ANNABEL
I didn’t know how I got off his lap.
Or how my dress still looked decent after that mess of a makeout.
But there I was, sitting quietly, staring out the tinted window, pretending my lips weren’t still throbbing from how hard he kissed me.
Pretending my panties weren’t soaked.
And definitely pretending like I wasn’t about to fall apart if he touched me one more time.
“You okay, cupcake?” Damon asked, voice all casual like he didn’t just rearrange my soul with his tongue.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, which was the biggest lie I’d told all week.
We pulled up in front of a hotel that screamed rich people only, the kind that had golden statues and doormen in gloves. The driver got out and opened the door for us, but Damon didn’t move. Not yet.
He turned to me. Eyes serious.
“Tonight
