Page 115 of The Sidekick

I nod and whisper, “Can I have five more minutes?”

“You can have as long as you want,” he whispers back and faces the fight again.

His hand doesn’t stop moving as we stand there. Stroking slowly up and down until I’m ready to throw him down on the mats myself. Forget all the fighting stuff. This is way more important. Can you have an orgasm from a hand on your leg? I want to find out. Quietly to myself. He can never know. I’ve gotten away with more dangerous things. I haven’t been able to reach that peak in a while, and I’m tired of crying about it.

If I were like the other girls in the yoga class or the waitresses at the bar, I would be all over him. I’m chewing my lip and trying to keep my breathing quiet, but I ruin it when his fingers brush along the inner seam of my jeans. It causes a heat that attacks me unexpectedly. My breath hitches with a soft sound I can’t hold back. I sound like a needy kitten.

His hand freezes, and I cringe in embarrassment. His hand isn’t even that high up on my leg. I’m so embarrassed. Retreat and run! I’ll never be able to face him again.

My hands release his shirt abruptly, and I lean back cautiously as if moving in slow motion might help the situation. My hand creeps up to my throat, and I feel the pen jab under my chin. Wrong hand.

“Put your arms around my waist,” he says in a soft, commanding tone. For a second, I’m not sure who he’s talking to.

“N-no, I’m so sorry. I’ll just,” I try to ease away from him further. His hand shifts to clamp down on the back of my thigh in a tight grip that makes me suck in a sharp breath. If he doesn’t stop, I’m going to fall over.

“I won't say it again,” his voice is calm, but his tone is the serious don’t you dare ignore me he’s used once before.

I hesitantly slide my arms around his waist as gently as I can, completely confused about my body wanting to give him whatever he wants while my brain is sounding an alarm. I end up with a few inches of space between us as I try to clasp my wrist with the empty hand. I can’t really get it done, so I end up with my hands hovering away from his body.

“Tighter,” his voice is lower as his hand clenches to pull me closer. Without the cover of my arms, my breasts press into his back, and there’s no hiding the effect he has on me, even without the betraying noise that gave me away.

His fingers ride higher until his hand is just beneath my butt, making a choked squeak come out as I shift my thighs. I don’t know if I’m trying to keep his fingers from going farther up or welcoming him. I end up plastering myself to his back as my arms wrap around him, clutching his shirt from the front while my knees get weak.

Am I seriously doing this right now? Molesting a guy in public? The way I’m panting says yes. Plus, I’m now marking up the front of his shirt, too.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” He asks as he watches two guys beat each other up.

I’m so confused.

My body is tense as it tries to ease down because it’s gotten used to the build-up and getting nothing.

“No,” I pout as that familiar frustration mounts up again. I bury my face against his shoulder to hide just in case I start crying.

“No one can see you. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he murmurs. For some reason, it relaxes me. I melt into his back as if I belong there, turning my face to the side.

“Thank you,” I choke out gratefully, quickly followed by, “I’m sorry for molesting you.” The words come out without my permission. That was an inside-my-head sentence, dang it.

“I’m not,” he replies, and it sounds like a fact written in stone. Something that no one could change without a lot of effort and a chisel.

“I don’t even know you,” my shoulders stiffen a little at the thought. “And I have a…”

Max.

I can’t call him my boyfriend. He’s not even mine. He’s Satan’s.

I suck in a sharp breath of pain at the thought and let Asher go, trying to step back.

I can’t do this. One orgasm can’t be worth all the shame I suddenly feel at my actions. This guy must think I’m so easy.

His other hand comes up before I can step back fully and force my thighs forward until I’m bumping into him while my arms drop, trapped between his as they clamp down to keep them at his sides. My hands dangle uselessly as my shoulders hunch to keep us separated as much as I can.

“Tell me,” he tilts his head, watching what’s going on in front of him as if nothing is happening between us.

“I can’t.” How do I explain to a guy I was just trying to dry hump that I have unresolved relationship issues? I’m so messed up.

“You can. We aren’t going anywhere until you do.” He sounds so confident and relaxed.

“There's this guy, and we’re kind of dating? But he has a boyfriend, and everything is so confusing. I’m trying to avoid him, and I don’t know why I’m like this, and I’m so, so sorry.” My voice wobbles at the end as my shoulders tense up even more. “Please let go. I’m a mess. I’m not worth it and-”

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