The drive back was eventful. His hand found mine in the dark of the backseat.
The two guards in the front sat the way they always sat — backs straight, eyes forward, existing in that particular professional way that meant we are furniture, we see nothing, we hear nothing, we will take this to our graves.
I had a hard time focusing on the road.
We had stopped at a red light. Frank's hand brushed against my thigh, moving up my p***y slowly, deliberately, like a man who had decided something at dinner and was done waiting to act on it.
I looked at him.
He looked straight ahead.
I looked at the back of the guards' heads.
Furniture. Completely furniture. I looked back at Frank.
I returned the energy.
I rubbed his d**k through his pants and felt him respond immediately, unzipped them an
