Micah blinked, not sure how to respond to any of that. “Oh.”

Luckily, Damon didn’t seem to expect a response. “Come on,” he said, gesturing at the open door, “get in.”

Taking a deep breath, and amassing his courage, Micah stepped off the sidewalk and crouched into the vehicle. He scooted carefully across flawless leather seats. It was as immaculate on the inside as it was on the outside, and afraid to touch anything, Micah put his seatbelt on before carefully folding his hands in his lap.

It was more spacious than the back of any four-door vehicle had the right to be, but Micah still felt crowded when Damon slid in after him, shutting the door behind himself. There was a divider between them and the driver, giving them a sense of privacy.

“So,” Micah chattered nervously as the vehicle start moving – the engine ran so smoothly, he wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the passing buildings outside the tinted windows, “you own a restaurant, and apparently make enough money to employ a chauffeur.” (Not the mention the fucking Rolls-Royce.) “What is it that you do, exactly?”

Damon shrugged, seemingly blasé about the amount of money he made. “I work in finances,” he said vaguely.

Micah raised his eyebrows. “What, is that code for money laundering or something?”

He didn’t mean it offensively – it came out without thought, honestly – but Damon stiffened. “I’m good at what I do,” he said after a moment, choosing his words carefully.

Micah snorted. “Yeah, me too.”

Damon stared. (Yeah, Micah couldn’t believe that had just come out of his mouth either, considering the man thought he was a hooker. Thank God Tessa wasn’t listening in, or he would never live it down.) He cleared his throat. “Uh, anyway… how far away is this hotel exactly?”

“Traffic’s light. It shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes to get there.”

Thirty minutes. Micah could handle that without somehow embarrassing himself further. Probably. It’s just… he greatly underestimated the effect of being trapped in a small space with a man that looked like he descended from a god would have on him. His cologne, or whatever Damon had on, didn’t help matters either. It was a mix of cedar, Christmas trees, and pure sex.

Micah blamed the flush he could feel creeping up his neck on the fact the heat was blasting, and on absolutely nothing else.

“Are you okay?” Damon asked.

“Great,” Micah assured tightly, trying his best not to breathe too deeply. He felt like Edward frickin’ Cullen meeting Bella Swan for the first time, except instead of wanting to drink his blood, he wanted to slurp Damon’s cum from his cock.

Jesus Christ, it was like the longer he sat there, the more brain cells he lost.

“Do you want a drink?” Damon asked, casually opening a latch to reveal a built-in cooler. Like it was no big deal whatsoever.

Micah laughed nervously. “I don’t suppose you have any beer in there?” Anything to ease his nerves.