Page 237 of Terms of Exposure
The muscle tense beneath my palm as I traced slow circles, inching higher.
"Emma." His voice had dropped an octave. A warning.
I smiled and didn't stop.
My hand traveled higher until I found exactly what I was looking for. Hard. Straining against his slacks.
A low groan slipped from him.
The car swerved into the next lane, earning a blaring horn.
"You're going to get us killed," he hissed.
I leaned close, seatbelt straining as I angled toward him, lips brushing his ear.
"That would be unfortunate," I murmured, low against his neck.
We pulled up to a stoplight.
He lunged for me, stealing my mouth.
There was nothinggentle about it.
His hand slid into my hair, angling my mouth against his, and I leaned into him—weeks of tension, months of wanting, all of it catching fire at once. I fisted his shirt and pulled him closer, console be damned. His teeth caught my lower lip, and I made a sound I'd be embarrassed about later.
The car behind us laid on its horn.
Damien broke away with a ragged exhale.
The light was green.
"Hold that thought," he managed.
I didn't.
Damien
My hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white, every nerve pulled taut toward the woman beside me.
Her palm pressed through my slacks. It took everything I had not to pull over and fuck her right then and there.
Home. Get her home.
The light ahead flickered yellow.
I didn't slow down.
We shot through the intersection as it turned red, and Emma's laugh rang out beside me—bright, wicked, entirely too pleased with herself.
"That was illegal," she murmured, her breath warm against my ear.
"Your fault."
"Mm."
Her hand pressed harder against me, fingers curling, and a sound tore out of my throat that I'd deny later.
"I don't feel guilty."
