Isabella’s pov

The car stayed dark except for the glow of the dashboard clock.

Eight o’clock. We hadn’t moved in almost an hour.

My hand still rested on his thigh, fingers curled around the thick hard shape of him through his trousers.

Every few minutes he would flex under my palm like he couldn’t help it.

The street outside stayed empty. Holiday lights flickered in a couple of windows but most of the block looked abandoned.

“You’re going to leave a permanent dent in that if you keep squeezing,” he said, voice rough.

“Maybe I want to. You’ve been hard since the clinic. Doesn’t seem fair I only got to...