She looks radiant. Her eyes are bright, lips parted in a slow, satisfied smile she doesn't bother hiding. Her head tips back against the seat as she lets out a long breath, the kind that empties something heavy from her chest. Her thighs press together beneath her dress.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel.
She shifts in her seat, adjusting herself, and a soft sound slips out of her throat. She bites her lower lip, not to stop it, but to draw it out longer.
I chuckle. “You’re going to make me pull over.”
She laughs.
The sound of adrenaline still flooding her system. She liked watching me do it. She likes what I did to him. She likes that he begged. She likes knowing he is still back there, breathing hard, panicking, screaming into a box that won't open.
Her body makes that part very clear.
I take the next turnout without easing up much. Gravel snaps under the tires as I cut the wheel. The car slides before it catches, headlights sweeping over trees and brush before landing on a narrow overlook carved into the mountain. There are no streetlights, no traffic. Only a rusted guardrail and a drop beyond it that vanishes into black.
The engine idles low. I shift into park and shut the engine off.
“Get out.”
She looks at me with her breath caught. “Out here?” sheasks, barely above a whisper.
I don't answer. I open the door and step into the cold night air. She follows without hesitation, her heels crunching over gravel as she trails behind me.
We move around the back of the car. The paint gleams under the moonlight, streaked only with road dust and blood. The brand new trunk shifts, metal groaning with a hollow echo. A muffled scream kicks up from inside, followed by several frantic bangs. He is panicking now, kicking at steel he is too broken to bend. It's pathetic.
Brooke stares at the trunk, her eyes wide but focused. Her lips part slightly, breath coming out slow. She looks satisfied. She looks turned on. Nothing about her posture reads as fear. This is power, and she likes how it feels when it belongs to her.
“Hush” starts playing from the speakers, like it has been waiting for this exact moment.
I step in close and wrap my hands around her hips, my fingers digging into warm skin as I pull her against me so she can feel exactly how hard I already am.
She doesn't flinch when I lift her and set her on the trunk.
From inside, Elliot slams his fist against the lid again.
“Let me out!” he shouts, his voice muffled and frantic. “Let me the fuck out!”
He hasn't passed out yet, and he hasn't given up.
Good.
She looks down at the trunk beneath her instead of at me, staring at the metal like she can see straight through it into the dark where he is trapped. She knows he can hear everything.
I step between her legs and drag my hands slowly up the inside of her thighs, spreading her wider as my palms move over heated skin. Her breath hitches hard when my thumbs brush closer to where she is already wet. I push her dress up inch by inch, exposing her completely to the cold air and to me.
She is not wearing panties.
Her thighs tighten instinctively, but I force them apart again and keep them open with a firm grip.
Her throat works as she swallows, and she nods once without lifting her eyes from the trunk. Her fingers curl over the edge of the metal behind her, and her nails scrape across the paint as she anchors herself.
The car shifts again beneath us.
Inside, Elliot pounds harder.
“Let me out!” he yells. “You fucking bitch!”
I let one hand slide higher between her legs and press two fingers against her slowly, feeling the slick heat waiting for me. She sucks in a breath so hard that it stutters in her chest. I drag my fingers through her, spreading her open while I watch the way her hips lift.
