Page 38 of Raw

“Remember all those summers we spent here?”

I nodded.

Those were my favorite memories but never had he made me feel the way I felt at that moment.

As if I was suffocating but in the best way possible.

“I remember,” I croaked out, feeling his fingertips trace my breast, coming far too close to the hardening nub peeking through the fabric of my shirt.

My breath hitched with every inch his fingers moved, and when I felt a lightning stroke from my chest down to my legs, I looked back up to see him watch me closely.

“Do you also remember that one night we played truth or dare?” he asked with a small smirk appearing on his lips.

“We played many games, Fen.”

“True. But there was this one particular night we played it. Up here.”

His hand moved to my throat, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing gently.

I did remember most of what we did, but he was talking about something else.

We weren’t thinking about the same night, and the more I thought about it, I wasn’t sure what he remembered actually happened.

“What did we do that night?” I asked, placing my right hand on his wrist to keep him from tightening his grip.

“You really don’t remember, huh?”

“No. Tell me.”

“I could show you instead,” he suggested, making me swallow the lump that had formed in my throat.

I felt his knife in his back pocket pressing against my hip, and its sharp blade could easily cut through both our pants if he made one move.

The tip of it was poking me, but not enough to make it hurt.

“I want you to tell me first,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on him to hopefully notice when he was going to make his next move.

His hand was still on my throat, and his other slowly moved from my waist to my breasts.

He cupped one of them, squeezing gently as my body tensed.

“Does this feel familiar?” he asked, but I quickly shook my head.

No one had ever touched me like this.

His brows furrowed, but he continued to massage my breast while he squeezed his fingers tighter around my neck.

“Fen,” I whispered, unsure if I wanted to stop him or tell him to keep going.

“You don’t remember,” he murmured, not expecting an answer from me.

My breathing was calm, just like his, but something told me that he was feeling things I wasn’t.

Shivers moved down my spine as his hand moved from one breast to the other, and when he pulled his hand away from my throat, he pushed it underneath my shirt to touch my skin.

“What are you doing?” I asked, still not feeling the need to stop him.

I was too scared to upset him, and although I knew this was wrong, I couldn’t move.

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