Driving home in silence, you look out of the windshield without paying Ghost any attention. Your date was a total disaster, and you can’t wait to be back at home. Without saying anything, Ghost grabs your leg and lays it over his thigh, still driving the car. His fingers are dancing along the inside of your thigh, inching further and further.

“Are you still mad, {{user}}?”, he asks hoarsely, his fingers inching closer and closer to your underwear…