Fiends SSC by Richard Laymon

let her bare feet slip out from under her. They touched Willy’s hip. ‘Nother drink?’ he asked.
        ‘Sure.’ She stretched out her arm, pressing her feet harder against him. She pretended to take a swig.
        ‘Have more.’
        She pretended to swig again. Then she handed the bottle back to Willy, and sighed loudly.
        ‘Lucky for you my hands are full,’ Willy told her.
        Grinning, he took a drink.
        Marty curled her toes against the side of his leg. She bent toward him. He gave her the bottle. While she lifted it to her mouth, Willy’s
        free hand caressed her legs. She lowered her feet to the floor and scooted a little closer to him. His hand moved up her thigh, but she set down the bottle in its way. Laughing, he took hold of the bottle and picked it up. ‘What’ll you do when it’s empty?’ he asked.
        ‘I just don’t know,’ she said.
        ‘You’ll get fucked, that’s what.’
        ‘Oh, yeah?’ She started to move away from him.
        He planted the bottle between his legs and threw an arm across her shoulders, stopping her. She relaxed against him. He lifted his arm off her, retrieved the bottle and drank several large swallows.
        He clamped the bottle between his thighs again, and returned his arm to her shoulders.
        ‘Let me.’ She reached over and plucked out the bottle. When she raised it to her mouth, Willy’s arm pushed downward between her back and the seat. She leaned forward, sipping. His hand went under her jersey.
        Marty didn’t resist.
        She drank, instead.
        His hand moved slowly up her side. It was warm and dry. The fingers were long. They caressed her skin as they roamed higher.
        Marty took a big swallow of bourbon when the hand found her breast.
        It tickled, it massaged, it squeezed.
        Lowering the bottle, Marty clutched his hand and pressed it harder against her breast. She moaned. Clamping the bottle between her legs to free her other hand, she grabbed Willy’s thigh.
        ‘Go for it, honey,’ he said.
        Marty squeezed his thigh until it must’ve hurt. Groaning, Willy dug his teeth into her shoulder. The car swerved. His groaning changed to a gasp of alarm. The hand under Marty’s jersey went still as he focused on steering.
        When the car straightened out, he laughed and yelled, ‘Yeah!’ and gave her breast a tweak.
        Marty flinched and grabbed his wrist. ‘Quit it, now,’ she said.
        ‘Yeah?’
        ‘Yeah. I’ve been through a hell of a lot with you, Willy. I’ll probably go through lots more. But not, if I can help it, a windshield.’
        ‘Maybe I’d better pull over, huh?’
        ‘Maybe so,’ Marty said.
        But he didn’t.
        

27
        
        Roger stroked the length of Tina’s back, and kissed her shoulder. Still she continued to cry. He started to ask her what was wrong, but stopped himself. He was tired of asking, and tired of being answered with speechless sobs.
        ‘I wish you’d stop that,’ he finally said. ‘I hate it when a woman cries. Is it something I did?’
        A muffled ‘No’ came from under the pillow.
        ‘Something I didn’t do or say?’
        ‘It isn’t you.’
        ‘Well, that’s nice to know. I wish you’d told me that half an hour ago.’ He pulled the pillow off her head. She looked up at him. Hair hung in her eyes. She pushed the hair away, and her eyes were red.
        ‘What is it?’ Roger asked. ‘I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but maybe I can help. You never know. I’ll help you if I can.’
        ‘Thanks,’Tina said.
        ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
        ‘I don’t know.’
        ‘You might feel better if you talk about it. That's what they always say, anyway. I don’t know how true it is.’
        She sniffed and said nothing.
        ‘Is it a