Page 75 of Look, Don't Touch

She is the person I think of every hour of every day. She is the person I fantasize about. She is the person I stalk, mildly. She is the person I long to know everything about. She is the person I would do anything for.

She is the person I love.

I love Hailey.

My heart leaps and then dives. She wants to fuck me, face-to-face, to help me. If she knew what I really wanted, she’d be running for the hills.

Fuck me.

“Why would you do that, Hailey?”

She wipes at her eyes.

I release the doorknob and turn fully toward her. “Do you pity me? Is that why?”

“No.” Her precious nose crinkles in disgust.

“Do you miss our time at Crave?”

“No. I mean, yes, but not…not exactly.” She sucks in a frazzled breath. “That’s not why I’m offering.” Her slight fingers grip the fabric of her skirt, and her knuckles go white.

My head tilts, and I hike a brow.

She releases the skirt as if tossing it away. “I care about you.”

“Like you cared about Matt?”

“No. Yes. Not exactly.” She takes another step toward me.

Blood pumps through my body with a ferocity akin to entering the ring.

“You don’t have to worry about me hurting myself. If I were going to do that, I’d have done it when I was younger. I’m committed to this life, whatever it brings. So why don’t you tell me something exact?”

Her chest shakes with a breath, like relief. I hate Matt, just a little, for hurting her. I know he did what he felt he had to, but fuck him.

“I care about you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

A gust of air hisses out of my lungs. With my fucked voice, one of many things my uncle broke inside me, it sounds like the breath of a beast. She shivers. It’s a shiver I’m all too familiar with. It’s nothing like the quake of so many others. It’s not disgust. It’s not fear. It’s arousal.

The need to strip her bare and breathe her in makes my cock heavy in my pants. Not for the first time today.

“What does a sexual surrogate do exactly? What would you do for me?”

“Um.” She swallows.

I take a step closer to her, tickled at her stammering.

“Anything you want.”

The declaration whirls in the air between us. It mixes our apprehension and desire into a devastating storm. It’s desperate for carnage. I need to tell her here and now, who she is to me, what she means to me, but this fucking vortex tugs me in. The possibility of having anything from her overrides my fucking brain.

“If I told you to show me your pussy?—”

Her green eyes flash, stopping me cold. She gathers the material flowing down her legs into her hands. Slowly, an aching inch at a time, her boots are revealed. Brown leather that rides to her knees. Then her stocking-covered thighs. My dick thickens, and my hands fist at my sides to keep me from reaching out. Which has never been a problem. But the pink flesh at the apex of her legs peeks out from the frame of her garter. It calls to me. She beckons me.

“If I told you to get on your knees?—”

She unfastens her skirt, lets it drop to the floor, then follows it down. Her knees go wide, displaying her sex, while her gaze zeros in on the front of my pants.

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