Page 7 of Carjacked
His grin widens and the thrill of domination is painted clear across his beautiful features.
His eyes are on me, but his hand moves to his lap, unzipping his trousers with a sound that echoes in the silent car. My eyes widen as he releases his cock. The sight of it hard and dripping precum makes me ache.
“Not so fast, Lila,” he murmurs. “Slow down and watch.” He strokes himself, his movements slow and deliberate. The image is hypnotizing. I watch, transfixed by his huge, hard pierced dick.
“Imagine your fingers are my cock inside you,” he commands. “Stretching you, filling you. Can you feel it?” His words are a toxic cocktail. The darkness in his eyes mirrors the darkness that’s consuming me.
His hand moves faster, the rhythm matching the rhythm of my fingers. The wet sounds of my fingers plunging into my soaking wet pussy fill the car. “You like that, don’t you, baby?” he taunts, his voice ragged with lust. “You’re aching for me, for my cock. Say it.”
His other hand, which until now had remained idle, suddenly springs to action. The cold, sharp edge of the knife presses harder against my throat, cutting deeper.
A small gasp escapes my lips. A mixture of fear and a perverse desire thrives on the pain, heightening my arousal. Yet, as much as his words stir a twisted desire, I refuse to give in. I meet his gaze, silently defying his demand.
“I don’t need your confession,” he declares. “You don’t have to tell me how deep your longing runs. You don’t have to, because I know. I can see the raw need in your eyes, how you look at me, and how your body responds.” He takes a deep breath. “You’ll come for me. Soon enough, you will.”
His words hang heavy in the air, the thread of inevitability woven through them. The knife at my throat lifts, and he leans back in the seat.
As if to confirm the insanity that lurks in his eyes, he brings the knife to his lips, licking the small trace of my blood from the blade. It’s a sight so unnerving, yet perversely seductive that I find myself on the brink of climax.
The sight of my blood on his tongue, the raw danger he poses — it’s all too much. An orgasm rips through me, waves of pleasure crashing in response to the fear-induced adrenaline.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, a sickeningly sweet note of approval in his voice. “You come so beautifully for me.”
He laces his fingers in my hair, strong and unyielding, as he forces my head to his lap. “Drink me. Take every last drop,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument.
There’s no time to think, protest, or gather my wits. His cock is thrust into my mouth, filling my throat. The twisted pleasure returns, my body involuntarily responding to his dominance.
And then he’s climaxing, a rush of warmth flooding my mouth and sliding down my throat. A moan escapes me, a sound of surrender that echoes in the quiet car, cementing the reality— there’s no escape from him, and a small, perverted part of me doesn’t want to escape.
5
ASH
The engine’s rumble is steady as we take the deserted country roads. Roads that will take us at least double the time to our destination but are essential. There will be a manhunt for me in these parts. I’m not sure I can disappear in Montana, even though my cabin is in the woods in the middle of nowhere.
It’s why I need the woman beside me. Lila is my cover. The perfect little pet.
The cool wind rushes through the cracked window, stirring documents on the dashboard. I glance at Lila, her face pale in the glow of the passing street lights. A small town sign whizzes by, barely legible in the dim light.
Still a long way from my cabin in Montana.
I pull a cigarette out of the top pocket of my jacket and pop it in my mouth before sparking it up, using my knees to keep the steering wheel straight. Once it’s lit, I take a slow drag, trying to rid my mind of all the dark and dirty thoughts involving my starlight.
I glance over at her, noticing her breathing is shallow. Sleep finally claimed her after I took over driving, and I can’tblame her for succumbing. The last fifteen hours have been a whirlwind.
She’s a necessity, a tool in my hand. I glance at her again, watching her chest rise and fall. Innocent, fragile, like a bird with a broken wing.
A smirk finds its way onto my face as I observe her, blowing smoke out into her precious car. My heart has no regret or remorse for dragging her into this mess. She’s a part of this now — my sick, twisted game.
The sound of her shallow breaths is an intoxicating melody that fills the silent car, fuelling the pit of darkness within me. I’m a predator, and she’s my prey. It’s twisted. It’s wrong. But it’s necessary. She’s my ticket out, my escape.
Cops are less likely to hassle a couple. If anyone sees us, they’ll see a man and his sleeping girlfriend on a late-night drive. Not a fugitive. Not a girl held against her will. I’ll keep her close until I’ve safely reached my cabin, my fortress in the heart of nowhere.
And then? I’ll figure it out. But for now, she’s my alibi, my shield. The car’s fuel gauge catches my eye. It’s dipping dangerously close to empty, a blinking warning sign in the otherwise dimly lit dashboard.
Spotting a 24-hour gas station ahead, I ease the car into the deserted forecourt. The station is illuminated by harsh, white fluorescent lights casting long, dark shadows. It’s eerily quiet, starkly contrasting the chaos brewing behind the scenes as law enforcement hunts for me.
I can’t risk using her credit card, so I pull crumpled bills from my pocket. “Stay put,” I whisper to her sleeping form before stepping out into the cold night. I lock the doors to be sure she can’t escape and stub out my cigarette on the car before tossing it aside.