Epilogue

Six months later

London

The road unfurlslike a gray ribbon before us, the countryside a blur of greens and golds as Bronx"s truck eats up the miles. I can"t help but laugh, the sound whipped away by the wind that tugs playfully at my pink hair. Freedom feels like this—hair wild, sun warm on my skin, and jokes spilling from my lips.

"…and then he said, "That"s not a chicken, that"s my date!"" I finish the punchline, and Bronx"s laughter rumbles in his chest, a deep, contagious sound.

"London, I love you, you silly girl," he says, the corners of his dark eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. His casual grip on the steering wheel, those calloused hands that speak of hard work and long roads, make him look so at ease in this life we"ve stumbled into together.

I glance down at the sketchbook resting in my lap, my fingers itching to capture this moment, but I resist. Some memories are better etched in the mind than on paper.

"Your turn. Storytime, Bronx," I urge, leaning back against the worn seat, feeling the vibrations of the engine through my body.

He starts a tale about a hitchhiker and a lost dog, his voice a low drawl that meshes with the hum of the tires on asphalt. There"s a comfort in the way he speaks, a rhythm that lulls me into a sense of security. As the story unfolds, I find myself watching him more than the passing scenery—those weathered features that tell a thousand untold tales.

Then, as if sensing my gaze, Bronx turns to me. His hand leaves the steering wheel for just a second, reaching across the space between us. He squeezes my hand with a gentleness that belies his burly frame. My heart stutters, skips, and then resumes at double time. It"s such a simple gesture, yet it sets my entire body alight with warmth.

Our eyes lock, and the world seems to still. In that shared look, there"s an acknowledgment of something brewing beneath the surface—a spark that"s been kindled since the day he first offered me a ride.

"Watch the road, cowboy," I tease.

Bronx grins, that roguish smile that does funny things to my insides. "Only if you keep telling me your stories, darlin"," he counters.

"Deal," I say, squeezing his hand back.

Silence falls between us, but it's a comfortable one.

The sun is a warm kiss on our skin, the wind a playful caress through our hair. The endless ribbon of road unravels before us, inviting and uncharted. Bronx"s laughter fades into the background hum of the engine as I watch him, this man who is both my sanctuary and my storm.

"Something on your mind, London?" he asks, voice teasing but eyes focused on the road.

"Plenty," I reply, feeling that familiar pull in my belly, a blend of reckless desire and something sweeter, deeper. He turns his head, just a fraction, enough to catch my heated gaze with his own.

I shift in my seat, a deliberate motion, closing the space between us. His hand falls away from the steering wheel for a moment, resting on my thigh. A tease. A promise. My breath hitches, and I make my decision.

"Keep your eyes on the road, big guy," I murmur, my hand moving to the zipper of his jeans. He doesn"t stop me, doesn"t even flinch, but I catch the quickening of his breath, a silent confirmation of his interest.

My fingers work quickly, deftly, freeing him from the confines of denim. The air between us charges with electricity as I lean over, my lips hovering just above his now-exposed arousal.

His cock is hard in my hand, a testament to the tension that"s been building mile after mile. Without another word, I take him into my mouth, reveling in the sharp intake of breath that escapes him.

Bronx"s hands find the steering wheel again, his grip white-knuckled and unyielding. I can feel the struggle in him, the fight for control as I take him deeper, setting a rhythm that"s as wild and untamed as the landscape blurring past us. The truck sways slightly, a dance of danger and pleasure on this deserted stretch of highway.

"Fuck, London," he groans, his voice a gravelly melody that vibrates through me. "You"re gonna make me crash."

"Then keep it steady, Daddy," I retort, my voice muffled against his skin.

The world outside is forgotten, reduced to nothing more than a backdrop to the heat that unfurls within the cab of the truck. There"s only us, only this moment where everything else falls away, and all that remains is the raw, fervent connection that binds us together on this winding, perilous road.

I lose myself in the salty taste of his cock, the steady stream of precum that leaks from its head, the sound of Bronx's strangled noises as he fights for control.

My pussy is dripping and throbbing. I don't know if I've ever been more turned on.

I"m barely finished, a breathless mess, when Bronx"s patience snaps. He pulls the truck off onto a secluded patch of grass, the engine ticking as it cools, and that"s all the warning I get before he"s on me. His hands are everywhere—rough, demanding, his need for me as raw as the growl that rumbles from deep in his chest.

"Mine," he snarls as he yanks me closer, and I can"t help the moan that escapes me. This is what I want—this primal claim that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation.

His fingers hook under my thighs, pulling them apart with an urgency that sends my heart racing. Then his mouth is on me, hot and insistent, and I"m lost to everything but the sensation of his tongue delving into the slick heat between my legs. I tangle my fingers in his salt-and-pepper hair, urging him on, my voice a litany of gasps and curses that fill the cab.

"Daddy...please," I plead, my back arching off the seat. He"s relentless, devouring me with a ferocity that has my world narrowing down to the electric pleasure sparking through every nerve ending. And then I"m coming undone, shattering against his mouth with a cry that echoes in the empty space around us.

Before I can catch my breath, he"s moving up my body, his cock hard and ready. He plunges inside me without preamble, and the fusion of our bodies is nothing short of cataclysmic. The rhythm he sets is punishing, each thrust driving deeper, igniting fires that race along my veins. My nails dig into the leather of the seat, my body straining to meet each of his powerful strokes.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunts, his voice thick with lust. Our eyes lock, and there"s something feral in his gaze, something that promises this is only the beginning.

"Harder," I command, and Bronx complies, his movements growing more frantic, more desperate. We"re both chasing that edge, teetering on the brink of oblivion, spiraling toward that explosive peak together.

And then I feel Bronx's hot heat flooding me. He roars as he comes a monsoon between my thighs. I scream as my pussy pulses widely around him, the pleasure so sweet it almost hurts.

Bronx buries his head in my neck, his chest heaving, his entire body shaking as he continues to dump cum in me until its running down my ass and dripping on the seat between us.

In the quiet aftermath, with the scent of sex heavy in the air, we don"t bother to move. Bronx"s weight is a comforting blanket over me, his breath warm against my neck.

And I know that this is all I want for the rest of my life.

Bronx, my daddy, right here in this truck.