“Why did you come for me today, Damian?”
His fingers flex on the steering wheel.
“Because winter is setting in.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he says, glancing at me again. “Cold is when you notice what you’ve been ignoring.”
I swallow drily. It feels like the car has shrunk around us, pressing our breaths into the same small space, tangling them.
The silence returns, but this time it’s swollen, electric, thrumming with all the things we’re not saying. My body recognizes the tightening, the pull, the humiliating flare of awareness I thought I buried before my mind does.
His gaze drops to my mouth for one heartbeat.
“Harper,” he says softly, a warning or an invitation, I can’t tell. Maybe both.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“Don’t what?” His voice is silk stretched over steel. “Acknowledge how you’ve been chewing on your lip as you stare at my hands and my mouth?”
My cheeks burn, my fingertips spark, my heartbeat is ridiculous. I grip my coat tighter, as if fabric will shield me from him.
“Damian—”
The car slows, drifting into a quieter, darker street. This is a street away from my apartment. He parks beneath a streetlamp whose light seems to bend toward him.
I turn to him, throat tight.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“So we can stop pretending,” he says.
My breath stutters. The temperature inside the car turns molten.
Then he leans across the console, breathing in my scent. His breath brushes my lower lip, the dark scent of smoke and something muskier drifting into my lungs.
“Tell me no, Harper,” he murmurs. “And I’ll drive you home. We’re almost there anyway.”
And like always, I make the most stupid decision in mankind’s history.
I suck his lower lip into my mouth, letting it go with a pop. He freezes for a second, before his body takes over, those jade eyes flashing with animalistic heat.
“Back seat,” he orders quietly.
I slide into the back, breathless, and he follows with unhurried confidence—closing the door, sealing us into a smaller, darker universe. His jacket hits the seat, followed by mine, and heat coils through me like wildfire tasting dry fields.
There’s barely any illumination in the back, making it look like a dream, or a delicious nightmare I always find myself in.
It doesn’t take long for his hands to rip off my dress, his thumbs tracing the cups of my bra.
There’s a slight huff of laughter before he says, “These always were my favorite.”
“I thought what they held was number one on your list,” I reply, my breath uneven, desperation clawing at me.
His mouth crashes into mine like a hungry demon. His breath is wet, his tongue a seductive beast as he laves it across my lips, searching for entry.
With a whimper, I part my lips, and he devours me. His hands tear off the pantyhose I had been wearing under the dress, fingers seeking my wet core.
