The town appeared slowly, as if it had been holding its breath and was only now deciding to let itself be seen.
Low buildings. Faded storefronts. A rusted petrol station sign creaking faintly in the wind. Windows either shattered or boarded. The main street was littered with old flyers that had fused into the asphalt by rain and time, bleached into ghosts of words no one remembered caring about.
Felicity barely registered any of that at first.
Because Damien's tail had just slid, deliberate and unhurried, over the thin fabric beneath her shorts.
It was not an accident.
It was not wind.
It was a slow, testing drag that traced the line of her panties and dipped just low enough to make her brain blank.
She made a sound.
Not dignified. Not subtle.
