Mother Trucker (Crownville Truckers Book 1)

by Moxie Darling

  That didn’t mean he could be her prince. An animal was still an animal no matter how soft its paws were.

  Looking up at her, he slid his hand beneath her T-shirt until he found her bare breast, dragging his thumb across her nipple as if he had every right to. She bit her lip on a gasp, and he used his free hand to yank her zipper. She began trembling as he pulled down her cutoffs, his fingertips grazing her thighs.

  He’d been expecting panties, but she wore none. He clenched his jaw and tore his hat off, pulling her to his mouth, nuzzling her curls. She let out a surprised breath, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

  “Let me,” he demanded. His cock strained in his jeans. All he had to do was lick. She was right there. Sweet pussy ready for his tongue. But this was about asking not taking.

  “Okay,” she said again, her voice unsteady.

  He pressed his lips to her, breathing in the scent with a groan. Hell, she was beautiful everywhere. She whimpered, her fingers clumsy as she instinctively grabbed his hair. He licked her and nearly came himself. He teased her in tight, wet circles, sliding and dipping, his beard rasping her inner thighs, and her gasps and whimpers made his heart pound. She made his heart pound. “Has any man ever tasted you here?” he demanded, kissing her clit and rolling it under his tongue. When she only cried out, pulling his hair to the point of pain, he grinned and did it again. “Answer me.”

  “No,” she breathed, her entire body trembling. “Never.”

  The confirmation made the savage inside him roar. He was the first in all ways. Him.

  Be the last, the savage growled. She’s yours.

  Clyde growled, too, and pulled away only long enough to finish taking off her cutoffs. “Down,” he told her. “I want to see your legs spread.”

  She was breathing hard and looked positively overcome with sensation, but she nodded and did as he said. Pulling his T-shirt off and throwing it aside, he crawled over her and paused, taking in the sight she made. She was like something out of this world. Certainly out of his world. Out of his league. She lay on the tattered old quilt, the pale moonlight shining down on her. Her nipples strained beneath her T-shirt, and her eyes were big and green, her cheeks pink and lovely. Despite him just having had his tongue inside her, she had her long legs closed, her hands shyly covering what he most wanted to see.

  “You realize you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, right?” he asked, taking a heart-pounding moment to push a strand of hair off her cheek.

  She turned her face as if embarrassed.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Take your hair down.”

  She did, pulling out the band and letting the auburn waves spill over the quilt. She gazed at him like an angel, touching his jaw. “I’m glad it was you.”

  Though his heart stumbled at her words, he moved to take off her boots. “You shouldn’t be,” he said, pausing to kiss the delicate arch of one foot. “But I am.”

  “Clyde,” she said, sadness tingeing her voice, but she giggled when he nipped her heel before moving on to the second boot. “Things don’t have to be perfect to be perfect.”

  “You’re perfect.” He tossed the boot. “Now spread your legs.”

  She hesitated.

  He leaned in and nipped her knee with his teeth. “Do it or I will.”

  “You’re a dog,” she said with a breathless laugh.

  “You have no idea.” He kissed the skin he’d nipped, using his tongue. “Do it.”

  Though she was beautifully shy in her movements, she obeyed. He gazed down at what she offered. Pale, slender legs open like a gift. Sweet, bare pussy waiting for his kiss, his fingers, his cock. “I’d keep you like this forever,” he said, and then he crawled between her legs and made her feel good with his tongue.

  She gasped, arching her back and fisting the quilt. “Clyde.”

  He teased her. Worshipped her. Loved her. He got drunk on her whimpers and moans, and every time she breathed his name, all he could think was mine.

  She’s mine.

  He groaned as he found her slippery slit with his fingers and penetrated her, possessing her. She made a sweet, feminine sound and bit her bottom lip, unconsciously spreading her legs wider for him and her hand going to her breast. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, and he rewarded her by sucking gently on her clit and adding a second finger, working them in slow and deep. Her thighs trembled, and she turned her face into the quilt, her mouth open as she let out quivering breaths. God, he loved how she responded to his touch. As if it stole her inhibitions. Consumed her. Freed her. As if he was the only man in the world who could give her what she needed.

  When she came, she arched, fisting his hair, and he gripped her hip to hold her in place, praising her tender clit with his tongue and slowing his fingers inside her to a gentle in and out.

  “Oh, God,” she breathed, her unsteady voice echoing around the trailer. “Oh … God.”

  He smiled and kissed his way up her navel, shoving her T-shirt up as he went. “Like that?”

  Still breathing hard, she nodded. “It was …”

  As she searched for words, he claimed her mouth, licking into it as he bared her breast, squeezing the soft mound and dragging his thumb over the nipple. She moaned and kissed him back, wrapping her legs around him. Though they were unzipped, his jeans were still on, and only a layer of denim kept his dick from her pussy. He groaned, reaching between them to shove down his jeans. The heat of her so close momentarily distracted him, and he paused to slide his two fingers back inside her. She felt too good. “You’re so wet for me,” he said between kisses. “So ready.”

  “Please,” she whimpered.

  Nothing had ever cranked him harder than hearing her beg for his cock. Heart pounding, he dug the condom out of his pocket. Tearing the wrapper with his teeth, he rolled the thing on his aching shaft, holding her gaze as he did. Tossing the wrapper, he positioned himself and then pushed in. They both cried out, and he gripped her thigh as he held himself inside her. Her nails dug into his back, and she trembled beneath him. It took all his willpower to hold still. “Okay?” he demanded, breathing hard against her throat.

  “Yes,” she said, reaching down to squeeze his ass, pulling him in deeper. “Please … Clyde.”

  His willpower dissolved, and the animal took over. He began fucking her good, his breath coming out in harsh grunts. “Anything for you,” he said, kissing her throat, nipping the skin there before licking the pain away. “Anything.”

  She whimpered each time he penetrated her, her grip on his ass tight, as if afraid he’d stop. As if that was possible. Taking his mouth from her throat, he found her nipple and sucked it in, rolling his tongue over the tight bud. She gasped, her back arching off the quilt. He released her nipple and pulled back enough to watch her. Unlike the raw, angry fucking at the creek, this was brutal in a different way. A sweeter way. She was the perfect shoreline for his crashing wave. She ebbed and flowed with him, yielding to his power yet devastating him with her own. They pushed and pulled, two forces of nature. Two tempests becoming one hurricane. And their hearts beat together in the eye of the storm.

  He came so hard that a ragged cry tore from his throat, his iron fingers fisting the quilt beside her head. She clung to him, her breath harsh in his ear and her arms tight around his sweat-slick back. His chest heaved as he emptied, his thighs straining as he tried to get deeper inside her. They were tangled and breathless and shaking, and he’d never felt more alive. He looked down at her, pushing her damp, wild hair off her flushed cheek. She stared up at him with eyes on fire, so beautiful it hurt. Words rose to his tongue—words he had no business thinking or saying—and he swallowed them, kissing her instead. The hunger behind it seemed to surprise her, and she moaned, raising her chin to meet him push for push. He claimed her mouth with his tongue, owning it for as long as he could, holding her warm cheek too tight. She didn’t seem to notice or care and did some claiming of her own, her fingers spearing into his sweaty hai
r.

  “I don’t know how to be anything but rough,” he managed against her lips, groaning when she added her tongue to their kissing.

  “I want you like this,” she breathed. “I need you like this.”

  His heart soared, but he said, “That’s because you don’t know any better.”

  “I know it feels good.” She tightened her fingers in his hair as if to punish him. “That’s all I need to know.”

  “I won’t let you go,” he growled, kissing her. “If you stay, you’ll be mine, Mae. You hear me? I’ll go fucking insane otherwise.”

  Despite his seriousness, she laughed breathlessly. “You just won’t leave anything to chance, will you?”

  “Not when it comes to this,” he said, pinching her nipple in reprimand. “Not when it comes to you.”

  She gasped and then bit her lip. “You’ve only known me for two days. You may not want me come next week, let alone forever.”

  He shoved his hand under her T-shirt, finding her neglected breast and baring it, too. “I’m telling you what I know,” he said, leaning down to give it a quick, firm suck, drawing a cry from her. “I don’t know how long forever will be, but if we don’t go our separate ways, you’ll be mine. Nobody else’s. Mine. You understand?”

  Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed, but she said, “I understand.”

  With his hand still under her T-shirt, he gripped her throat. “Do you?”

  Her mouth parted, and she gazed at him, the pose so beautifully vulnerable. “I do.”

  And she did. He could see it in her eyes. She knew it and she accepted it. Satisfaction roared inside him, and he rewarded her with a kiss that took her breath away.

  “Good,” he said, grinning against her lips. “I would’ve had to hogtie you.”

  She laughed. He stole it with his mouth.

  And their storm raged on into the night.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Love’s Travel Stop

  Newton, Iowa

  It was the best month of Mae’s life. And it was everything her ma would have wanted it to be. The days were filled with open road, and the nights were a glittering blur of passing cities. The rig became Mae’s home. Clyde became her home. Sometimes, they drove nonstop, hauling load after load across state lines, and other times, the breakneck pace slowed for a breath, and they would visit Rose.

  But, always, Mae and Clyde were tangled in each other.

  Touching, talking, kissing, learning. He talked about his dream of building a house that didn’t have wheels, and she talked about her dream of becoming a cosmetologist. They fell in love somewhere between Indiana and Kentucky. It was the kind of love that burned in the bones and clawed the heart. The kind that you never recovered from. The kind that you didn’t want to.

  She’d had no choice but to love him. Between the way he touched her and the way he smiled—as if only she could chase away the shadows in his eyes—she hadn’t stood a chance. And she had been a willing victim.

  He still saw himself as unworthy, of course. A man made unlovable by his many flaws, but she knew the truth. He was a broken wheel, but he still turned. And weren’t they all broken in some way? God knew she was. Unlike him, she wasn’t blinded to his goodness. Unlike him, she saw the way he spent an hour searching for the perfect souvenir for Rose. Or the way he helped an aging trucker change a tire alongside the road and refused payment. Or the way he kissed Mae so deep and so sweet that she saw stars. He was more than his past, and it was a dark and beautiful challenge every day making him see that.

  Lying in the sleeper beside him, she gazed at his rugged, handsome face. He lay on his back, the rumpled sheet shoved indecently low, giving her an amazing view of his chest and more. A glimpse of dark hair tempted her to pull the sheet off altogether. God, he was something. He had the body of a man who was used to manual labor. Lean, cut, and hard in all the right places. It was his hands she loved most, though. They were calloused and weathered, but when they touched her, they became reverent and devastating. He could do things with those working man’s hands that felt so good they should probably be illegal.

  She gazed at one hand now, trailing her fingertips over it. It rested on her breast as if even in sleep he needed to touch her. Possess her. She smiled, thinking of the roads life had taken her down over the past weeks. She was living her ma’s dream, and Mae was coming to realize that it was her own dream, too. While there was something to be said for growing roots, there was also something to be said for freedom. For nomads. Explorers. Adventurers. The highway was like an addiction. It could take you anywhere. Show you anything. Every state, every town, was uniquely beautiful. Some more than others. They’d had lunch at Hillbilly Hotdogs in West Virginia and dessert at the Family Donut Shoppe in Ohio. With Ken on her lap, they’d watched a sunrise like she’d never seen in Vermont, and they’d driven through Vegas at night. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the lights.

  She knew one day soon she’d have to decide where to go from here. Her stash of money wouldn’t last forever, and she refused to let him pay her way. But, for now, she was content to let the what-ifs go unanswered. She wanted to explore the unknown for just a little while longer. Explore Clyde and his dark, damaged heart.

  Quietly extracting herself from his hold, she climbed out of bed, shimmying into her shorts. As she pulled on her T-shirt, she grinned. In her absence, he’d rolled over and thrown his arm across Ken, who was curled in a cozy ball amidst the sheets. Ken stretched but otherwise made no attempt to move. She let them be. It was early yet, and Clyde didn’t need to be up for another hour and a half.

  Making her way into the cab as quietly as possible, she grabbed her satchel and got out. Hopping down onto the gravel, she closed the passenger’s door and yawned, gazing around the lot. They were somewhere in Iowa. She’d fallen asleep last night after they’d crossed the state line. The red and yellow sign rising above the pumps and into the early morning fog declared Love’s Travel Stop, and as she started for the building, the scent of hot cakes and hash browns met her nose.

  She started to smile, but a wave of nausea rose up in her so strong she nearly vomited right there on the gravel. Drawing to an abrupt stop, she brought her fist to her mouth.

  “What fresh hell,” she breathed, eyeing the distance to the truck stop. There were no visible doors other than the main entrance, so that meant the restrooms were inside the building. If she ran, she might be able to make it. Even though the lot wasn’t yet a hive of activity, she didn’t relish the idea of some early bird watching her hurl last night’s dinner in plain sight. Keeping her fist at her mouth, she ran for the building, her footfalls sounding too loud. The door chimed as she went inside, and she slowed to a brisk walk, her satchel bouncing against her hip.

  “Morning,” the cashier called cheerily.

  Mae managed something between a smile and a grimace as she rushed past, her gaze locked on the RESTROOMS sign up ahead. Praying it was unoccupied, she tore open the door and careened inside. She didn’t make it to a stall. The long granite sink was closer, and she grabbed the edge just in time to vomit.

  Enthusiastically.

  By the time she finished, her elbows trembled as she held herself above the basin. Struggling to catch her breath, she thought about the lasagna they’d gotten from a mom-and-pop diner last night. It must have been bad, she thought.

  And retched again.

  Ten years later, she straightened and rinsed out her mouth, then the sink. She would never, ever eat lasagna again as long as she lived. What she would do was buy some Saltines and ginger ale for the rig in case the stomach-churning lasagna had done the same to Clyde.

  Even after washing her face and brushing her teeth, she felt only marginally better when she walked out of the restroom. Locating the crackers, ginger ale, and some cat food for Ken, she made her way to the counter, wondering if she should invest in some Pepto-Bismol, too.

  Setting down the items, she had to pause as another wave of nausea
rolled over her. It wasn’t as severe as the first—thank God—and she was able to endure it while she dug her wallet out of her satchel.

  The older woman manning the register gave her a knowing smile and rang up the sale. “How far along are you, sugar?”

  May looked at her in surprise. “What?”

  The cashier eyed her with amusement. “You’re expecting, ain’t you?”

  Mae’s head felt like it was suddenly full of cotton balls. “Expecting what?”

  Laughing and looking slightly puzzled, the cashier said, “A baby, naturally.”

  “No,” Mae began. “I … it was bad lasagna.”

  “Oh, I just assumed,” she said sheepishly, bagging the last item. “I do that. Husband used to say it’ll get me into trouble someday. He was probably right.”

  Mae’s smile was wooden. “It’s okay.”

  Oblivious to the turmoil inside her, the cashier continued chatting until Mae took her bag and left. Outside in the early gloom, she stopped a few feet from the door and stood there, staring into the lot.

  It couldn’t be.

  She desperately tried to recall her last period.

  And couldn’t.

  The last month and a half had been such a blur she hadn’t even stopped to consider it. It must have been sometime before she’d left Shifty’s.