He looked at me like he knew. Like he could smell it.
And of course he could.
He leaned closer, one hand still on the wheel, the other shifting to his thigh, his voice dipping even lower.
“And if you so much as pout when I make you beg,” he whispered, “I’ll flip you over, spread your legs wider, and f**k you until the apology becomes a scream.”
I whimpered.
Actually whimpered. In the car. With the windows fogged and the scent of s*x thick in the air and my entire body coiled tight like a string ready to snap.
“I’m still leaking,” I whispered back, my voice all breath and sin. “You never gave me a chance to clean it.”
He stared.
“I can feel it, Damon. Your c*m. It’s still dripping down my thighs. It’s sticky. It’s hot. It’s messy. And I’m still sitting in it. For you.”
The growl th
