He lays me down flat on my back in the car and pulls off my shoes, cradling my feet in his lap with warm sensual hands, kneading them softly, avoiding conversation or eye contact. I nestle my head against the door to stop the world from spinning.

His hands feel exquisite on my ankles and feet, and it feels better than good; no one’s ever taken my shoes off like this. No one has ever just run soft fingers over my feet the way he’s doing now. He’s gentle and attentive, something ...