Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

reached around and spread my thighs wide, thrusting back
inside of me from behind.
He dug his fingers in the inside of my leg, holding me
open, with his other hand wrapped around the front of my
neck and bending it back to meet his mouth.
He fucked me, pressing me into the wall. “Mine,” he said
against my lips. “Don’t ever leave my body.”
His hand on my neck scaled down, squeezing my breast
and running over my stomach, and came back up to my neck,
holding me tight.
“Don’t ever leave my body,” he chanted again.
“I won’t,” I whispered.
“Say you love me.”
I swallowed, my throat so dry.
“Say you love me,” he demanded.
“I love you,” I told him, surprised by how easily it came.
“I love you, Damon.”
And he wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight,
and this was it. Right here. Everything I wanted to feel that
brought me even more happiness than dancing did.
He was still the boy, promising to kiss me again someday,
and I was still her, never wanting to leave whatever little
private world we created when we were together.
Later, after he held me and touched me and kissed me
some more, we made our way out of the park, toward the lot
where Mr. Crane was parked. Damon had given me his hoodie
to cover up my ripped shirt—or Rika’s ripped shirt, actually—
and he held my hand, leading me past the crowds, the music,
and his friends who were smart enough to know to leave us
alone when he ignored their calls for him.
We approached the car, and I felt sprinkles of rain hit my
hand as he held the door open, and I climbed in.
“Just drive,” I heard him tell Crane.