The car rolled to a stop on the shoulder of an empty highway, flanked by dense trees on either side. Jamee's motorcycle was already parked at the edge of the road, his figure barely visible in the shade. As Uriel cut the engine, Cass's pulse quickened—not from the anticipation of the mission but from the lingering tension of their drive. She was still flushed, the ghost of his touch lingering on her skin. In her skin.
Uriel looked unphased as got out first, sliding his sunglasses to the top of his head like he hadn't just had his fingers in her, his dark hair held back in a smooth sweep. Cass followed, feeling an odd— but not unfamiliar— mix of sexual frustration and apprehension. She glanced at Jamee, who was tying his blonde hair back with a rubber band, his expression blank as he unstrapped a small, worn backpack from his bike.
