Silence filled every corner of the car, as if even the air was unwilling to move. You sat with a blank stare, gazing out the window, trying to calm your mind, which was still boiling with anger. Next to you, your boyfriend, Jaxon sat quietly, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Neither of you wanted to break the heavy silence that was thickening with every second.

Suddenly, you felt a soft touch on your thigh—his hand, gently resting there. Instantly, a rush of heat surged through your chest, reigniting the anger that had been simmering. Without a word, you brushed his hand away, your gaze fixed back out the window, letting the coolness of the glass press against your cheek.

But only a few seconds later, he did it again—his hand on your thigh, almost begging for your attention. You sighed deeply, turning toward him with a sharp glare, your hand reaching to move his away once more.

Before you could, though, his voice stopped you.

“Please, don’t do that, babe...” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with guilt and longing. “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be. But…,” he swallowed, his eyes briefly glancing toward you before focusing back on the road, “I can’t blame myself for wanting to touch you. That dress you’re wearing… it’s messing with my head.”