Clara's pov
An hour later I stood at the side of Drake's Porsche as I watched him walk towards me. He was wearing fitted jeans and Polo, his muscles stretching the thick material of the shirt.
I clenched my thighs, my p***y throbbing at the sight.
He half smiled at her and then opened the passenger door.
“Thank you,” I muttered shyly under my breath.
Five minutes later he was already speeding on the highway.
“Ryan is really mad at me, isn't he?” I she's breathy, scared to hear his response.
Drake turned to look at me, his eyes void of any emotion. He turned back to the road and I noticed how his hand clenched hard around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
Just when I thought he wouldn't respond, he answered. “Ryan isn't mad at you, doll. He's just being stupid,” he s
