Sasha’s POV
We can’t stop. Don’t even try.
Every night now it’s the same hunger. Quick. Dirty. Stolen in whatever corner we can find. My shift ends at two a.m., and he’s always there—somewhere close, waiting. No texts. No plans. Just the pull between us that never lets up.
One night, rain threatening but not falling yet, I step out the back door of the diner. His black truck is parked at the far end of the lot, engine off, tinted windows dark as sin. I don’t hesitate. Walk straight over, open the back door, climb in.
He’s already in the backseat. Shirt unbuttoned, jeans unzipped, c**k hard and waiting in his fist.
No hello.
I straddle the seat facing the front, knees on the leather. He yanks my leggings down just past my ass—rough, impatient. The fabric bunches at my thighs. He doesn
