2
Zara
The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was thick with tension though, and this warmth in me that I couldn’t quite explain but felt kind of dangerous.
Michael didn’t speak for a long time. He drove with the same focused calm, his hands steady at ten and two, eyes only flicking to the mirror when necessary. But I noticed how they lingered when they shouldn’t. And what they lingered on.
I leaned slightly toward the door, pretending to watch the street blur by. In reality, I was watching him in the mirror, watching the way his throat flex he’d when he swallowed hard and how he clenched his jaw tight. How his fingers grilled the steering wheel tighter every single time my dress slid higher up my thigh. And how his nostrils flared slightly every time I adjusted my seat and the silk
