Page 37 of Untamed Sinner

I glance at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They don’t ask questions. They don’t move your shit around. They don’t buy you decorative pillows.”

“The pillow is an abomination.”

“And yet it’s still on your couch.”

I have no answer for that. I keep my eyes on the road. “I didn’t say I wanted it gone.”

She straightens in the seat, facing forward again, and I think the conversation is over.

It's not.

"So..." Her voice is upbeat, which makes me brace myself. "Did you find my panties?"

The truck swerves slightly. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel as I correct it, bringing it back in the lane.

“I guess that’s a yes,” she says lightly.

"Yeah.” My voice is flat. Matter-of-fact. "I found them."

"And?"

If I hold the steering wheel any tighter, it’s going to snap. "And what?"

"And what did you think?"

I think she smells fucking delicious. I think her cunt could become my new obsession. I glance at her, just for a second, but it's enough. She looks entirely too pleased with herself. “I think you left them there on purpose."

"You think?"

She’s fucking with me, and I’m taking the bait. "I just can’t figure out why you left them."

"I wanted to see if you'd notice."

It’s not just that, but I’ll figure it out. "Amanda, I notice everything about you."

The rest of the drive back is unbearable. The tension from the office—the near-collision, the moment we almost crossed a line—combines with this new awareness, creating something electric and dangerous.

The silence that follows is different now. Heavier. Weighted with acknowledgment—of what she did, of what I know she did, of the fact that neither of us is pretending anymore.

I shift in my seat, my cock hard against my zipper. I don't bother adjusting it. She can see the outline if she looks. Part of me wants her to. Part of me is counting down the minutes until we're back at the house and I can put distance between us before I do something I can't take back.

She's been researching me. She left her panties in my bathroom to fuck with me. She knows exactly what she's doing.

And I'm letting her do it.

37

MANDY

By the time we pull into Hendrick’s driveway, the tension is bouncing off us like heat on asphalt.

He kills the engine but doesn't move—just sitting there, staring straight ahead, his fingers clenched on the steering wheel.

I should get out and go inside. I should put distance between us before this thing we're dancing around finally detonates.

I’ve never been good at shoulds.