Page 108 of Rider Daddies
I can confirm that he never took my bra off.
I don’t think he fucking knows how.
At the end of the day, thisbastardodoesn’t get turned on when a naked woman is in front of him. He gets hard when he’s exercising control. When he has me wrapped around his finger.
When he has me all to himself.
Now that he’s distracted, I reach over and press his seatbelt buckle, releasing the strap. It snaps back, causing Willow to release another scream.
I look back at her. “Less of the sound effects,please.I’m trying to concentrate.”
“How about less of the trying to get us all killed?”
Ah, so shedoesspeak.
“You can thank me when this is all over.” I ignore whatever comes out of Willow’s mouth next and focus on yanking Tristan out of his seat.
When I’ve semi-accomplished that, I take over the wheel and fight to get one of my legs in the driver footwell.
Tristan kicks and shoves like a child who isn’t getting his own way, booting my leg, trying to get me to put it back in my own footwell.
He’s still pressing the gas pedal down all the way, which isn’t helping matters, but I work with what I’ve got and continue keeping the car straight on the road as Tristan takes the bra away from his eyes.
A sentence I never thought I’d hear.
He succeeds…eventually.
“You’re not licensed to drive my car,” he says.
It’s pathetic, really. He and I both know that I was the better driver out of the two of us.
Keeping a firm hold on the steering wheel, I fight my way onto the driver’s seat. It helps that the seats are low, but it’s not wide enough to accommodate us both.
Tristan detangles the bra straps from his hands and places them back on the wheel. It’s his strength against mine, and unfortunately, he’s starting to win.
I grit my teeth.
He’s forcing one way, me another.
If all four hands come away, we’ll be upside down on the roadside, lucky to be alive.
But to win this and get Tristan away from me for good, I’m happy to take my chances.
A Harley catches up, settling outside of the passenger window. I make eye contact with Saint and shake my head, telling him not to get involved.
But he doesn’t understand.
He raises his boot and smashes the passenger-side window, glass shattering everywhere.
Another routine scream from Willow.
It was a terrible thing to do, but I’m surprised how well he kept his balance.
Tristan looks at Saint briefly. He grits his teeth, keeping a firm hold on the steering wheel, but still finds the time to shake hishead and let out an unnecessary snort. “What do you see in them?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I don’t understand. They’re covered in ink and look like they should be retired.”
