Chapter 3: Workbench
Kane shut the truck door behind us and locked it. The garage was dark except for one long fluorescent light buzzing over the far bay. Tools hung on the walls. An old workbench sat against the concrete, scarred with oil stains and scratches.
He didn’t give me time to look around.
His hand closed around my wrist and he pulled me straight to the workbench. The second we reached it he spun me, pressed my chest down against the cold wood, and kicked my feet apart.
“Jeans,” he said. “All the way down.”
I shoved them to my ankles. My underwear went with them. The air hit my bare skin and I shivered. Behind me I heard his belt hit the floor and the sound of him pushing his own jeans lower.
Then I felt him.
The thick head of his d**k dragged up the length of my p***y, sl
