Getting out of his car felt like dragging myself out of a crime scene.
What did I just do?
My knees were trembling, and my thighs still felt tight and tacky with the humiliating
proof of what I’d just done.
Maybe I was the homewrecker Emily thought I was, the dirty little slut everyone was
whispering about. Why did I allow myself to do this when I hated him so f*****g much?
But the worst part, the part that made me want to claw my own skin off, was that I liked
it. I enjoyed it, even.
Just a few desperate pleas from him and I was sucking him like my life depended on it.
He didn’t force me. I’d chosen to lean down. I’d chosen to swallow his f*****g c*m.
Every time my brain replayed the sound of his low, ruined groans filling the car, self
loathing bubbled violently in my veins.
