you want to her. And you should never hurt." She eased onto the southbound two-lane of the expressway.
"Some girls like to be hurt," he said, putting a hand on her knee.
She moved his hand. "What do you want to show me, anyway?" she said, trying to distract him.
"This," he said, taking her right hand. A moment later she felt his naked penis, stiff and hot.
"Jesus Christ!" She snatched her hand away. Boy, had she misjudged this one! "Put it away, Steve, and stop acting like a goddamned adolescent!"
The next thing she knew, something struck her a mighty blow on the side of the face.
She screamed and jerked sideways. An air horn blared as her car swung across the next lane of the expressway in front of a Mack truck. The bones of her face burned with agony and she tasted blood. Fighting to ignore the pain, she regained control of the car.
She realized with astonishment that he had punched her.
No one had ever done that.
"You son of a bitch!" she screamed.
"Now give me a hand job," he said. "Otherwise I'll beat the shit out of you."
"Fuck you!" she yelled.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him draw back his fist for another blow.
Without thinking, she stepped on the brake.
He was thrown forward and his punch missed her. His head banged the windshield. Tires screeched in protest as a white stretch limousine swerved to avoid the Mercedes.
As he recovered his balance, she released the brake. The car coasted forward. If she stopped in the fast lane of the expressway for a few seconds, she thought, he would be so terrified he would plead with her to drive on. She stepped on the brake once more, throwing him forward again.
This time he recovered more quickly. The car came to a halt. Cars and trucks swerved around it, horns blaring. Jeannie was terrified; at any moment another vehicle could slam into the back of the Mercedes. But her plan did not work: he seemed to have no fear. He put his hand up her skirt, grasped the waist of her panty hose, and pulled. There was a tearing sound as her tights ripped open.
She tried to push him away, but he was all over her. Surely he would not try to rape her right there on the expressway? In despair she opened her door, but she could not get out because she had her seat belt fastened. She tried to undo it, but she could not get at the buckle because of Steve.
To her left, traffic was joining the expressway from another ramp, coming directly into the fast lane at sixty miles an hour and flashing by. Was there not a single driver who would stop and help a woman who was being attacked?
As she struggled to push him away, her foot came off the brake and the car crept forward. Maybe she could keep him off balance, she thought. She had control of the car; it was her only advantage. In desperation she put her foot on the accelerator pedal and floored it.
The car took off with a lurch. Brakes squealed as a Greyhound bus narrowly missed her fender. Steve was thrown back in his seat and distracted briefly, but a few seconds later his hands were all over her again, pulling her breasts out of her brassiere and thrusting inside her panties as she tried to drive. She was frantic. He did not seem to care if he killed both of them. What the hell could she do to stop him?
She swung the car hard across to the left, throwing him up against the passenger door. She almost hit a garbage truck, and for a cliff-hanging instant she looked into the petrified face of the driver, an elderly man with a gray mustache; then she swung the wheel the other way and the Mercedes lurched out of danger.
Steve grabbed her again. She braked hard, then floored the accelerator, but he laughed as he was thrown around, just as if he were on a joyride at a carnival; and then he came back at her.
She hit him with her right elbow and her fist, but she could not put any power into the blows while she was at the wheel, and she succeeded only in distracting him for a few more seconds.
How long could this go on? Were there no cop cars in this town?
Over his shoulder she saw that she was passing an off-ramp. There was an ancient sky