KAEL
The car was too damn quiet.
I kept one hand loose on the steering wheel, the other drumming aimlessly against my thigh, pretending like I wasn't a second away from glancing at her again.
Aria sat curled up on the passenger seat, arms crossed, gaze pinned out the window like the city outside was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.
The memory of last night pressed against the back of my skull like a migraine — her hands clinging to me under the water, her mouth parting under mine like she was slipping, breaking, wanting.
I tightened my grip around the wheel. I hadn't slept much, and it sure as hell wasn't because of work.
She was different today. No, maybe we were different. The way she'd looked at me this morning — quick, sharp, then soft, like she hated herself for it — it burned a hole straight through my chest.
And like the masochistic idiot I was, I wanted her to look at me like that again. Wanted her to keep looking until there was nothing left of me.
