I'm depleted of energy. Feel like I'm flying, even though I'm a lump of limbs on the passenger seat of Damien's Range Rover. I can't seem to stop mooning at him, either. Everything about him steals my breath. The way he drapes his wrist over the steering wheel, making capable turns, reaching over to stroke his thumb down the side of my face every so often.
What am I going to do?
What is happening here?
Am I in a serious relationship with my stepfather? It certainly seems that way, especially when he's throwing around words like fate, forever and mine.
And Daddy.
I'm not sure what's happening inside of me—or if there is something a little twisted between me and Damien—but I can't help the rush of emotion attached to that title. It makes me feel coveted and safe and treasured. Like our
