Page 46 of Coach

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To that, he shot me a raised-brow look that had heat flooding my system at just howintimatelyhe did, in fact, know me.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know plenty. And even if I didn’t, I know Trix deserves a good home, even if you aren’t able to take care of her anymore.”

That was fair.

And I felt like I knew Saul well enough to know he was the kind of man who was impeccable with his word.

“Okay. Thank you. That makes me feel a little better.”

Even after knowing he’d comforted me, though, that damn hand just stayed right there on my thigh. It was a few inches too high to be considered friendly. And the hold was just firm enough to feel possessive.

It wasn’t long before my hyper-fixation on noticing it was sending little shockwaves of need through my body until I felt it throbbing between my thighs—acute enough to have me shifting in my seat every so often.

I tried to focus on the music on the radio.

I tried to ground myself with things I could hear, feel, smell, and see.

But I was so surrounded by Saul that the little mindfulness exercise only made me even more turned on.

When shifting wasn’t enough, I found myself pressing my thighs together so hard that the muscles started to fatigue and shake.

“This is a weird direction,” I said when he turned off the main road and headed toward a more desolate area.

“This isn’t the way to the shelter,” he told me, turning off the side street and into a long, abandoned parking lot.

This was when, normally, my alarm bells would be ringing, when I would be thinking it was time to hop out of the truck and run for my life.

All I felt with Saul, though, was a gentle kind of curiosity.

“What is this?”

“Campgrounds, technically. But no one comes here. The water feature that used to be a big attraction dried up years back.”

“What are we doing here?” I asked, glancing around, not seeing a single soul save for a twitchy little squirrel digging around under a tree.

“We seem to have a problem.”

“Problem? Like with the car?” I asked.

“No, honey, not with the car.”

Before I could ask what he meant, though, his hand released my thigh to press between my legs. A surprised, whimpering gasp escaped me.

“You’ve been rocking around in your seat for the past twenty miles,” he said, his fingers pushing more firmly against me, eliciting a deeper moan. “I had a sneaking suspicion this may have been the reason why.”

“You… had your hand on my thigh,” I said through panting breaths as I tried to hold myself back from humping his damn hand; I was so desperate for more.

“And you couldn’t stop thinking about it sliding up,” he said, leaning closer. His other hand moved around me, trapping me. Like I had any intention of running away. “Of slipping under your pants and panties,” he went on, his hand gliding under my waistbands and down. “Of teasing down.”

His voice was a low rumble that I felt in my stomach, felt humming through my veins.

“Of seeing if you’re aching for me.”

“I am,” I sighed, too needy to care how desperate I sounded.

“Are you?” he asked, his dark eyes burning into mine.