Page 4 of Let it Ignite
“Right,” I mutter, cheeks heating. “It’s just… been a weird night.”
He huffs out a laugh, all dry and gravel. “If you’re worried, you can call the chief. He knows I brought you.” He hands me his phone.
I shake my head, fingers trembling in my lap.
Silence stretches. Heavy. Charged.
“You said you’re an actress?” he says finally.
“Trying to be,” I reply.
He nods slowly, eyes still on the road. “That outfit… you were getting into character?”
“Yeah, I have an audition in a few days. ‘Hooker with a heart of gold’ type of character,” I say, my voice flat. “Thought I’d really try to feel the part.”
He glances over. “Well, you nailed it.”
The way he says it makes my skin prickle. He’s not talking about acting.
“Thanks,” I breathe, my voice too soft, too raw.
Another long stretch of silence.
“Lucky I found you when I did,” he mutters.
But he’s not looking at the road anymore. He’s looking at my legs again.
And my brain should be screaming, should be warning me about trauma or impulse control, but all I can think is: I want him to touch me.
And then the truck hits a pothole.
My hand shoots out—lands right on his thigh. Hard muscle. Heat. My fingers twitch against him. I freeze. So does he.
His eyes dart to me. Something dark flashes behind them. I move to pull away.
He grabs my hand in his own. Big. Rough. Possessive. His grip is tight, his body rigid.
And then slowly, deliberately, he drags my hand higher. Up his thigh. To the thick, swollen length straining behind his fly.
My breath hitches. He’s hard. So hard.
I glance down. The outline is unmistakable. Thick. Long. My clit throbs.
He presses my hand down, and the heat of him blazes through the fabric.
I should pull back. I don’t. I tighten my grip, just slightly. Testing him. Testing myself. His nostrils flare. His free hand leaves the wheel, catching my wrist, his fingers wrapping tight around it, guiding me to him again.
And something inside me—reckless, hot, bold—breaks loose.
I grab his hand. Drag it onto my thigh.
His palm is calloused and rough, and it scorches a trail across my bare skin.
I guide him higher. Over the curve of my hip. Up to my chest.
He doesn’t resist.
When I press his hand to my breast, my nipple hardens instantly against his palm.
