DARK BLISS (Dangerous Games,) (7 page)

She
put her hand on his arm. At that moment, there was the deafening blare of the truck’s air horn and a loud screech of tires. They abruptly slowed, throwing both of them forward. Already pressed against the metal barrier, Rock hardly moved, but Rory landed on top of him with a sudden squeal. He instinctively wrapped his right arm around her back to steady her. After a moment, the truck resumed its speed.

“Lo siento,”
said Juanito.
“Estás bien?”

“
Bien,”
said Rock automatically. His mind was elsewhere. The girl’s hip had landed beside his cock. No way she wouldn’t feel it. Her face was turned away; all he could see was the top of her head. A moment ago he’d wondered what her expression would be if he’d grabbed and kissed her. God knows what it was right now. He put both hands around her waist to lift her off.

Before he could, she lifted her head and stared at him, her eyes intent on his. He couldn’t tell what was going through her mind. What do you say in this sort of situation?
“Pardon my hard-on, ma’am.”

And then she did the last thing he expected. She slid her body
up his until they were face-to-face, tilted her head and pressed her lips against his own.

Being thrown onto Rock’s body was a shock, but also something like a relief. His nearness had been driving me half mad. I kept wanting to rub my leg against him, stroke his arms, run my hand over his chest, rest my head on his shoulder. My panties were damp from the moistness seeping through my slit.

The moment
I landed on him, I felt an unmistakable erection against my hip, hard and sizeable and sending an electric charge throughout my body. The dreamy yearning I’d felt before was nothing compared to this sudden surge of desire. Gay?
Hah!
This man
wanted me and I was going to see he got what he wanted.

I made
this decision in an instant but my body was already ahead of me. Without realizing it, I’d moved until I was close enough to kiss him on the lips. I touched his mouth tenderly.

I expected a response of some kind, maybe a tender kiss back. What
I got instead was a ferocious assault that overpowered my senses. He pressed his lips hard against mine, his tongue shoving its way into my mouth, forcing it wide open. His hand fisted my hair and held my head in place while he planted wet, violent kisses on my cheeks and eyes and everywhere else on my face. I felt his teeth on my ear, hard little nibbles that made me squeak.

His free hand
roved over the small of my back and grabbed my ass possessively. I gasped at the strength of his hand as he squeezed first one cheek, then the other. He growled with pleasure as he ground up against my sex with the hard pole that tented his pants, making me moan in response.

For the next several minutes this was our only conversation
: no words, only animal noises of need and gratification. I mewed like a kitten as he cupped my breast and squeezed it –at first gently and fiercely a moment later. I yelped when he pinched my hard, swollen nipples. I whimpered when he put his mouth to my neck, nibbling delicately here and there, as if sample my flesh before he selected a spot where he would dine in earnest. I screeched like a bird caught by a cat when he finally did bite and worry my skin between his teeth. 

My core
burned like the deep recesses of a volcano. My panties were sopping. I couldn’t bear to wait any longer. I yearned to impale myself on his stern, steely shaft. “Take me,” I whispered. “Oh, please take me and fuck me.”

He didn’t answer,
but his roving hands suddenly stopped their movement. Instead, he put one arm around my shoulders and with the other slowly stroked my hair. That was fine for later but right then I didn’t want to be held or tenderly touched. I wanted to be seized and taken, pounded to jelly. If he wouldn’t climb on top of me, I’d stay where I was and ride
him
. I slipped out of his embrace and slid down to the fly of his jeans, fumbling with the zipper.

His answer to this
was short and full of command.

“No.”
He reached down and effortlessly flipped me off him and onto my side. I wanted to bawl. “Don’t say no,” I begged. “Please, please, fuck me! I can’t stand it!”

His tone was firm and final. “Not here. Not now.”

I wriggled free of his grasp and climbed back on top, one hand stroking his face, the other rubbing his erection. “No!” I shrieked, almost hysterically. “You want me!
Take
me! Now!”

I heard Juanito’s voice ask something in Spanish. Rock said something back in a reassuring tone.
He put his hands on my waist and pulled me off. He turned on his side to face me. I stared silently into his piercing blue eyes, aroused and angry.

“I
want you,” he said quietly, his voice firm as before but tempered with a touch of gentleness. “I have from the start. I want to make love to you, but when I do, I want to do it in a better space and at our own pace,
not
in a cramped truck sleeper. And
not
in a rush to be done before we get where we’re going. And
not
with an audience. I want it to be something for both of us to remember and treasure.” He paused. “Do you understand?
”

I understood and I was touched
– no, more than that, I was moved, filled with admiration and even a little awe at the man’s self-control.
Women
were the ones who said “slow down” and “not here,” not men, who seemed to be unable to check themselves when their goaty natures took over. He was right of course, but lying next to him, feeling the poke of his cock through his clothes and mine, oh, how I ached to have him
now!

But he’d made clear that was not to be. He was right of course. So we lay next to each other for the rest of the trip, side by side but only our hands touching. Fortunately, t
en excruciatingly long minutes later we reached our destination.

We climbed awkwardly out of the sleeper
into the cab and then down from the truck. Juanito and Rock gripped each other on the shoulder and shook hands. The trucker nodded at me and said something to Rock that drew a short barking laugh. Then he climbed in his cab and a moment later was back on the road.

“What did he say just now?” I asked Rock.

Rock turned to me. “Told me you were very beautiful,” he said with a straight face.

“I bet,” I said in a passable imitation of Min’s tart tone, which made him laugh.

We watched the truck rumble out of sight. “How much did you pay him?” I asked.

“Not enough,” Rock replied. “Not nearly enough.”

I marveled at the people of this country. Would an American trucker have risked prison for somebody he’d met only hours before? Even for money? I thought it unlikely. On the other hand, in the US a cop was usually just that and not somebody moonlighting for a gang. I was looking forward to being back home, where life was less exciting but infinitely safer.

Dawn was near.
The sky was paling and the stars winking out. I put the scarf over my hair, which didn’t hide it but made it less conspicuous, and we walked across the parking lot to the café. Rock opened the door for me and I was greeted by the aroma of coffee and bacon. Waitresses scurried about with steaming trays of eggs and tacos. The room was loud with conversation and crowded with truckers grabbing an early breakfast. Diners were sharing tables and Rock displayed an easy affability that soon had us seated with three men in bill caps. They politely tipped their caps to me, though the leering look in their eyes was anything but polite. I was getting used to that.

“What do you want?” Rock asked me.

“Two eggs over easy and whatever comes with that.”

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please. Cream, no sugar.”

Half an hour later, we were full of food not as inspired as our meal at
Cocina China de García
but hot and agreeably greasy. I mopped my plate with a piece of toast while Rock chatted with our companions. None of them could give us a lift but they directed Rock to someone at another table, a thin man with long black hair plaited in a braid. Rock strolled over and since there was no free chair, squatted beside the other. They talked a little and at one point the trucker turned to glance at me. A minute later Rock returned to our table.

“Got us a ride,” he
told me. He gave a big, grateful grin to our fellow diners.
“Gracias, amigos!”
They waved their hands in dismissal.
“De nada.”
Anything for a friend.

Once again I marveled at the difference
between the taciturn man who rescued me and the jovial good old boy who so easily inserted himself into a roomful of strangers.

“So he’ll take us to Cosalo?” I asked.

“Not so
loud,” he said quietly. “Tell you later. Finish up. Jorge’s leaving in just a few minutes.” I took a final bite of toast and drained my coffee. Rock put a tip on the table and we said goodbye to our fellow diners who again tipped their hats to me as they openly ogled my breasts. Rock paid the cashier and we went outside to wait for Jorge in the orange light of a breaking dawn.

“I told them we were looking for a ride to Morales,” said Rock. “That’s a town about twenty miles beyond Co
salo.”

“You don’t trust them?”

“I trust them but I’d just as soon they don’t know where we’re really bound. Ten minutes after we leave, maybe two cops will come in for a bite talking about the redheaded American girl. These aren’t the kind of guys that go out of their way to help the law but you never know. Twenty to one it’s a needless precaution but you take enough chances and sooner or later that twenty-to-one shot happens.”

He
suddenly dug in his pocket. “Got a call.” He pulled out his phone.
“Hola, Tío! Cómo estás, viejo?”
He stepped off the café porch for better reception just as Jorge emerged from the diner. He wore a straw Stetson hat with a small feather tucked in the band, a playful touch at odds with a face that seemed set in a perpetual frown of gloom. Rock saw him and waved. I assumed Rock didn’t want Jorge hearing whatever instructions he was giving Tío Luis. I had no Spanish but flirting was a universal language. I gave him a big smile
. “Hola, señor!”
I said brightly. “Are you going to drive us?” I mimed holding a steering wheel.

He was a man clearly not used to smiling, but he made an effort for a pretty girl and showed some teeth.
“Sí, voy a llevarte.”

“In your truck?” I said. An inane question but I was grasping for small talk.

“Qué?"
he said, puzzled.

“Y
ou know, TRUCKKK,” I repeated. I again mimed steering and made engine noises.
“Rrrrr… rrrrr!”

I could see he was wondering if I might be
retarded. “
Sí, en mi camión,”
he said, speaking slowly and carefully.

“
Camee-un?” I said, deliberately botching the pronunciation. “Truck?
Rrrrr… rrrrr.”

He corrected me
. “Cah-mee-
own
.”

“Cah-MEE-own?”

“No, cah-mee-OWN.”

“Cah-mee-OWN,” I repeated.

“
Sí, perfecto.”

I suspected I was far from perfect but
he probably wanted a way out of this conversation with a girl of dubious intelligence. Happily for both of us, Rock joined us, heartily shaking Jorge’s hand and introducing me. Jorge tipped his hat impatiently and got down to business.
“Vamos a tener el dinero.”
Rock pulled out his wallet. Money changed hands and we proceeded to Jorge’s vehicle, not a mammoth like Juanito’s but a smaller delivery van.

There was no sleeper, which
relieved me and no doubt Rock as well. I sat between him and Jorge. The trip was uneventful, the two men chatting for most of the ride. Two hours later, Jorge let us out at a corner in downtown Cosalo, a busy, medium-sized town. I looked around but saw no car repair shop. “Where’s your friend’s garage?”

“Couple of blocks from here,” said Rock. “
Jorge’s all right but I’d just as soon he didn’t know where we’re going.” He pointed to an alley. “I want to keep off the street. We’ll follow that to the garage.”

Alleys
were dark, dirty and dangerous, but in Rock’s presence, I walked down this one as secure as if I traveled in an armored car. We briskly strode past dumpsters and idling trucks, stepping around puddles.

“What were you and Jorge talking about?” I asked.

“Soccer. I keep up with the teams. In this country, soccer’s bigger than basketball and football combined. You can start a conversation anywhere if you follow the game. What about you? The two of you were chatting up a storm while I was on the phone. How did you manage that without knowing Spanish.”

“
Nothing really. Mostly how to say ‘truck’ in Spanish. I figured you didn’t want him overhearing whatever you were telling Tío Luis, so I just distracted him with dumb questions.”

He looked at me with surprise and something like regard.
“Smart girl.”

I beamed. “What kind of a name is
Tío, by the way?”

“Not a name. Means ‘uncle.’”

“He’s your uncle?”

“Not by blood but
every other way. Been in my life
all
my life. Good old man. I was in a bad way when I came down here. He helped me get myself straightened out.”

I wanted to know more but that was something to leave until later. If
Rock wanted me to know, he would tell me in his own time. And then I had an alarming thought. Once he got me to Hermosillo, Rock might well vanish from my life! In fact, he probably
would
. We were two people thrown together by chance. Only the need to see me safe in the American consulate was holding him to me. Otherwise, we were worlds apart. Yes, we were pulled sexually to each other, but that wasn’t enough to keep us together. Rock had the kind of rugged masculinity that made girls swoon. Once I was out of his life, there’s be another girl. I didn’t like that thought one bit.