Page 67 of Look, Don't Touch

“I stand by my analogy.”

“Looks like you lie by it to me.” His mouth descends on my cunt, laying waste to everything I thought I knew about what I liked.

“In a puddle,” I agree. A destroyed puddle.

He slips a finger inside me, spreads my lips wide, and laps at my clit. My fingers itch to grab his hair and pull him closer.

Who the fuck am I?

I don’t touch when I’m fucking. I certainly don’t grab.

Still, they yearn for the feel of his hair. Then I remember his words. You seeking pleasure could never scare me.

I’m so close to coming, but I don’t want to yet. I release the car and slip my fingers into his hair.

One second, he’s there, between my legs.

The next, he’s sprawled on his ass with his back against the fancy car next to us. His eyes are wide and wild. His hands are fists.

My hand covers my gasp. I sit up with a jerk, but I hold myself back. I still. My heart wedges itself in my throat, muffling my words along with my hand. “I am so sorry.”

A breath shudders through him, shaking his big frame. He blinks several times, then his gaze finds me. He blinks again and looks around as though just realizing where he is. Not on the floor, but in the garage, not being attacked. At least, not by anything other than a memory.

Oftentimes, those are much harder to defend against.

“I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m sorry.”

“No.” He holds a hand up.

I scoot back farther onto the seat to give him room. I’m soaked, and my cunt clenches at the errant contact. I ignore it as best I can and think about my next move.

“I can grab a cab,” I whisper. “It’s fine. I overstepped.”

“No.” His other hand comes up.

My heart skitters. I want to maim the person who hurt this beautiful man. And I’ve never wanted to harm anyone.

He pushes onto his knees and holds his outstretched hands palm up to me. “Please.” He nods to his hands, and I stare at them for several seconds before lowering my shaking hands from my lips and hovering them over his.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He raises his hands a little more.

I press my palms to his, and he holds mine close.

“Please, don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.” He turns my hands over in his and lifts them to the sides of his face, so my fingertips splay into the silk of his hair and my palms cup his severe cheeks.

Tears make him blurry. “Neither did you.”

A heavy breath trembles his stout shoulders. He pushes in closer. I shift to accommodate him. He rests his forehead against my dragon. Against my fucking heart. Suddenly, I’m the one quaking.

This man burrowed himself inside me without even trying, without me even noticing.

I slowly slip my left hand toward the back of his head. He nuzzles his temple between my breasts. I hold him to me. I breathe him in. I marvel at the closeness and at how well and truly fucked I am.

“Where did you go?”

“From heaven to hell,” I answer honestly. We’re sitting in my Victor still in the dark garage. The dreary day peeks in from behind. She’s canceled her next appointment, and I feel like shit. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

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