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You might also be thinking, Aly, I’ve seen the SOS button in my own minivan. There’s a little clear door you have to open, and then push the button. It’s a safety feature for when you are you know, fucking someone in the back of said minivan and his hand is on the ceiling for support.

Now. . . sure, the “safety shield”shouldbe there, but guess who has kids?

Me. Cash ripped that fucker off the first week I had the van.

Now, back to what’s happening in the van.

Ridge drops his hand, eyes wide and stares at me. Oh look, something finally made the cocky bastard speechless.

After a moment, he asks, “Does that call 911?”

I swallow over what feels like a boulder in my throat. “I’ve never pushed it. I don’t know what it does.”

I can already see the headlines:Teacher arrested while diddling his students’ mom.

I’m sure they’d come up with a better headline than me.

We’re about to find out what the button does because the next thing we know, there’s a voice that comes over my stereo. “This call may be monitored or recorded for quality assurance.” And then, “Toyota assist, this is Frank. How may I assist you?”

Do you see us there in the van? While it’s more than likely an entertaining sight to see, I’m the one on my hands and knees, and Ridge is the one behind me, dick still in my pussy.

Entertaining, huh? I’ll tell you what’s more entertaining. The fact that Ridge is having a conversation with Frank.

Frank’s asking questions like, “Can you give me your exact location?”

And Ridge answers with, “South, Frank. South.”

I turn my head to glare at him, which is actually a task in itself because I’m getting to know my dashboard a lot better than I ever have in the past. My left tit is literally teabagging a cup holder. “Stop talking to this dude. Hang up,” I order, trying to pry my face from the radio knob. I also can’t understand why we’re pushed up so far. We have the whole back to maneuver around in, yet he’s got me stuck between the front seats. Probably so I can’t get away from him.

“Turn over,” he orders, like I’m supposed to listen to his every demand. “Can you stick your legs on the armrests?”

I try, and I do. It’s certainly more comfortable than having my face pressed into the dash, and I’m a hell of a lot more flexible than I initially thought. But then it’s not comfortable. Not one bit and I think—though I’m not entirely sure—I have a McDonald’s toy making friends with my asshole. I’ll be throwing that away, later. “This—”

Ridge shakes his head. “No talking.” He removes my hands from the seat and places them on the backs of my knees. “Hold your legs up.” His eyes dip, heavy lids closing when he pushes forward. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

I hear heavy breathing, and by the way, it’s not coming from us.

“How’s that?” Ridge grunts, his movements sure and steady. “Do you like that?”

I toss my head back and break my cup holder off. “Yes...soooofucking good.”

“Really good?” He’s always looking for compliments.

“Yes.”

“That’s right.” He’s so fucking cocky. “You’re really tight.”

“What. . . are you two actually having sex?” Frank asks, barely getting the words out. I think Frank might be a virgin.

Ridge laughs. “What you think, Frank?”

No answer.

Ridge continues, pulls back, then pushes forward again, groaning as he does so. And then I notice he’s leaning forward a little too much. “Careful, don’t lean forward that much. We’re going to fall forward.”

He doesn’t listen.

I push against his chest, and something catches my eye behind him. Whiskers just joined the party, and he’s watching us fuck. He’s probably jealous. His balls were cut a long time ago and his humping days are over. Swallowing, in pain, and nervous, I attempt again to gain Ridge’s attention. “I’m serious. If you keep pushing me forward, you’re going to fall.” I attempt to balance myself and dig the toy out of my ass. “Just here... move... to the right a little.”