Truck Stop Tryst

by Daniels, Krissy

  “Well, this should be good.”

  “Because he pierced your shield, targeted that sweet little girl you try so hard to hide. You want to be taken care of. You’re attracted to fighters because you want a man who will fight for you, not force you to fight like your father did. You want a man who will let you be a woman, let you be soft. A man who will burn away those layers, a man who wants you. Not your name, not your power, but the lonely girl inside.”

  I fought the urge to jump across the table and rip Tucker’s tongue out. My insides heated another thousand degrees. Yeah, I was in hell.

  “I’ve struck a nerve, haven’t I?” he asked, too fucking confident for my liking.

  “I’m not some pathetic princess waiting for her Prince Charming.” I truly was offended. If that was how Tucker saw me, he needed a cold, hard slap of reality across that pretty mug. “Rafael will come for his child. When he does, I will kill him. With a smile on my face. That’s the truth. That’s the kind of girl I am, and always have been.”

  The cocky, beautiful, blond beast sat back in his chair and fucking smiled. “Thank you, Bambi.”

  “For what?”

  “I knew you had a plan brewing in that stubborn head of yours. You’re going to wait him out. If Papa Voltolini doesn’t take care of him, you will.”

  Bastard had played me. Damn, there was more to his dark side than I’d suspected.

  “You’re a mean sonofabitch, you know that?” I asked, snatching one of his fries, then throwing it back in the basket. “You could’ve asked me.”

  “Would you have told me the truth?”

  Absolutely not. “Of course I would.”

  “It’s a good plan. Better than going after him. There’s only one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I won’t let him anywhere near you.”

  How sweet. I’d let him hold on to that little fantasy for a while. Rafael Turner would find me. I’d make sure of it.

  Rafael Turner would never find Aida. I’d make sure of it.

  I wasn’t above kidnapping. If abduction was required to keep her out of harm’s way, I was wholly committed. And if I’d learned anything the past couple of months, it was that Aida’s life had been a crash course headed straight for disaster. Harm’s Way was nothing more than a street sign she passed daily on her way to the intersection of Anarchy Avenue and Doom Drive.

  Damn. How did I get here? I’d thought I could keep my life simple, single, drama free? What an idiot. I wanted Aida. No sense arguing that point. With Aida, there would never be simple. Since I’d met her, single had lost its appeal. Drama free was a pipe dream.

  Aida wanted revenge. Couldn’t blame her. Problem was, she was blinded by her lust for retribution. She couldn’t see the obvious. If she took down Turner, she’d lose her child. I’d lose Aida, to a life sentence either behind bars or behind the pearly gates. Either option was unacceptable.

  I remembered Tito’s words the last time I’d spoken with him. Keep an eye on my girl, over there. She’s got a heart bigger than Texas. Just gotta shovel through a valley of bullshit to find it.

  Bullshit was right.

  Lucky for me, bullshit burned. I held the goddamned torch.

  I waited at our table, eyes on the restroom door Aida had disappeared behind almost five minutes ago. When she emerged, holding the door open for a young girl, then winking at her, the dark fog hovering over me lifted.

  Beautiful or pretty were insufficient words to describe Aida. She carried herself with a regal confidence that, coming from any other, would be off-putting, but on her was seductive, and enticing. Add to that her dangerous, wicked edge, and she was downright charming. No, not charming. Bewitching, in the most dangerous way, because not a man alive could look at her and not think about fucking—mating, in its rawest, most primitive form. Alluring curves. Beguiling features. Seductive voice. Aida was the perfect temptation.

  When she caught me staring, and blushed, I damn near blew a load at the table.

  She raised a hand to her swollen midsection, let out a puff of air, and said, “I’m ready, if you’re ready.”

  I’d never been more ready for anything or anyone, ever. Only, I was confident we weren’t talking about the same kind of ready.

  “Yeah. We should hit it,” I managed to mumble through my sudden onslaught of disrespectful fantasies.

  I guided her through the door and pulled her against me for the hike back to Frankie. When I helped Aida into the cab and her ass bumped my groin, my vision blurred. Suddenly, I was the bullshit. Aida was the damn torch, burning me top to bottom, decimating logical thought.

  I locked the door behind me, and before Aida could sit, I grabbed her hips and urged her toward the back of the cab. Fuck me, but the close quarters were doing a number. Everything smelled of her, sugary sweet, like cotton candy. There was no moving without rubbing body parts.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, eyes wide, turning to face me.

  I shook my head, closed my eyes, gave my brain one last chance to convince my libido to calm the fuck down.

  “Tucker?” she asked in a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

  Dropping my forehead to hers, because her worried gaze weakened me, I confessed, “Everything’s right. I feel like a jackass saying this when your world is upside down, but for the first time, everything is right. Everything I want. Everything I’ve ever needed is right here in front of me.”

  Aida jerked back, doe eyes ablaze with understanding. Voice breathy, she asked, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “If you’re thinking what I hope you’re thinking, then yeah.”

  “If you’re hoping that we can fuck, then I’m all in.”

  I curled my fingers around the base of her skull, gripping that silky hair tight. “This isn’t just a fuck. Understand? You and me are so far beyond a cheap roll in the sack.”

  “If you’re trying to get in my pants, Cowboy, I’m more than ready,” she said, lips dangerously close to mine. “The whole everything I want and need confession, we’ll have to discuss later. That’s too much for me to handle. Hope you’re okay with that.”

  “I’ll be okay as soon as you’re naked.”

  Lola was all kinds of curious with her cold wet nose in my business. I scooted her to the front of the cab and closed the heavy curtain, shutting out the dog, the world, locking my lady and me in the small, intimate space.

  My cock was so ready to play, I could feel my pulse tip to root, hot lust pumping through my veins. I bent to kiss her. Aida fisted my shirt, pulled me down hard, lip bruising hard, and moaned when our tongues collided.

  When she broke the connection, too damn soon for my liking, she shrugged off her coat and dropped her ass to the mattress. I towered over her, pulse racing, struggling to breathe.

  “Take off your coat,” she ordered, tugging at my belt.

  I obliged, and by the time she had the first two buttons of my jeans undone, I’d removed my shirt as well.

  Slow and steady, she worked the denim down my hips, over my ass. When she peeled my boxers halfway down my thighs, my erection sprang free. Aida seemed oblivious. She lifted her cold, soft fingers to my waist and traced my scars one at a time. I shivered, despite the trail of fire left in the wake of her exploration.

  “They’re not ugly, Tucker,” she whispered, raising her face, eyes soft, locking on mine. “You’re beautiful. Brutally beautiful.”

  Words. Mere words, powerless, yet powering the fire growing in my gut, spreading through me, a soul cleansing inferno.

  Holding my gaze, she pressed a kiss to my abdomen, then made her way down, moist lips warming my skin. I watched as Aida worshiped my gruesome parts with her mouth. With each kiss, she washed away the shame I’d carried. With each press of her soft lips on my skin, she accepted my ugliness, and I was hypnotized by her beauty, her delicate touch, her hands more healing than the doctors and nurses who had tended to me in the hospital.

  God, thi
s woman.

  This man. This man. Perfection. Hard and trembling under my fingers. I kissed him, every inch of his scarred flesh, the gruesome wound that, on Tucker, was more a work of art than a defect. Sweet Papa, he was beautiful. Hard, battle-scarred planes. Marred skin hiding a man of steel—rugged and stoic.

  I gauged his responses, the flexing of his abdomen and thighs, his sharp intakes of breath, his sighs. When he’d relaxed enough, I gripped the base of his cock. Tucker’s hands slammed against the roof. For a moment, I feared he’d fold.

  “How long has it been since a woman has touched you?” I asked, slowly pumping the length of him.

  “A long time, Bambi,” he groaned, jaw clenched. “Too damn long.”

  “That’s a shame. This body was made to be appreciated.”

  Gazes locked, I lifted his shaft, and licked him from root to tip, a moan of pleasure escaping my lips as his head fell back on his shoulders. I licked again, with more pressure. Tucker’s hips jerked, but he didn’t pull away. Thank God. When I reached the tip of his cock, I pulled him inside me, stroking my tongue on the underside of his rigid flesh.

  Sweet Jesus, the man was thick and hard, and so damn hot. His musk made me dizzy with want, his salty flavor ignited wicked urges. I pulled him in, as deep as his size would allow, savoring the flavor, the fullness.

  My body was on fire. As I worked Tucker with my mouth, I squeezed my thighs together, hoping to ease the pressure. One touch between my legs and I would’ve come hard. For the second time in my life, I wasn’t chasing the release. I wanted our time drawn out, anticipating the sweet agony. I wanted Tucker’s touch, his heat, his cock, everything.

  He thickened in my mouth, and I knew he was close. I was more than eager to take him, swallow every drop of his release, but I wasn’t ready to be finished. I was greedy. Greedy for his grunts, and thrusts, and sweat, and moans. I wanted his face near mine when he came. I wanted his words, his lips, his eyes.

  When I released him and slid off the bed, landing on my knees at his feet, Tucker bent to pick me up.

  “Give me your boot,” I said, pushing his hands away.

  He raised his right foot to my thigh. I made slow work of lifting the hem of his jeans and untying his laces. I made slower work of pulling his shoes and socks off, then sliding his jeans to the floor. Even his feet were spectacular, long toes, high arches, strong and masculine. Had my baby bump not been in the way, I might have bent to kiss them.

  I drew my fingers up the curve of his calves, then the tight swell of his thighs above his knees. Defined muscle twitched under my fingertips.

  The gasp he expelled when I dragged a nail under his heavy sac thrilled me to the core, and I was about to take him in my mouth again when he bent and slid his warm hands under my arms and helped me to my feet.

  “Your turn,” he whispered, deep and throaty, before pressing a delicious, delicate kiss to my lips.

  As he undressed me in the small space, as my skin exploded in tingles and bumps, as I watched his pupils change size with his thorough examination of my naked body, and he caressed my breasts and dropped to one knee to press kisses to my belly, three words bubbled on the tip of my tongue.

  I love you.

  But that was insane.

  Hormones had to be playing with my psyche. Then I looked down at him, cupping my stomach, so adoring, and … God, I wanted my thoughts to be real. I wanted to love.

  I could love.

  Who was I kidding? I loved him. I did.

  Oh, fuck. I was fucked.

  I was fucking in love with Tucker Slade.

  I knew the swelling emotions were real, because I knew, truer than the sky was blue, that I couldn’t tell him, because telling him would be selfish, confessing would give him hope for an impossible future. I knew my feelings were real, because I wanted to protect him—from me, from my baggage. No. I would never verbally confess my feelings.

  The human body, however, could speak volumes, and my body was about to recite a damn soliloquy.

  I lowered myself to the bed and laid back, spreading my knees wide. He crawled over me, his cock bobbing between us, the thick, purple head hot and smooth against my skin.

  He reached over me and pulled a condom out of a small bedside drawer. I watched, in eager anticipation, as he sat back on his heels and rolled it on. He took his time, eyeing me, stroking his length. So, I played along, running a finger down my moist slit with one hand, rolling a nipple between my thumb and forefinger with the other.

  I had to be in love with my cowboy, because it didn’t bother me that I hadn’t shaved my pubic area in days, that I hadn’t a lick of makeup on my face, or that I lay shamelessly splayed across his bed, stroking myself, in the cab of a damn semi-truck instead of a five-star hotel.

  I didn’t care. Because Tucker was Tucker. Unpretentious. He was stormy, wise eyes, and strong, unyielding arms. He was forgiveness, fun, and sunshine. He was generous, and gentle, and genuine. I didn’t have to put on airs or hide behind my mask of vanity. What an amazing feeling.

  Tucker watched, frozen, hypnotized, as I worked my pussy. He stopped the teasing strokes of his cock and rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. Rapid breaths, flushed cheeks, muscles tense. Dear, sweet Lord, he was ready to blow his load just from watching me. Hell if that didn’t make me wetter.

  I removed my hand from the sweet spot between my legs, stretched my arms over my head, and crossed them at the wrists in mock submission. “I’m all yours, Cowboy.”

  How erotically thrilling to watch his eyes darken, the muscles in his jaw tense, to hear the low groan rise from his chest. And before I could enjoy that small victory, Tucker’s heavy body covered mine.

  His expression morphed into something I’d never seen before, the hunger and want disappearing. In their place, possession. And as I registered the look as domination, he slid a hand down to my hip, tilted my ass off the bed, and slammed into me, as if he knew a slow approach would be insulting.

  “Fuck,” escaped my lips, appropriately and repeatedly, as he pulled out and slammed into me again and again. Gone was the tender and giving man I’d come to adore. In his place, a beast, relentless and greedy, taking his sinful pleasure with each savage thrust.

  The pounding continued, with ragged breaths and raking nails, fucks, and oh Gods, and you’re mines coming from both of our mouths. Bodies slapping, hips grinding, hair pulling. Deep, brutal kisses. At some point, could’ve been minutes or hours, he managed to sit back on his heels and pull me with him.

  Arms wrapped around his neck, heels planted into the mattress, I rode him, his entire rigid length. Up and down, grinding, arching, writhing. I couldn’t get enough. I was a woman obsessed, chasing the high that was Tucker. His sweat, and muscle, and erotic woodsy musk. When my thighs tired from the exertion, Tucker supported me with one arm around my waist and the other under my ass. He held my weight while he continued to pump.

  I’d been fighting my release, holding off, prolonging the pleasure. But when Tucker gripped the back of my neck, brought his lips to my ear and said, “You’re mine now, Aida. I’m never letting you go,” I lost the fight.

  I lost my fucking mind.

  I was out of my goddamn mind. Knew it. Didn’t care. Aida was mine. I would protect her. Keeping her safe meant giving her the tools she needed to protect herself. Fuck Tango. Fuck Voltolini. Bambi was getting her damn knives back.

  “I don’t have to tell you those are illegal in most states, do I, Tuck?” Jim, my longtime friend, chided me over the phone.

  “Trust me. I’m aware. If we could keep this between us, that’d be much appreciated.”

  “I might have something to get you by until the others are ready.”

  “Thought you might. Knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

  “Only for you, boy.”

  “Thanks, Jim. See you tomorrow. Owe you big time.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  I ended the call and whistled for Lola. She trotted my way
with a stick in her mouth, butt shaking, ready to play. I threw the thing one more time and glanced over my shoulder toward the truck where I’d left Aida sleeping inside, naked, and if I’d done my job right, boneless.

  My dick swelled. Damn. This was going to be one helluva long drive.

  We got back on the road twenty minutes later. An hour after that, we checked into a hotel. Ten minutes after checking in, I washed Aida head to toe in the small shower. And before we were dry, I carried her to bed, and my tongue was covered in her sweet juices, her fingers tangled in my hair.

  “Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she moaned, grinding her pussy against my mouth. So damn responsive. It didn’t take long to work her into a frenzy and make her come with an explosion of profanities.

  Before she could recover, I hooked her legs over my shoulders and buried myself deep. I’d intended to take it slow, but Christ, with my Bambi, I was out of control, my thoughts consumed with the need to claim her. Every thrust, every touch, bite, kiss, I marked her, made her mine. Fuck if I’d let her walk away. Fuck if I’d let another man touch her. She was mine.

  When I reached my breaking point, and spilled my seed, swear to my Maker, I saw stars. Might have lost consciousness for a sec. I rolled off my breathless lady, pulled her tight against me, and listened while her breathing slowed, waited for her to soften and sink deeper into the mattress. When certain she was deep in dreamland, I closed my eyes and let exhaustion pull me under.

  The morning sun coaxed me back to consciousness. Muscles protested when I stretched. And when I remembered where I was, and better yet, who was next to me, I rolled over, eager to start my day the way every warm-blooded male should start his day—balls deep in his beautiful lady.

  Only, the bed was empty. The pillow, the sheets, cold.

  I rolled off the squeaky mattress and checked the bathroom. Empty.

  I spun a three-sixty, surveying the room. My duffle lay where I’d left it a mere eight hours before. Aida’s suitcase. Gone.