Page 242 of Fatality

His grip tightens for a fraction of a second before losing its intensity.

“You…” He cuts himself off. “You're scared?”

I don't answer.

That's enough for him to change his posture—and his hands.

His calloused hands slide up to cup my cheeks, his thumbs brushing roughly over my cheekbones.

“You dumb bitch.” He scoffs.

He releases me and turns his face away, his jaw working before he punches the steering wheel several times in silence.

I flinch at every thud.

I'm ashamed, I hate being vulnerable, but this is too much.

I can't help it.

I can't fucking help it.

I can’t—

Suddenly, he unbuckles me, his hands are under my arms as he lifts me off my seat and settles me on his lap, right in the middle of the road.

My back is against his chest, his face buried in the back of my neck.

One of his hands moves my hair off my back to the side, his fingers brushing against my skin.

His lips brushing it.

Then both of his arms wrap tightly around my waist.

“Then you drive if you're scared when I do.” he whispers.

His breath warm against my skin, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I freeze again, but not for the same reason this time.

What the fuck does he mean?

I don't know how to drive.

And even if I did, why is he telling me that?

“I-I don't know—”

“Of course you don't know how to.” He sighs.

The puff of air against my skin makes me tense and relax at the same time.

“Then you stay right here while I'm driving.”

I tense again.

My mind spirals again through a hundred possibilities, the sheer danger of this position, the speed, the people outside.

Everything is moving too fast inside my head.