Page 116 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Her touch is light—a brush at first. I can’t tell if she’s flicking, gathering, or plucking the ants from my delicate skin. But each touch sends warmth through my body, so much better than the biting.
I don’t know how long I stand here in silence, slowly coming down from a fear I’ve never felt in my life. The pain is still there. The pain is paralyzing. But when my breathing is steady and my heart slowing, I manage to find my voice.
“Are they off yet?” My tone strains.
“Almost done.” Her voice is surprisingly soft and reassuring.
Eyes still closed, my head leaning back against the bus, focusing on anything but how soft her touch is.
“I think you’re good,” she says.
Her last touch is light, sending a shudder through me. The pain subsides slightly, but the heat of the situation lingers in the air.
I open my eyes for the first time in what feels like an eternity. Sweat covers my body, and my breaths are deep.
She steps back, and I try to steady myself, but it’s hard. Every inch of my body feels raw, and she’s made sure to be so damn careful. I’m not sure whether to feel grateful or self-conscious.
But mostly, I’m just relieved.
My gaze drops involuntarily, and then my brain catches up to what I’m seeing—fuck.
I’m hard.
My cock is raging hard in front of her.
I mentally curse every nerve in my body.
She stepped in and handled the ants, when I’m sure she didn’t want to, and I rewarded her with a full-on erection.
“It’s my fucking nervous system.”
Was it?
Or was it her?
I’m too out of it to decide.
Something in her expression changes, flushing away the kindness of helping me, and in its place is that ice-cold wall she’s built.
What did I say?
“Your nervous system is doing a hell of a job right now.” She glances to where my hand is doing a shoddy job of covering my dick.
Would she rather I admit to being some pervert who got off from her helping me? It’s cringe all the way around.
“Or maybe mini Hart hasn’t been touched in a while.”
“It’s been fucking touched.”
“By any hand other than your own?”
“For fuck sakes.” I step out of my pants, leaving them on the side of the road, and storm away.
If you can call my hobble storming. And I don’t care that my bare ass is giving a show.
“Don’t forget to rinse your private areas really well,” she calls after me.
The bus door slams behind me, and I shove past the stacks of promotional boxes.
