Hijacked

Chapter Five

Half an hour later, just as she was passing a rather large truck with an even larger trailer attached to the back of it, he looked over at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She hadn't said a word to him after her impromptu hand job and he had no idea what she was thinking.

He was still completely shocked by the whole situation. Never in his wildest dreams or fantasies would he have thought that outcome would come out of this situation, and he wondered if she was regretting it. He was also worried that she was feeling as though he'd somehow forced her to do it when he'd told her to move her hand over him.

He'd been shocked when she'd landed on him, even more shocked when she hadn't moved away and completely shocked when she'd asked what she should do.

His lust and his arousal had taken over when he'd told her to either move off him or move over him, and in that moment he'd been sure she would move away. He'd never thought she would stroke him, had never imagined she would tell him to pull his cock out and would never have dreamed she would get him off in the car on the side of the highway.

He'd enjoyed it immensely. Her touch had been wonderful but it was her eyes that had really done him in. She'd stared at him with a mix of passion and innocence, and he believed her when she said that wasn't normal behavior for her.

He hoped she'd done it because she'd wanted to, but he had to wonder if she'd done it because she'd thought he would hurt her if she didn't.

"Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is?" she asked, her eyes not leaving the road.

"It's when hostage starts to identify with their captors and become not only sympathetic to their cause but also to them." He looked at her and noticed her shocked look. "Just because I can't read a map and am not a criminal mastermind doesn't mean that I'm an idiot." He smiled.

"I never thought you were."

"Do you think that you have it?" he asked after a pause.

"I don't know. I don't think so but then again..." she trailed off. "Nothing I'm doing would make sense to a rational person."

"Why didn't you report me to that cop, or even at the gas station?" he asked. The fact that she hadn't turned him in had been bothering him but he hadn't wanted to say anything to her about it.

"I didn't turn you in to the cop because I believed you, what you said. I couldn't live with myself if I was partially responsible for your death, any death." She paused. "I didn't say anything to the gas station guy because I felt sorry for you."

"Why?"

"Because there were so many things, small things, that you didn't think of. It made me think that you weren't this dangerous hardcore criminal. You didn't need a hostage, you just needed help."

"And you wanted to help me?"

"At first I was kind of hoping you'd shoot yourself in the foot," she said and he gave her a smile and small laugh. "But now I don't believe that you'd actually shoot me, or anybody."

He wanted to protest, to tell her that she should be scared of him, that he'd shoot her without second thought if she made him, but that wasn't true. He wouldn't hurt her, he never would have hurt her.

"Am I wrong?" she asked.

"You're not wrong," he admitted.

"And I have no idea why I did what I did."

"Did you do it because you wanted to?" he asked, hoping she would say she had.

"Yes, I did." She glanced at him. "I have no idea why."