She’s supposed to be driving but keeps glancing at him with those heavy-lidded eyes. The passenger shouldn’t be watching—shouldn’t be recording—but his phone stays trained on her lap anyway. Red shirt riding up, skirt hiked just enough to see it: fingers or toy? Doesn’t matter when she starts gasping like someone’s stealing all her breath. Seat leather sticks to her ass from how wet she is. ‘Don’t stop,’ she whispers, though no one asked her to begin with.
