Page 7 of Stranded
He rounded the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Buckle up.”
“Do I have to? The seatbelt’s gonna wrinkle my top.”
“Are you going to question every order I give?”
“Maybe stop barking orders at me.” I yanked the seat belt and snapped it into place. “You’re no longer in the Marines, andI’m not a member of your platoon. I’m your stepson. As much as you don’t want me to be.”
“A six-year-old child knows the first thing to do is put on their seat belt when they get into a vehicle. I don’t have the time to babysit you, Aiden. Grow the fuck up already. You’re not a kid anymore.”
The RV came to life. Jackson backed out of the driveway like an expert. I stared at his capable hands on the steering wheel. Tattoos lined his fingers, and on his left hand, he wore not a wedding band but a heavy ring stamped with the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor. His movements were sure and steady. Nothing at all like the man who’d first returned home, injured and soulless after watching half the men in his platoon die.
Jackson switched on the radio, but instead of tuning into a music station, he flipped to one where they were talking sports. So much for trying to be civil. Sports didn’t interest me in the least.
I popped in my earbuds and curled up in my corner to start my week of ignoring him.
The sky was wide open;a vivid orange sunset stretched across the horizon. The ground was so dry that only the tall Joshua trees had a chance of surviving. The air outside had cooled significantly since we first left home but still felt hot and sticky, like pure Mojave desert, so we kept the windows up and the A/C on blast.
Jackson refused to take a break even to eat because he wanted to get to our first stop before nightfall. Instead, he threw the tuna melt sandwiches Mom had prepared at me. My ass wascramped, and my back ached. When a sign for an RV park came into view, my heart soared.
Finally.
But Jackson drove on by.
“What the hell, Jackson?” I cried. “Aren’t we stopping?”
“Not here. I know a place where no one will disturb us.”
“How far away is this place? I can’t feel my ass.”
“An hour.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Mind your language. You’re not too old for me to put you over my knees.”
I sucked in a deep breath, my gaze latching on to his big, scarred hands. An image of said hands slapping my bare ass flashed through my mind, and I shook my head as if that would dispel the picture.
Shit, what was I thinking?
I gazed out the window, but my cock wouldn’t let me forget that the image he’d prompted in my mind excited me.
Big deal. It was a fluke. I liked my ass spanked. That was all. It had nothing at all to do withhim.I hated him. He was one odious creature I couldn’t wait to get away from.
Which was exactly what I did when, an hour and fifteen minutes later, he stopped in the middle of nowhere.
“Hey, where are you going?” he called when I jumped down from the cab.
“Gonna stretch my legs and work the feeling back into my ass.”
“Don’t go too far. Wouldn’t want you to get lost. Or eaten by coyotes.”
“Oh, I think that’s exactly what you’d want,” I grumbled and set off.
Despite being angry at him for driving for all these hours without giving me a break, I wasn’t stupid enough to walk too faron my own. I kept the RV in sight and walked around, wriggling and slapping my ass.
I shoved my hands into the waistband of my skirt, pulled it down, and squeezed for all the blood to flow back to where it should be. A sound behind me startled me, and I jerked my head around. Jackson stood a few feet away from me, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He stared at my naked ass. Well, not completely naked. I still had my thong on.
His face had turned red. So red the scars on his skin stood out even more. A vein in his forehead throbbed. Feeling mischievous, I kept kneading.
