The Cripple's Wanton Wife - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
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The engine rumbled to life as the driver shifted gears, rolling the car forward with practiced ease.
"So," Lawrence broke the silence, "where are you from?"
Eyes fixed on the road, the driver answered, "Hunan." His gaze flicked toward her—taking in her porcelain skin, full curves, and striking beauty. Interest flickered in his eyes. "What's a lady like you doing out this late?"
had been waiting for an opening. She sighed dramatically. "Ugh, my husband. We had a fight. Needed to get out before I strangled him."
The driver raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
She put on her best wounded expression. "He's a drunk. Can't hold a job, can't pay the bills. Four kids, and guess who's covering tuition? Me. Deadline's tomorrow, and we're still short five hundred. That's what started the whole mess."
Mostly true—except the part about Daniel being a drunk. In reality, he was a decent man who never raised his voice.
"Rough deal," the driver murmured. Then, casually: "But you said you were heading into the city for fun? I'm staying overnight. Since you know the area, why not show me around?" His tone was light, probing.
's pulse jumped, but she pretended to hesitate. "I can't. I need to borrow that five hundred. If I'm playing tour guide, I won't have time."
The driver eyed her. Middle-aged, but damn—still a knockout. The kind of housewife he liked. Five hundred seemed fair. "Tell you what," he offered, "I'll cover it."
shook her head. "I can't take money from a stranger. It's not right."
He chuckled. "Who said anything about paying me back? Just keep me company tonight." His gaze dropped to her chest, lingering.
flushed under his stare. "That's—no. I'm married. I have kids. Absolutely not."
"Relax," he coaxed, smooth as whiskey. "We're strangers. After tonight, poof—gone. Five hundred's nothing to sneeze at. And if you don't talk..." He shrugged. "Who'd ever know?"
bit her lip. He had a point. No wonder he was a long-haul driver—this guy had clearly done this before. A real player.
Seeing her waver, the driver smirked. Got her. His hand slid over, groping her breast. "C'mon. First time's the sweetest. No strings."
gasped as he squeezed, cheeks burning. Time to reel him in. She ducked her head, whispering, "...Okay."
The driver grinned. "That's what I like to hear. Women shouldn't tie themselves down. Life's short—try something new." He stroked her cheek.
nibbled her lip. "Y-You're right. But—eyes on the road. You're getting ahead of yourself."
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm an excellent driver." His hand slid to her thigh, kneading. "Mm. Like a pillow."
Even through fabric, he could tell. Expert hands.
let him explore, then murmured, "If you give me the cash now... I won't need to go into the city."
The driver perked up. "Perfect. Let's find somewhere private, yeah?" He eyed the dense woods lining the road—perfect for a quick detour.
rolled her eyes. "Do you always pull this move on women?"
"So," Lawrence broke the silence, "where are you from?"
Eyes fixed on the road, the driver answered, "Hunan." His gaze flicked toward her—taking in her porcelain skin, full curves, and striking beauty. Interest flickered in his eyes. "What's a lady like you doing out this late?"
had been waiting for an opening. She sighed dramatically. "Ugh, my husband. We had a fight. Needed to get out before I strangled him."
The driver raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
She put on her best wounded expression. "He's a drunk. Can't hold a job, can't pay the bills. Four kids, and guess who's covering tuition? Me. Deadline's tomorrow, and we're still short five hundred. That's what started the whole mess."
Mostly true—except the part about Daniel being a drunk. In reality, he was a decent man who never raised his voice.
"Rough deal," the driver murmured. Then, casually: "But you said you were heading into the city for fun? I'm staying overnight. Since you know the area, why not show me around?" His tone was light, probing.
's pulse jumped, but she pretended to hesitate. "I can't. I need to borrow that five hundred. If I'm playing tour guide, I won't have time."
The driver eyed her. Middle-aged, but damn—still a knockout. The kind of housewife he liked. Five hundred seemed fair. "Tell you what," he offered, "I'll cover it."
shook her head. "I can't take money from a stranger. It's not right."
He chuckled. "Who said anything about paying me back? Just keep me company tonight." His gaze dropped to her chest, lingering.
flushed under his stare. "That's—no. I'm married. I have kids. Absolutely not."
"Relax," he coaxed, smooth as whiskey. "We're strangers. After tonight, poof—gone. Five hundred's nothing to sneeze at. And if you don't talk..." He shrugged. "Who'd ever know?"
bit her lip. He had a point. No wonder he was a long-haul driver—this guy had clearly done this before. A real player.
Seeing her waver, the driver smirked. Got her. His hand slid over, groping her breast. "C'mon. First time's the sweetest. No strings."
gasped as he squeezed, cheeks burning. Time to reel him in. She ducked her head, whispering, "...Okay."
The driver grinned. "That's what I like to hear. Women shouldn't tie themselves down. Life's short—try something new." He stroked her cheek.
nibbled her lip. "Y-You're right. But—eyes on the road. You're getting ahead of yourself."
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm an excellent driver." His hand slid to her thigh, kneading. "Mm. Like a pillow."
Even through fabric, he could tell. Expert hands.
let him explore, then murmured, "If you give me the cash now... I won't need to go into the city."
The driver perked up. "Perfect. Let's find somewhere private, yeah?" He eyed the dense woods lining the road—perfect for a quick detour.
rolled her eyes. "Do you always pull this move on women?"
End of The Cripple's Wanton Wife Chapter 11. Continue reading Chapter 12 or return to The Cripple's Wanton Wife book page.