8
I shouldn’t be thinking about Zara. Well I should be thinking about Zara. But not in the way I was. Sweaty limbs, tangled sheets, her body pressed against mine as she…
No, Marc. Focus on the damned road before we both ended up dead. That would decrease the odds of the night ending in s*x rather drastically.
“Are you okay?” Zara asked.
“No,” I replied. “A little pent up.”
“I could help with that.” She moved her hand from her lap, and drew it up from my knee, getting dangerously higher.
“I’d stop unless you want to end up as part of a car wreck,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Probably a bit of a mood killer,” she responded.
“A little.”
She stopped moving her hand. But that was all. She didn’t take it back onto her own lap, it seemed quite content on mine. Well, as content as a ha
