Cassie.
He doesn’t utter a single word; he simply restarts the engine, and within minutes, we pull into the driveway at home.
I figure Dad’s out anyway, so I snatch my backpack and hop from the car without waiting for Dante to open the door. But his voice halts me cold.
“You’re forgetting this, princess…” he drawls, rough and languid, laced with smug amusement.
What did I forget? Backpack’s slung over my shoulder, shoes on—what else?
“What’s that?” I snap, still facing away, cheeks burning.
“Why don’t you turn around and see for yourself,” he taunts, that smirk dripping from every syllable.
Heavy shame floods my skin, but it only fuels the ache—after flashing my p***y in the car and getting silence, why do I still throb for him? My thighs are slick, wetness trailing down, no panti
