The rain had been coming down for hours. Sheets of it slapping the windshield, crawling sideways across the mirrors like the whole world was sliding apart.

Ben’s hands were locked on the wheel, shoulders tight, eyes burning from the wipers' rhythm. His wife, Emily, sat curled in the passenger seat with her legs drawn up under her sweater, head resting on the window, half-asleep.

“You good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just tired.”

The heater pushed warm air through the vents. The dash lights glowed soft against her face. She looked calm. Worn out. Pretty in the quiet way that made his chest ache sometimes. She never tried to be noticed. That was what made her so goddamn magnetic.

He pulled off the interstate when the rain started swallowing the road. The truck stop was nearly full—engines idling low, windows fogged, rows of rigs parked like beasts waiting for dawn. They found a spot by the fence. Killed the lights. Let the world go still.

“I’m not pushing through that,” he said. “We’ll sleep here.”

“Okay,” she murmured, pulling her cardigan tighter. “It’s kind of cozy like this.”

They were half-settled in the sleeper when someone knocked on the passenger door.

Ben opened it a crack. A man stood below in a soaked canvas jacket, hood back, gray beard beaded with water.

“Evening,” he said. “Wind busted my window. Any chance I could ride it out in here for a bit? Just ‘til it settles.”

Ben hesitated. The guy smelled like motor oil and chew. Heavy build. Weathered skin. Not the kind of man he’d usually invite in.

Emily leaned forward. “Of course. It’s nasty out there.”

The man gave her a look. Not polite. Not hostile. Just heavy. Direct.

“Appreciate it,” he said, hauling himself up into the cab. “Name’s Russ.”

Ben offered him a seat, then a beer. It felt weird not to. Russ took it, cracked it with a grunt, and leaned back like he’d done this before.

They made small talk. Miles. Roads. Diesel prices. Russ had been driving since “before your daddy busted a nut,” which he said with a laugh and no apology.

He talked mostly to Emily. Ben noticed that. He watched the way Russ looked at her. The way her blouse rode up just slightly when she shifted on the mattress. The way she laughed, quiet and polite, whenever Russ made a comment that bordered on inappropriate.

Ben kept smiling, but something coiled in his gut. A warning.

Russ eventually stretched out on the bench seat in the front. Kicked his boots off. “Wake me if I snore,” he said, and then nothing.

The rain didn’t let up. Thunder cracked like bones overhead. The cab felt small. Insulated.

Ben lay on his back in the dark, Emily beside him. They hadn’t touched in days.

She turned to him, voice barely audible. “You still awake?”

“Yeah.”

She kissed him. Soft. Lingering.

“I’ve missed this,” she said. “Us. Being close.”

He felt her hand on his stomach, moving lower.

“Here?”

“It’s our space too,” she whispered. “He’s asleep.”

She climbed on top of him, straddling his chest. Her thighs warm against his ribs. She leaned down, took him in her mouth. Slow. Wet. Careful.

Ben moaned softly. Eyes shut. She hadn’t gone down on him in months.

Then she shifted forward.

Pulled her panties to the side.

And settled over his face.

The world shrank.

Her taste, her scent, the damp cotton of her thighs—everything was her.

Ben licked and sucked, hands on her hips. She started to move, slow and rhythmic. He could feel the soft weight of her ass, the way she trembled just a little when he circled her clit. Her moans grew bolder. Hungrier.

She sucked him deeper, her mouth tight, tongue insistent.

He was close already.

Then—

A noise.

Movement.

A creak of leather.

Ben froze.

Emily didn’t.

She didn’t miss a beat.

But she stopped sucking.

Breathed hard.

And when Ben opened his eyes, he saw it:

Russ.

Standing behind her.

Eyes locked on her ass.

His hands moved—slow and deliberate—onto her hips.

Ben tried to sit up, but Emily gripped his head.

Firm.

“Don’t,” she said. A whisper. A command.

“Emily—,” he tried.

Her thighs clamped tighter.

She moaned as Russ pulled her back slightly, angled her hips.

Ben felt her shift.

He heard it.

The sound of another man’s body against hers.

Flesh.

Wet.

Slap.

He groaned into her. Tried to move. She held him down.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.”

Her voice broke on the word please.

Russ grunted behind her. Thrust harder. The cab echoed with rhythm, leather, breath, skin.

Ben’s heart pounded.

He was inside her.

And she was grinding on Ben’s face while she took him.

She moaned louder, hips jerking. “Faster—yes—fuck—yes—”

Russ said nothing.

Just slammed into her with the steadiness of a man who didn’t care who was watching.

Ben wanted to die.

And he wanted to come.

And he hated himself for both.

Her voice was a rasp now. Low. Dangerous.

“Don’t you dare stop licking me.”

He didn’t.

Couldn’t.

She came with a shout, thighs trembling, clutching the edge of the mattress, riding both men at once.

Ben felt her gush against his face.

Then Russ came too. Grunted. Drove deep. Stayed there. Ben saw the stranger’s thick cock tighten and pulsate, as he let it all go inside her.

Ben could feel it, her pulsing, the warmth spilling out.

Then Russ pulled back. Zipped up. Said nothing.

Just climbed out of the cab and shut the door behind him.

Emily collapsed onto Ben’s chest, panting. Sweat and heat and slick thighs.

Silence fell like ash.

Ben couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

She leaned in close. Kissed his cheek.

Then his mouth.

“You loved it,” she said softly.

He swallowed. Nodded.

She smiled.

“Good.”

She slid under the blanket. Pulled him in. Her hand found his cock again, still hard, still leaking.

She jerked him slow.

“Next time,” she whispered, “he won’t ask.”

And Ben came with her voice in his ear and her pussy still full of another man’s cum.