Page 95 of He Should Be Mine

I give a little excited wriggle as I reach for my belt. He is not sending me to the back. He is allowing me to stay. It is wonderful.

I’m getting boyfriend privileges. Although, I make a terrible boyfriend. I feel bad for Dario, he doesn’t deserve to be inflicted with me. I’m not so much a boyfriend, it’s more like boyfoe. But I think he might be up for the challenge.

The car roars to life and out of the building. It’s a sunny summer’s day. The sky is blue and peppered with a few fluffy clouds. It is hot and divine.

There doesn’t seem to be as much traffic as usual. It is a Sunday, so maybe that is why.

I look out the window and admire the view. London looks much better from a fancy car. When you are trudging around on foot, broke and basic, it isn’t nearly so glamorous.

Dario turns the radio on. It’s a vintage car, so I’m not going to be able to connect my Spotify Playlist, but surely there are better radio station options than Classic FM?

I sigh and let the orchestral music wash over me. London suddenly seems even more majestic. I turn my head and look at Dario. This music suits this car. It suits him. I won’t tease him about it.

I roll down the window and stick my hand out, exulting in the rush of air over my skin. I go to stick my head out, but Dario barks at me, so sighing, I make do with my hand being free.

London slowly falls away. We reach a motorway. I pull my hand in and roll up the window. There is nothing but fields on either side of the three lanes of fast moving traffic.

Dario’s driving is a sight to behold. He is calm, confident, and in full control. I can just tell he has lightning fast reflexes and can probably spot potential hazards before they even happen. I feel safe in his car. Deeply, profoundly safe.

I watch him, mainly because it is a much better view than the empty green flashing by outside.

His large hand is holding the steering wheel securely. His other tanned hand is resting on his thigh. I love his hands. Strong and manly. Olive skinned with a dusting of dark hair. Immaculate nails from what must be very expensive manicures.

The hand resting on his thigh looks exquisite. I can see a vein running over the tendons and I have never wanted to lick anything more. His thigh looks amazing too. All but bursting out of the black material of his tailored trousers. Majestically manly thighs.

I swallow and tear my gaze away. There is nothing to look at outside the window. Not even fields anymore because we are passing a tall embankment.

“I’m bored,” I whine.

“You’ll live.”

No, I won’t. I’m quite sure of it. I’m alone in a car with Dario, the most sexiest man in the universe. I can’t possibly survive.

I lick my lips. There are no cameras in here.

“You could pull over and we could have fun,” I rasp.

The rasp wasn’t me trying to be sexy, it was because I’m fucking nervous. Rejection is a motherfucker. But hopefully if he says no, I can laugh it off and pretend I was teasing.

The hand on his thigh flies up to the steering wheel. His knuckles whiten on both hands.

My heart pounds and a swarm of butterflies take flight in my stomach. Oh lord. He wants to. He wants me.

Dear god of all things horny, please let Dario pull over and kiss me. Let him show me how everything is going to be okay and I am right to trust him.

“I gave Riccardo’s security our ETA. There will be suspicion if we are late.”

That’s not a no. It’s not a rejection. It is an overabundance of caution.

“Say there was traffic,” I drawl.

His hands grip the steering wheel even tighter. He frowns. His eyes stay fixed on the road in front.

For fuck’s sake, he is not going to risk it, is he?

I think it is because he needs to tread very carefully. Due to whatever he is planning, and I know he is planning something. That has to be an extremely dangerous game, so of course he can’t risk the slightest bit of suspicion.

My chest aches. My mind can get on board with that. My heart, on the other hand, wants to freak out. It wants to take it as rejection and a sign that Dario doesn’t really want me.