I’ve been in a similar situation before—twice, actually. I’ve only slept with two men, and both managed to fool me. They laughed when I insulted them, leaned over dining tables and feigned interest when a few glasses of wine loosened my tongue and softened my defenses. Both times, I let them fuck me rough in the backs of their cars, and then never heard from either again. And now here I am, sitting in silence, squirming in the passenger seat. It feels all too familiar. But then a firm, hot hand slides under the blazer and rests on my thigh. I glance up at Raphael, but he’s focusing on the gap
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