DON’T STOP

Taking her innocence 8

Ryder

She whispered “Deal” like it was fragile, like saying it louder might shatter the whole thing. I let the word hang between us for a second, tasting it. My hand was still resting on her thigh, thumb brushing idle circles over the soft skin just above her knee. Her skirt was smoothed back down now, but the heat of what we’d just done still lingered in the cab like smoke.

I cleared my throat and kept my voice low. “I guess you saying ‘deal’ means you actually agree to my… arrangement.”

Her eyes widened. She turned to me fast, like I’d caught her off guard. “Arrangement?”

I gave a small shrug, trying to keep it light even though my chest felt tight. “I mean, it’s now a deal between us. You’ll help me in my s*x life, and I’ll help you explore yours. We end it the minute it’s time for you to leave. We won’t act like it ever happened. Besides, once you leave, I’ll also leave.”

She swallowed softly. I watched her throat work, watched the way her lips parted just a fraction. “Leave? Where?”

I gave her a small, brief smile. “I’ll leave this town. Delaney and I are planning to move to Costa Rica.”

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. She whispered an “ohh” so quietly I almost missed it. Something shifted in her eyes—surprise, maybe disappointment. It twisted in my gut. I hadn’t expected that look. Hadn’t expected it to hit me like it did.

I tried to steer us back to safer ground. “Do you want to look at the ranch, since we aren’t too busy? Leaving now would make Delaney find out we didn’t do anything at the ranch today.”

She sighed softly. It wasn’t a normal sigh. It carried weight, like she was carrying something heavier than the air between us. I could tell something was wrong.

“What is it?” I asked, turning fully toward her now.

She hesitated. “Can I think about this first? I’m not actually entirely agreeing to… this. This deal we talked about, I mean.”

I understood. Hell, I more than understood. She’d just come apart in my hands for the first time, and here I was laying out terms like a business contract. Of course she needed space. Of course she wasn’t ready to sign on the dotted line.

After a brief silence, I nodded. “Okay. If you don’t want this, I’ll survive.”

I meant it. I’d survived worse. Years of nothing. Years of telling myself I didn’t need anyone or anything. But the thought of her walking away from this—whatever this was—before it even really started… that stung more than I wanted to admit.

“So,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even, “you want to check out the ranch?”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. “No,” she whispered. Barely audible.

Now I was troubled. Really troubled. The silence stretched again, thicker this time. I watched her reach into her bag, pull out her phone, and start scrolling on t****k. She leaned her head back against the windshield, legs curled up on the bench seat, looking small and distant all of a sudden.

I stared at her profile—the curve of her cheek, the way her lashes cast shadows, the soft glow of the screen lighting her face. She was beautiful, even when she was pulling away. Especially when she was pulling away.

My fingers itched to reach over, to brush her hair behind her ear, to ask what was really going through her head. But I didn’t. I’d already pushed enough today. She needed room to breathe, to think, to decide if she wanted any part of the mess I was offering.

So I just sat there. Engine off, the sun slanting lower through the oaks. Dust motes floating in the light between us.

I watched her scroll. Video after video. Laughter from the phone speakers, music, quick cuts of people dancing or cooking or living lives that looked easy and uncomplicated. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Just stared at the screen like it was a lifeline.

Hours later, and I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I was still hard. Achingly so. The kind of hard that made every shift in the seat feel like torture, every brush of denim against skin a reminder of what I’d started and hadn’t finished. I kept my hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the horizon even though we weren’t moving yet. What the hell was I supposed to do? Step out of the truck, walk behind some oak tree like a teenager, and take care of it myself? Leave her sitting here alone after everything we’d just done? No. Not happening.

I checked my wristwatch again. 3:00 p.m. on the dot. Time had crawled, stretched thin by silence and the low hum of her phone videos until even that had gone quiet.

Her screen went dark. She let out a soft, frustrated sigh and looked up at me.

“Can I get a charger?” she asked, voice gentle, almost shy again. “My battery is down,” she added, tilting the phone toward me like the black screen was proof I could somehow magic electricity into it.

I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand, trying to focus on anything besides the persistent throb between my legs. “I didn’t bring it out today.” I paused, glancing at her. “But aren’t you hungry? We could go grab something in town.”

“No,” she said quietly. Firm. No room for argument.

I scoffed under my breath, more at myself than at her. Then nodded. “Alright. We should head home now. 3 p.m. isn’t that bad. Delaney won’t find it suspicious.”

I adjusted my cowboy hat, tugging the brim lower like it could shade me from my own thoughts. Then I turned the key. The engine rumbled awake, vibrating through the bench seat and straight into my bones. I shifted into reverse, one arm draped over the back of the seat as I looked behind us, guiding the truck slowly back onto the track.

That’s when her voice slipped in—soft, hesitant, but clear enough to stop my heart for a second.

“You’re hard.”

I froze. Foot on the brake. Truck still rolling backward at a crawl. My eyes snapped to her.

She was looking right at me. Not at my face—at my lap. Then up again, cheeks pink, but her gaze steady. Curious. Maybe a little bold. Like she’d been thinking about it the whole time she was scrolling.

I exhaled through my nose, slowly, trying to keep my voice even. “Yeah. I am.”