I had woken up this morning with Damien's arm slung over my waist like a seatbelt. He kissed my shoulder, murmured “good morning, baby,” then slipped the small, curved plug in while I was still half asleep. “Just a little reminder,” he said, voice low and amused. “Wear it to class.”
The flashback of how he had punished me last night during dinner came rushing back.
“You're insane if you think I will take it to class,” I said, almost angry.
“You will. I might be insane but you are definitely wet,” he teased. But he wasn't lying.
Now I was sitting here trying not to clench every time someone shifted in their seat behind me. I sat three rows from the front, legs crossed so tight my thighs ached, notebook open but blank except for one shaky line I had written twenty minutes ago.
My phone
