to his, their noses touching.They stayed like that, joined, for a long minute.
When he finally spoke, his voice was wrecked.“I’m a bastard. You know that, right?”
She nodded, her face still pressed to his.
“I can’t… I can’t promise this is right. Or good for you.”
“I know.”
He shifted her gently, lifting her off him. He grabbed his discarded t-shirt from the front seat and used it to clean between her legs with a clumsy, almost clinical tenderness. Then he pulled her close, tucking her against his chest, wrapping them both in his jacket. The rain fell harder now, drumming a steady rhythm on the roof.
“I’ll take you home,” he said, his lips against her hair.She didn’t ask about Lily.She didn’t ask about tomorrow. For now, in the dark, with the smell of their sin thick around them, the only thing that mattered was the steady, guilty beat of his heart under her ear, and the bone-deep certainty that nothing would ever be simple again.