Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

Thunder cracked overhead and rolled over the sky, and I
heard shouts of excitement coming from the park as heavier
drops hit the roof of the car.
He climbed into the backseat next to me, and I laid my
head down on his lap, my eyes heavy and my body already
feeling the residual ache of what we did against that wall.
I slid one of my hands in the center pocket of his
sweatshirt, feeling my panties and smiled lazily.
I was glad he didn’t leave them on the floor in there.
Mr. Crane drove, and I reached up with my other hand,
running the back of it over Damon’s cheek and neck, caressing
his ear, too.
The gravel under the tires crackled, we jostled as he pulled
onto the road, and then the pavement turned smooth as he
coasted down the late-night highway.
I told him I loved him. But he hadn’t said it back.
It was okay. I didn’t need to hear it yet. He seemed to need
to hear it himself, though. Like in the treehouse when we were
kids. Desperate to keep me safe and by his side.
I got the impression from his friends that he was
possessive with more than just me. If he found something
good, he fought to keep it.
It could be a scary thing.
But it also meant he knew what was important. He worked
to keep what he valued. Would he be so devoted to a wife?
His children?
I continued touching him, just savoring the feel of his skin
and the feeling of peace at just lying here with him.
“What’s your tattoo?” I asked quietly, remembering how
my friend noticed he had one.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, or ask how I knew,
but then he answered, “A decaying snowflake.”
I raised my eyebrows. A decaying…