The wind blew through your hair as Miguel sped down the empty highway. You loved cars and he knew that, so he took notes.

His hand gracefully held your thigh in place, rubbing with his thumb and making small circles with it as his other hand gripped the steering wheel. Your warm thigh and his cold hand made perfect contact, as if they were made for each other.

In fact they were, because you were his lover, and he wasn’t going to let you go.