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And catching a glimpse of myself in the rearview, Petra in her waitress uniform dabbing at my arm as I drive.
It’s no wonder I'm grinning like a maniac.
6
PETRA
P.T. doesn’t like his photo taken, I get that loud and clear. I’m sure he’s not hauling regular goods either. But even seeing him hurt as well as the other things doesn’t change how I think we both feel now.
His hand over mine… I guess that’s when a girl just knows. It’s hard to explain and I'm far from expert… But, I dunno. I just know that I’m his now in some strange kinda way.
And not just as long as a truck ride either, here’s hoping.
But instead of holding hands a while longer like I want to. It’s my own hands on his massive arm as I clean him up that makes me want more than just holding hands.
And like, right fucking now kinda want. It’s a feeling I’ve never really had and it’s really not the most appropriate time, but when I see his face. When I hear and feel for myself just how much P.T. likes me touching him, even if it’s hurting. It just gives me a tingle inside that I know there's only one cure for.
“This really needs stitches…” I let him know. Hearing the shiver in my own breath as I try to focus on the task at hand. Meanwhile, my mind has me straddling the man as he drives. Blasting his horn as I get some relief from what I know he must have down there.
If the man’s hands and arm are this big? Holy fucking shit…
“There’s a sewing kit somewhere.” He rasps matter of fact.
“Are you kidding?” I exclaim, but only because I know he isn’t.
“I- I can’t really do that…” I confess. And not only because I’ve never sewn anything in my life. Even if I could. The thought of it just makes my insides churn.
But for P.T. he’s talking about me stitching up his arm like he’s about to have me fix him a sandwich. And worse than anything, this whole business is making me hornier than hell to the point I feel like taking care of myself while dabbing at his gash.
“You don't mind the sight of blood?” He asks, glancing down with a strange smile. It should scare me, but from a guy as hardcore as P.T. I guess he’s not known for his smiles and sense of humor.
I stifle a chuckle, “Uhhh. Girls are used to the sight of blood,” I snort. Feeling like an expert about the one thing I do know about.
P.T.’s smile fades and he shifts his eyes back to the road. “What do you mean?” He asks.
“Never mind.” I purr, “It’s a girl thing…” Hearing the need as well as the want in my voice. My own growing arousal taken up a notch once I see that his arm isn't the only thing bulging in front of me.
The thick line of his erection hits my senses like a baseball bat. His denims patchy wet with rain have a darker spot over the swollen head of his manhood. I can’t help but make a strange sound when I see it. It’s like touching his hand all over again but it gives me that same feeling in places of me I never knew could feel so good.
P.T. seems to notice me noticing. Humming a low growl of approval that sets my heart thumping faster than it’s been running since he first grabbed me.
I swallow hard. Knowing I should be focusing on his arm, but when I watch his hand take mine again, easing across to his lap. I know what he’d rather have me taking care of.
I just wish I knew how. I mean, I wish I knew what to do…
But pulling me closer to hold me nearer to him, P.T. seems know just how much I need him to hold me as I do him doing anything else right now. The hug I’ve needed my whole life as well as after what’s happened, it feels like.
He guides my hands to his arousal and I instantly start to explore the length and thickness through his jeans. His own free hand stroking my wet hair and running down my back as he rumbles his low notes. A slow intimacy that keeps my boiling need at a simmer I kinda like.
A stranger? Not anymore. Any man who can make me feel so safe, so wanted. So absolutely more important than the million other things I know he must have on his mind…That’s how a girl knows too, I guess.
Knows he's the one for me. But will he have me longer than it takes to do whatever a guy does to have his way?
You mean. Before he boots you out before the border.
No. I know he won't now. He wouldn't. Would he?
I look up with the same question in my eyes. Seeing the crazed grin on his face as he squeezes me tighter. Forgetting about his injured arm and hooking it around me like a giant anchor. Keeping me close to him and for a few minutes at least, keeping all our other troubles far away.
