Chapter 5: Bound in the Back of the Truck
The stolen morning in the garage felt like a secret bruise, tender and mine-shaped. Sadie carried it with her through her shift at the bookstore, the memory of their hands on her skin rising like heat whenever she let her guard down. When Rhett’s text arrived—My truck. 5pm. Bring boots—the anticipation was a live wire in her gut.
She found the black Ford idling at the curb, exhaust curling into the damp afternoon air. Jace was in the passenger seat, one arm hanging out the window. He gave her a once-over as she approached, that wolfish grin already playing on his lips. “Get in, Brooks.”
The cab smelled like them—like leather, motor oil, and the faint, clean scent of Rhett’s soap. Rhett didn’t look at her as she slid in, just put the truck in gear. His knuckles were white on the wheel, tension radiating from him in silent waves.
“Where are we going?” she asked, trying to sound casual, like this was just a drive.
“Lesson time,” Jace said, his tone sing-song.
Her stomach flipped. “What kind of lesson?”
Rhett’s eyes finally flicked to her in the rearview. Dark, unreadable. “The kind you need.”
They drove out of town, the buildings thinning to scrub pine and rusted fences. The sky was iron-gray, threatening another storm. No one spoke. The hum of the tires on asphalt was the only sound, stretching the silence until it felt thin enough to snap.
When Rhett finally pulled off the road, it was onto a forgotten fire-access lane, the truck bouncing over ruts until they cleared the tree line. He killed the engine. The sudden quiet was deafening.
“Out,” Rhett said, his voice rough.
Jace was already moving, hopping down and coming around to her door. He opened it and took her hand, his grip firm. “Come on.”
He led her to the back of the truck. The bed was clean, a worn saddle blanket spread over the metal. A coil of tan rope sat next to it. The air was cool and smelled of coming rain and pine resin.
“What are we doing?” Sadie asked, her voice smaller than she wanted.
“Teaching you to hold on to what’s yours,” Rhett said from behind her. He was close. She could feel the heat of him. “You gave yourself to us in that garage. That means you follow our rules. Even when they’re hard.”
Jace’s hands went to the hem of her graphic tee. “Arms up.”
She obeyed, letting him strip the shirt over her head. The cool air pebbled her skin. Her bra followed, then her boots, her jeans, her panties. Soon she was standing naked in the dim light, exposed to the wilderness and their watching eyes. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold raced through her.
“In the truck,” Rhett ordered.
Jace helped her climb over the tailgate. The metal was cold and slightly gritty under her knees. “Lie down,” Jace said, his voice losing its playful edge, becoming pure command.
She lay back on the saddle blanket, the rough wool scratching her shoulders. Rhett climbed in, the truck bed groaning under his weight. He picked up the rope. “Wrists.”
She held them out, a flutter of real fear beating in her throat. He looped the rope with efficient, practiced motions, knotting it securely but not cruelly around each wrist before tying the ends to the heavy-duty tie-down hooks anchored near the wheel wells. She was spread, anchored, utterly vulnerable.
“Eyes,” Jace said softly. He pulled a dark blue bandana from his back pocket.
“Please,” she heard herself whisper, not sure what she was asking for.
“Shhh.” He folded the fabric and tied it over her eyes, plunging her world into blurred, navy-blue shadow. Her other senses screamed to life. The scent of the blanket, of rain, of them. The sound of Rhett shifting, the rustle of his belt being undone.
The first touch wasn’t the belt. It was Jace’s hand, rough and warm, palming her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple. She arched into it, a soft sound escaping her.
“None of that,” Rhett’s voice cut through, low and absolute. “You’re here to count. You feel that?” The cool, wide leather of his belt draped over her inner thighs. “Every stroke. You lose count, we start over. Understand?”
She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I understand.”
The belt lifted away. The air hung still for a heart-stopping second.
Then it landed.
Crack. A line of pure, bright fire erupted across the tops of her thighs. She jerked against the ropes, a strangled cry ripping from her throat.
“Count,” Rhett growled.
“One,” she gasped, the word shuddering out of her.
Before the sting could fade, Jace’s mouth was on her breast, sucking deep, his teeth grazing her nipple. The dual sensation—sharp pain and sharp pleasure—short-circuited her brain. She moaned.
Crack. The belt landed an inch higher, overlapping the first line.
“Two!” she cried out, her hips bucking.
“Stay still,” Jace murmured against her skin, his hand sliding down her belly, through her curls, finding her wet and swollen. He pushed two fingers inside her, and she clenched around them, a sob catching in her chest.
Crack.
“Three!”
He crooned softly, fucking her with his fingers, his pace lazy while the punishment began its steady rhythm. Crack. Four. Crack. Five. The pain was a living thing, blooming hot and fierce, but it was tangled inextricably with the building coil of pleasure Jace was stoking deep inside her. She was floating, untethered from everything but sensation, the numbers falling from her lips on panting breaths.
“Ten!” she gasped after a volley of rapid strikes that painted fire across her ass.
“Good girl,” Rhett murmured, and the gravel in his voice, the approval, felt like a reward more potent than any touch.
Jace removed his fingers, slick and glistening, and she whined at the loss. Then she felt the blunt, thick head of his cock pressing against her. “Please,” she begged, the word torn from her.
He slid home in one brutal, glorious thrust, filling the empty, aching space. He began to fuck her in earnest, his hips driving into her, the force sliding her bound body slightly on the blanket. The rhythm was a counterpoint to the belt.
Crack. “Eleven!” she sobbed, her body a confused symphony of torment and ecstasy.
Rhett was alternating now, striking the sensitive under-curves of her ass, the taut backs of her thighs. The pain was deeper, heavier. Jace’s pace grew frantic, his grip on her hips bruising. She was a instrument being played by two masters, tuned to a breaking point.
Crack. “Seventeen!” Crack. “Eighteen!”
She was losing it. The numbers were mixing with her pleas, her moans. Jace was hammering into her, hitting a spot that made her see white behind the blindfold. Rhett’s belt fell again, and she cried out, but the number was gone, obliterated by the tsunami of sensation.
Everything stopped.
Jace pulled out, leaving her empty and shuddering. The belt did not fall.
The silence was worse.
“What was the count?” Rhett asked, his voice dangerously calm.
Tears of frustration and need leaked from under the blindfold. “I… I don’t…”
“You lost it.”
“It was a lot—Jace was—I couldn’t—”
“The rule was clear.” Rhett’s hand, calloused and huge, smoothed over the heated skin of her ass, making her flinch. “We start over.”
A true sob broke from her. “No, please, I can’t—”
“You can.” This from Jace, his breath hot on her ear. “And you will. You take it so fucking pretty, Sadie. Now give us the count.”
The belt landed again, in a fresh, unmarked place. The pain was blinding.
“One!” she screamed.
This time, there was no pleasure to buffer it. Jace held her down, his hands on her shoulders, while Rhett laid down a relentless, methodical volley. It was just the pain, the cold metal beneath her, the bite of the rope, and her own ragged voice counting each searing stripe.
“Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen!”
Her world narrowed to the next number, the next breath. The pain became a pure, crystalline focus. It burned away the chaos, the fear, the constant noise in her head. There was only this. Them. Her submission. Their will.
“Twenty-two! Twenty-three!”
The belt ceased. Her body trembled violently, every nerve ending shrieking.
Then Rhett was there, his jeans rough against her tortured skin, his hands replacing the ropes, gripping her freed wrists. He positioned himself and slammed into her with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. It was a claiming, a reaffirmation. Jace’s mouth was on hers, swallowing her cries, his tongue tangling with hers as Rhett pounded into her, each thrust a devastating punctuation to the ordeal.
It was too much. It was everything. The pain underneath the pleasure, the surrender within the possession, fused into a single, white-hot point. She shattered, her scream muffled against Jace’s mouth, her body convulsing around Rhett’s driving cock. She felt him follow, his roar raw in the quiet clearing, his release flooding her as he held her hips locked to his.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the first fat drops of rain hitting the truck’s metal roof. The storm had finally arrived.
Rhett carefully withdrew. Gentle hands—Jace’s—untied the blindfold. The world swam back into focus, gray and soft with rain. Jace’s face was above her, his expression stripped of its usual mischief, something like awe in its place. Rhett wiped her thighs with the discarded bandana, his touch unbearably tender on her ravaged skin.
He gathered her up, pulling her against his chest, wrapping the saddle blanket around her shaking form. Jace climbed in beside them, a solid line of warmth at her back. The rain fell harder, pattering on the blanket, washing the scent of sex and leather from the air.
Sadie buried her face in Rhett’s neck. She didn’t speak. There were no words for the hollowed-out, peaceful stillness inside her. He’d carved out all the chaos and filled the space with something that felt, terrifyingly, like his.
Jace pressed a kiss to her damp shoulder. “You did so good, wild girl.”
Rhett’s arms tightened around her. In the distance, thunder rumbled, but here, in the bed of the truck, she was anchored. She had counted every stroke. She had held on.
And she was theirs.