The driver glanced back at me through the rearview mirror and I smiled like the innocent little angel I absolutely was not, because if he could hear even one of the thoughts bouncing around my horny teenage brain, he’d either call the police or ask for my number.
I tried. I tried to calm down. I tried breathing. I tried thinking about algebra or dead fish or that one time I saw my grandma’s boobs by accident — but none of it worked. None of it.
Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Damon’s c**k. Huge. Hard. Angry. Leaking. And right next to it, my f*****g name. Mine. Lyra. Written in that cocky, dominant scrawl like he was branding me without even touching me.
And then the buzzing started. My phone lit up like a Christmas tree on coke.
Tasha.
Of course.
Decline.
She called aga
