“clutching his sweatshirt. Give me everything you have. “Rika!” I sucked in a breath and straightened, hearing my name. Who . . . I tried to peer around Michael, but he was too tall, and he had me locked in. And he made no effort to move, staying in front of me and letting his fingers linger on the skin of my hip bone. But after a moment, he dropped his hand and stood up, turning around and giving me room to see who was behind him.”
―
Penelope Douglas,
Corrupt