The car ate up the highway, the hum of the engine a dull roar against the rush of blood in Shivangi’s ears. Harshad drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively on her thigh, his fingers tracing slow, maddening circles high up on her inner leg. She was still soaked from their encounter on the car, every slight movement a reminder of his touch.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked, her voice huskier than usual.