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Summary
POV: Touching yourself in the passenger seat of Zayne’s car while he tries not to run red lights to get you home faster.
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You hum a nonchalant little tune when you trace a light finger over the bend of your knee all the way up underneath your skirt, so keyed up already that even that was a pleasant enough distraction from the simmering heat between your legs.
“What are you doing?”
There we go.
You smile at the way his voice sounds tied up in his throat, loll your head to the side to look at him. Make sure your eyes are lidded and your mouth is lax when you reply:
“Taking care of myself,” voice deliberately lazy, casual as you please. “Seeing as you don’t seem to want to.”