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He didn’t speak, merely leaned across the center console and kissed me—tenderly at first, but quickly growing in urgency. I bit his lips, and he chuckled again. He dropped his hand and grasped the hem of my skirt, tugging it until it bunched in my lap. His agile fingers bypassed my stockings and went straight for my pussy, like its heat called to them. I spread my legs as far as the steering column would allow, and I thought I heard him murmur in appreciation when he discovered my soaked panties. They provided no barrier to his delicious assault, for he wove his fingers beneath them, pulling them into the crack of my ass as his wrist stretched the flimsy satin. I bucked against his hand, wanting—needing—him to fuck me with it. I may’ve begged. It wouldn’t surprise me. My head was swimming with a desire so intense that it made me dizzy. I took my white-knuckled left hand from its death grip on the steering wheel and grabbed his bicep, pulling toward me until I finally felt a finger. She’d lived for three days, but her injuries were too severe and she’d died. Unlike a lot of families in that part of the country, hers was a small family. Her father’s people had been from upstate somewhere, she wasn’t sure where, and she’d never had much interest in them anyway, nor had they expressed much desire to have a relationship with her. Her mom just had her one brother, Martin. Renee herself had been an only child, so when her mom died, her aunt and uncle and her two cousins were the only family she had left. Renee had always turned to them for advice, and they had usually been right, even when she ignored them, as she did when she married Danny Pryor. He was from Pascagoula, he worked in the shipyard there, and they had met at a nightclub. Danny had swept Renee off her feet, literally. He was good-looking, always seemed to have a lot of cash, had a garrulous personality, and before long they were seeing a lot of each other. It shouldn’t be surprising, then, that she came.
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