The ride home from the theater was quiet again, but not the heavy kind of quiet we had before. This was softer. Damien's hand rested on my thigh not possessive this time, just there, thumb moving in slow circles, I didn't push it away. I leaned my head against the window and watched the city lights smear past in golden streaks.
I still felt him inside me. The ache between my legs was sharp and sweet, a reminder every time I shifted. My dress was wrinkled, hair a mess, lips swollen from kissing him way too much. I caught my reflection in the side mirror and almost laughed. I looked like someone who had been thoroughly f****d in a movie theater. Because I had.
Damien glanced over. “You're smiling.”
“Am not,” I lied.
“You are.” His thumb pressed a little harder. “Thinking about the movie?
