Hitched: A Dark Hitchhiker Romance (Ride or Die Romances)

Lex

She’s so mad at me. Or at herself. She liked my touch, and she hates that. But I loved making her come around my fingers. Her body reacted to me as if she hadn’t experienced that touch at home. She probably hasn’t. She probably hasn’t had much positive touch in her life at all.

After feeling her come around my fingers, I want to get inside her even more. I want to feel her tighten around my dick. I want to fill her married pussy with my come.

I adjust the front of my pants without drawing her attention. I love knowing she’s drenched, sitting in come that my fingers coaxed from her. She’s so mad about it that her brows are permanently furrowed at this point. She hates the warm, sticky wetness that came from someone who isn’t her husband.

It came from me.

A dark and dirty felon.

The black shadow beside her.

My eyes linger on her pants, and I smirk at the thought of how wet they probably are. We’ve been driving for a few hours, but we still have many more ahead of us. I should let her change, and I also don’t mind the idea of getting out of these prison sweatpants.

“Stop in here,” I tell her. She turns into the parking lot of a small secondhand store.

When we enter the building, an elderly woman behind a cash register looks up from a magazine and gives us a cursory glance before returning to her article. I look at Selena to make sure she doesn’t try anything dumb, but she doesn’t. Good girl.

I grab a pair of jeans from a long rack of clothes in the center of the store, excited by the promise of denim against my legs again. Such a simple thing I took for granted while in prison. Selena grabs a t-shirt and leggings and stands beside me.

“You’ll want a little more than that,” I tell her.

“Why? Where are we going? You haven’t told me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. Just trust me and get a few outfits.”

I spot a skirt and hold it up to show Selena. The thin black material is exactly what I want to see her in. She shakes her head with a judgmental glare as she looks around. She grabs a pair of shorts and jeans and chooses a long-sleeved shirt and a cami from the next rack.

I walk over to her, put the skirt in her pile, and whisper, “For what I’m going to do to you, you’ll want the skirt.”

Her cheeks flame red as I leave her side to find another t-shirt for myself.

I search the rack, or I pretend to, at least. In reality, I’m watching her, waiting to see if she’ll run out the door when she thinks I’m not paying attention. She looks less uptight when she walks now, like she’s finally gotten a long-needed release and has more confidence because of it. I wonder if she’ll feel tethered to my touch now that she’s come from it.

Will it keep her from running off?

I snatch a t-shirt off the rack and head to the front of the store. She hasn’t gotten up there yet, so I lean against a pillar and watch her again. She picks up a pair of panties that still have tags attached, but she puts them down with a grimace. With a sigh, she joins me at the front with her stack of clothes.

“No panties, rabbit?” I ask as we walk into the maze of a checkout line.

She scoffs. “I’m not wearing pre-purchased underwear. Can we stop somewhere else?”

“No. We need to get out of this area once you use your card. Wouldn’t want your husband finding us. Maybe we can stop the next city over.” I suddenly decide I don’t want to push her panties aside to get inside her again. I don’t want her wearing them at all. “Maybe you don’t need any. You can go bare for me.” My eyes move down her body, which trembles with renewed anger.

And I love it.

She tugs me away from the checkout line, cheeks flaming hot, her voice a harsh whisper. “What happened in the car is not happening again. We’re not doing this. And we’re definitely not going further. It’s bad enough that I let you do what you did, and I’ll have to live with that guilt, but I’m not adding to it.”

“Sweet bunny,” I coo, “you think you have a choice regarding what I do to you? How adorable.” I brush a hand against her cheek, and she rips away from my touch. Her lips tighten and her bravado deflates in front of my eyes. “You shouldn’t have let me feel you coming around my fingers, because now I want more. No, I need more. So when I tell you that you aren’t going to wear panties or that you’re going to wear that little skirt, you’re going to listen. I’ll make you feel better than your husband ever did.”

Her eyes darken. She doesn’t realize just how long it’s been since I’ve felt the soft warmth of a woman beneath me. She doesn’t understand how obsessed I am with the thought of touching her again. It’s an obsession that started once I felt her, once I reveled in the warm rush as she came against my hand. She had tried to run, just like a scared little rabbit. But I would tame her.

“I’m going to shower,” she says with a glance toward the bathroom. Yet another room that isn’t up to my little rabbit’s standards.

“Get undressed in here,” I tell her with a smirk.

She clutches her clothes to her body, shaking her head in a stiff motion. I consider forcing her to strip in front of me, but her eyes well with tears. I tighten my lips. I have no idea what’s wrong with that girl, but I’ll find out.

“Go on, rabbit.” I wave her off. I won’t force her to tell me what she’s been through . . . yet. Some people come out stronger when you force them to confront their pain, but others break. She seems like she’d break. She isn’t strong enough to confront it on her own, and I’m not the person to make her stronger.

Selena

I breathe heavily against the cracked faux marble countertop in the bathroom. The lights flicker above my head with a low hum that grows louder with every passing moment. I’ve been so afraid he’ll force me to undress, but not because of the infidelity. I fear seeing his expression as he becomes aware of the bruises on my body. I don’t want to see the look of pity on his face.

Whenever someone catches a glimpse of my marks, they get that same look, but they don’t do a goddamn thing about it. They probably think I did something to deserve it.

Bryce is a saint, and I’m the pitiful sinner.

I take a deep breath and lock the door before removing my blouse. Each unfastened button reveals more of the fresh purple bruises on my chest and stomach. When I slip the sleeves off, my eyes find the older bruise encasing my wrist. I remember the fight that caused the deep pinkish-purple mark. I remember every stupid fight. How could I forget when the proof of each one marks my skin? I touch the one on my stomach. I wasn’t home in time to make him dinner. I graze my chest. He forced me to fuck him because he had a bad day at work. I grip my bruised wrist. I took too long to get ready last week.

I slip my slacks off, exposing a mixture of old and new bruises on my thighs. A near-perfect handprint decorates my inner thigh, almost reaching my crotch. I shudder when I remember how he fucked me to give me that mark. I flinch as I touch the yellowish bruise above my knee, where he kicked me when I was already down.

When I’m dressed, I feel like a normal wife. When I’m naked, I understand why I’m not more upset about sleeping in this scuzzy motel room instead of beneath the expensive sheets embroidered with golden threads. Those expensive sheets mean lying beside Bryce. The man out there, Lex, is on the run from something awful, and I still felt safer in bed with him last night than I ever had with my husband.

And that’s fucked.

I turn on the faucet in the tub. Brown water rushes out as the pipes rattle behind the wall. It finally runs clear, albeit cold, but I get in anyway. Standing naked in the disgusting bathroom just makes me feel dirtier by the moment.

My eyes lock ahead as I clean myself, focusing on a crack that races up the wall across from me. Mold straddles it and follows its path.

A knock at the door breaks me from my trance. “I’m almost done,” I call out.

When I get out of the shower, the leggings and the long-sleeved shirt I got at the store wait for me on the counter. I narrow my eyes. I’m certain I locked that door. I pick through my discarded clothes on the floor and discover that my panties have vanished.

Fucker.

“How’d you get in?” I ask as I step out of the bathroom, motioning toward the clothes I put on. He just shrugs. “And where’s my underwear?” I ask.

A fierce sexual frustration shines in his eyes at the sight of me. I hate that he looks at me like that, in a way my own husband never has. I hate that I like when he bites his lower lip as he openly scans my body.

“I told you. I don’t want you wearing any.” His gaze leaves me and turns to the television. He knows just how to draw me into wanting his attention, wanting to be more interesting than the grainy picture on the old TV. But not so interesting that he might want to touch me.

I open my mouth to argue, but the words stick under my tongue. I close my lips, thinking better of what I want to say.

Lex’s eyes leap to mine when he sees my wordless response, and the breath catches in my throat at the intensity of his stare. His expression becomes feral and animalistic, and I know I should tread lightly.

“You want your panties, rabbit?” he asks.

I nod, even though I know I shouldn’t. Not when he’s looking at me that way, as if a sadistic idea has just crossed his mind.

Lex gets up, reaches into a drawer, and pulls out my black underwear. He stares at me as he sits down, unzips his jeans, and tugs his cock from the spread wings of denim. A smirk crosses his face. As menacing as it is, it’s wickedly attractive.

His eyes never leave my face as he strokes himself, slow and intentional. Saliva gathers under my tongue at the sight of him, but I force myself to remain stoic. Even so, he’s noticed the subtle nibble of my lip, because his movements grow rougher and more determined.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks.

I want to shake my head and tell him no, but I’m frozen. I force my body to obey me enough to sit in the stiff, squeaky chair facing the bed. The TV show flashes across my peripheral vision as I watch him.

My eyes rove over the huge cords of muscles from his shoulders to his biceps, which flex with every stroke.

“Do you know what I like, rabbit? When it’s not a no from you, it’s a yes. Shit, even when it’s a no, it’s still my yes.” He brings my panties to the head of his cock. He drops his head back and groans as he comes in my underwear, saturating the thin fabric. “We’re going to have so much fun together, you and I.” Lex smirks as he tosses the panties onto my lap. “Well, put them on.”

I shake my head before he even finishes his sentence. Absolutely not. I will not put his come against my skin. “I’m not wearing those,” I say, as firmly as I can muster.

“Ah, no, that’s not how this works. You wanted your goddamn underwear so bad. Put them on.” His smirk tightens. “I’m not asking you again.” The way his jaw tenses and pulses, I know I have no choice.

He’s forcing me to take what I wanted in the first place.

I swallow and stand up, taking the panties to the bathroom because I refuse to change in front of him. I can’t.

I wipe off some of his come, but the wetness is too embedded in the fabric. When I slip them on, I feel his warmth against my skin. It makes me shiver. When I return to the bedroom, his eyebrow lifts as he tucks his spent cock away.

“Show me that you’re wearing them,” he says.

I hook the front of my leggings and lower them enough to expose the black silk. Satisfied, he relaxes and starts watching TV again.

When I sit down, the damp area is more noticeable. It’s become a bit cold. As hard as I try, I can’t ignore his pleasure against me. I cross my legs and cut my gaze to the stained carpet at my feet, trying to talk down the throbbing ache he’s caused. Several cigarette burns surround the stain. The place is a dump, and it’s easy to get lost in the mess of it. But even then, his mess in my panties still stays the center of my focus.

Lex’s presence haunts me from across the room, and my eyes ride up to him once more, taking in every contradiction that makes him somehow attractive and disgusting at the same time. The stubble on his chin looks rough, but it still works with his otherwise sweet features. He only looks as mean as he does because he never smiles from joy. He smiles to get his way because he’s a manipulator. His voice is so low and sexy, but it only masks the threats woven through his words. He isn’t nice or kind. He’s a bad fucking person, and he’s forcing me to wear him.

Lex brushes a hand through his thick hair as he lets out a breathy laugh and stares at the TV. “I don’t like when you stare at me,” he says without looking away from the television.

“I don’t like to wear your come,” I mumble under my breath.

He puts on a smile and motions me to him. I keep myself planted in the horrible motel chair.

“Now,” he commands. He has a voice he uses when I have no choice but to listen, and that word drips with his demand. I stand up and go to his side, and he rubs his hand between my legs and bites his lip. “Oh, bunny, you’re going to wear those panties to sleep and then they aren’t coming with us.” He grazes my slit. “How does my come feel?” he growls as he fists my hair and draws me to his mouth. His lips stay far enough away from mine to accomplish little more than pissing me off. My dark hair in his grasp is still wet, and drops of cold water fall down my shoulders and make me shiver.

“It makes me feel gross.”

“Get used to how I feel, because I can’t wait to see you covered in my come, sweet bunny.”

“We aren’t doing more,” I say, pushing my hands against his chest.

Lex growls—a carnal sound that makes me weak. “I love how you think I won’t end up inside you. I may have to tear you apart to get there, but I will get inside. Tonight, I’ll leave your vulnerable little underbelly alone. But soon, nothing will keep me from ripping you wide open.”

He releases his grasp on my hair and pulls his hand from between my legs. He pats the vacant side of the bed. The swirl of arousal I feel leaves me more confused than ever.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

He lifts the blanket and stares at me, but I shake my head. There’s another bed this time. I don’t need to sleep with him. I get up and lift the blanket on the other bed before climbing into it. When I turn over, I hear rustling, then the whoosh of cold air as the blanket lifts away from me. His warmth engulfs me as he gets into bed and lies on his back behind me.

“If you don’t want to come to me, I’ll come to you. I don’t trust you. You might try to scurry away again, little bunny.”

I won’t run off, even though everything in my body tells me I should, especially the wetness between my legs.

Not only his, but mine, too.