Ye Jun
I wanted to argue. I really did. But his hand kept moving and the collar kept rubbing and the drive felt endless and every time I opened my mouth to call him insane it came out as a shaky moan instead. "You're actually proud of that, aren't you? Learning a whole skill just to mark me like property. That's not hot, that's terrifying, and my stomach is doing flips."
We went back and forth the whole way, me snapping and cursing and threatening to throw myself out the window, him laughing and teasing and keeping me right on that knife-edge without ever letting me tip over. By the time he pulled into a small parking lot behind a plain brick building I was panting, collar damp with sweat, hoodie half unzipped because I couldn't breathe right. "This better not be it," I muttered as he killed the engine. "If this is your murder basement I'm telling the cops everything."
