Page 53 of Foreplay on Words

I was constantly hard when she was near me, and if he had the same reaction to her, I would explode.

“Alright. Maybe I should go for a walk or something. Leave you alone for a bit.” She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. I hated that I was making her cry. I had the words right there, but my damn mouth wouldn’t work.

“Wait!” I growled as my hand shot out to grab hers.

“I don’t know what exactly you think is going on, but I want you to know that Emory and I have never...”

I leaned back and turned to face her, cautiously touching her hip. I still couldn’t make full eye contact with her, but I was willing to listen.

“Never?” I asked, hating that I was this insecure.

“He’s never seen me fully naked.” She shook her head, but the way she phrased it didn’t sound completely innocent.

Fuck. So, he’s seen her partially naked.

“We don’t...we haven’t ever...” she bit her lip as she sputtered through a response.

“Fuck, just rip off the band-aid and stop skirting around it. Who is this guy to you?”

“A friend.”

“With benefits?” I deduced. Chase was an attractive woman; some scenes were downright explosive.

She laughed humorlessly and cupped my cheek, turning my face toward her.

“No! Seriously––just no.” She shook her head roughly. “He was only a consultant. He tied me up a few times, but I was mostly in shorts and a sports bra.”

“Mostly?” It sounded like there had been more between them, even if it was as a photography subject in the context of her literary research.

“He’s a photographer. He shot our session once.” She wouldn’t look in my eyes as she spoke softly.

“Were you naked?”

“Not entirely, no,” she whispered, “and it wasn’t sexual. He only tied me up. Not every BDSM relationship is like that.”

How could it not be sexual?

“He has never and will never touch me in a way that is anything other than as a friend helping me.”

I scoffed.

“Stop being so stubborn and look at me,” she urged, her voice strengthening.

No. If I looked into her eyes, I’d lose my resolve to be upset about this. I’d never experienced jealousy or possessiveness like this before, and I didn’t like feeling this out of control.

“Evan. I don’t want anyone but you,” she told me vehemently.

“What if he wants you?”

She laughed, and I tried to pull away from her. “Stop. Just stop, you idiot!”

“So, now I’m an idiot. Thanks.”

“For the love of...” she growled. “Shut up. Seriously. I understand jealousy, but I’m trying to talk to you.”

I leaned my hip against the kitchen island and crossed my arms. My eyes finally met hers, and she looked irritated.

“Talk,” I said flatly.

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