“Where are the red shoes?” I finally ask.
She blinks, the light from my dashboard our only illumination. “I-I left them at the station.”
“Did you see my note?”
“I didn’t know it was from you.”
My palm strikes the steering wheel causing her to jump, doing her best to move closer to the door. “Who the fuck did you think it was from?”
“I-I didn’t know.”
“Just how many men leave you notes telling you what to wear?”
“I didn’t know it was from a man.”
I turn her way, smelling not only her fear but also her desire. The sweet scent of her pussy has me ready to take her in this truck and not wait for the cabin.
Erika’s head moves from side to side as she makes one more attempt to move closer to the door. “Please, this isn’t like you, Victor. What’s going on?”
It’s the first time in what seems like ages that I’ve heard my name from her lips. “So, I’m not Mr. Cross?” It’s what she calls me at the station.
“You are. That’s your name.”
“And yours is Erika Ellis?”
“Victor, I don’t—“
I cut her off. “Sir.”
Her shoulders straighten. “What?”
“No names this weekend. You may address me as Sir.”
“I-I what? I will not—“
We are now out of the city and smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Buildings and even houses are a thing of the past. Soybean and cornfields cover the countryside. Thin rows of trees line the open fields next to grassy ravines that meet the small gravel shoulder. One wrong move during a dark night drive and the truck could end up in a five-foot-deep gulch. Thinking only about the woman in my truck, I stomp on the brake and pull the truck to the shoulder. The tires squeal and the undercarriage pings as rocks and gravel fly. Faster than Erika can process, I throw the truck into park, unbuckle my seatbelt, and slide next to her, pinning her between me and the door.
“Don’t even think about opening that door,” I warn. “There’s a five-foot drop out your door and if you fall in, I’ll follow your fine ass and take you in the mud.”
She swallows, her frightened eyes staying fixed on mine.
With one hand in her hair at the nape of her neck and the other possessively splayed over her upper thigh, I pull her toward me. Between the door and her seatbelt, she’s trapped.
“Sir,” I repeat. “Your only other option is Master.”
A tear teeters on her lower lid until she blinks and it dangles from her over-thick lash. “Vic—“
I pull her lips to mine. Though she tries to push me away, I’m too big, too strong, too determined. With her finally in my arms, I take what’s mine, crashing my mouth over hers. Without hesitation, my tongue plunges into her warm, sweet haven, searching and probing. Her tiny fists push against my chest, as it crushes her boobs. The thump of her heartbeat drums below mine. Her fear and arousal fills the air, a sweet, intoxicating aroma that instantly turns my cock to steel.
My fingers wind into her brown hair, unashamedly pulling her head back as I continue to capture her lips. Kiss by kiss, her pleas soften. The more I probe, unrelentingly bruising her lips, the more her muscles relax and her body melts against mine.
I pull back, keeping our eyes locked, and reach for her hand. Erika tries to hold it back, but I’m not in the mood for negotiation. Taking her hand, I push her palm against the front of my jeans, rubbing it over my throbbing erection. “Feel what you do to me?”
When she doesn’t answer, I pull her hair again, wrenching her neck backward, causing a gasp to fall from her lips. “Do you feel that?” I ask again.
“Y-yes,” she whimpers.
My lips curl upward. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Oh, dear Lord, this can’t be happening.
I close my eyes, hoping to block everything out, but I can’t. Victor continues to rub my hand over his erection—over his large, hard, angry cock. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s not the cameraman who watches me. He’s possessed.
“Say it again,” he demands.
“Yes, Sir.” My voice isn’t my own. It’s weaker and submissive.
I’ve never been submissive in my life.
Victor releases my hand and moves his under the hem of my skirt. Every nerve in my body is on fire. I feel parts of my body I never knew existed. The tiredness from the station is gone, replaced with adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream at record speed. The higher his fingers move, the more I’m electrified.
I shudder at his forwardness. He’s touching me, and I’m exposed. Why didn’t I change before I left the station? In jeans, he couldn’t touch me. In jeans I’d be safe.