Page 58 of Pulse
I fold my hands on my chest, refusing to let them go anywhere near my cock. I grit my teeth and watch her hand move against her clit just inches from me.
It’s torture—complete, absolute fucking torture.
Dahlia hisses, sliding a hand up her shirt. The material lifts and sits on her chest, exposing her tight nipple and round, heavy breast. She palms herself, rolling her nipple between two manicured fingers.
I blow out a breath slowly, trying desperately not to touch her. But fucking hell, it’s hard—in every way.
“Troy,” she whispers on a moan, her legs falling farther apart.
My teeth grind together, my eyes glued to her mouth.
I can’t do this. Should I do this? Do I need to get up?
Will it wake her if I do?
I don’t want to embarrass her—and there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’d pay for this experience.
I lift my head off the pillow, planning on slipping out of the room and jacking off in the shower. But as I move, she moves. And as she moves, the blankets move. And as the cool air touches her damp flesh, her eyes open … and gaze straight into mine.
Her pupils widen as she realizes what’s happening. Panic begins to set in.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“What was … what’s happening?” She looks down, watching as her hand slips from between her legs. “Oh my God.”
She grabs the edge of the blanket and pulls it over her body.
My brain is a cacophony of thoughts. The one side reminds me this is inappropriate and probably against work protocol in several ways. The other voice points out that we’re already here, it’s going to be even more awkward if I just get up … and that we both want to fuck.
There are a million reasons that’s a bad idea, but as she looks at me—begging me to fix this situation, I can’t remember one of them.
I pull the blanket off myself, showing her my dick stretching against the fabric of my sweatpants.
“Oh,” she says, her lips parting.
I gulp, waiting for her to fully awaken. If this goes anywhere, I need to know she made the choice coherently.
I need to know she wanted it … that she wants me.
“I didn’t touch you,” I say softly. “I wouldn’t do that.”
She licks her lips. “I know you didn’t.”
“How?”
She brings her eyes to mine. “I didn’t come.”
Her words ignite a firestorm inside me, and I suddenly don’t give a damn about whatever reasons I had not to touch her.
I want her.
I need her.
I have to have her …now.
“Do you want to come?” I ask, my heart striking my ribs with every beat.
“Are you offering to help?” She pulls the blankets off so hard they fall off the side of the bed. “Or do you wanna watch?”
