Sasha’s POV
I called him the second my shift ended. Voice shaky. Legs still weak from what he did to me behind the counter. He answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” was all he said.
“Still at the diner.”
“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
Fifteen minutes later his black truck pulled up in the empty lot. I climbed in without a word. The cab smelled like him—sawdust, motor oil, clean male sweat. He didn’t speak on the drive. Just reached over, put his big hand high on my thigh, and squeezed once. Hard. I spread my legs a little wider without thinking. His thumb brushed the damp lace between them once, then nothing. Torture.
His apartment is above the hardware store on the corner of 5th and Main. Narrow stairs. Door that sticks. He unlocks it one-handed, the other still grippin
