Page 53 of Tapped

Every muscle in his body is taut around mine. I drink in his groan when he pulls me to him—my hip pressed to his cock, so thick and long and hard through our clothes.

I thread my fingers into his messy, overgrown hair to hold him to me. I thought I was obsessed with him because I was mentally drained and starved for physical attention.

But no.

That isn’t it.

This is all Micah.

I’m shocked when his hold on me tightens further, but this time, it’s to push me away.

I open my eyes and look at him in shock. His lips are swollen, and he’s breathing hard. I can’t imagine what I look like.

“What’s wrong?” I breathe.

Desperate.

I definitely look desperate.

But I just don’t care.

“This is … fuck.” He drags a hand down his face. “This is wrong. You’re all kinds of emotional. And you’re all kinds of married.”

“To a man who’s in jail,” I argue. “Are you serious? Biggest moron on earth, remember? Those were your words. And a divorce is underway.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a part of my case, Evie. A big fucking part. I’m good at what I do, and there are rules and boundaries for a reason. There are agents who break rules every day, but I’m not one of them.”

Shit. That feels like a slap in the face.

“I’m not a part of your case,” I whisper. “My husband is. I’ve done nothing wrong but marry the wrong man.”

Despite his words, when I try to pull away from him, his hands grip my hips to hold me in place. “Don’t do that.”

My brows shoot up. “You’re the one who just said this is a mistake. Let me go, Micah. You can leave. I’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere after that kiss.”

“You just said it was a mistake.”

He pulls me into his cock one more time. It’s as hard as ever when he bites, “I didn’t say it was a mistake. I said it was wrong, and I don’t cross boundaries. At least I haven’t been willing to in the past. What I said is you’ve had a shit week, and I do not take advantage of women in any state.”

“I’m not drunk or high, Micah. I’m having a bad week, but I am of sound mind. Don’t treat me like some delicate flower.”

He says nothing and simply stares at me. He also doesn’t let go of me.

I poke his pec with my index finger for the sheer purpose of touching him. “What?”

He shakes his head before it falls to the back of the sofa and stares at my ceiling. When I move to climb off his lap, his face snaps back and he looks like his head might explode. “Can we just sit here and watch TV?”

“TV,” I repeat.

“I just—”

“You’re not into me,” I whisper, mortified as the realization hits me. “You really are just being nice. Holy shit.”

“Nice?” he spits, and this time doesn’t hold me away from him. He pulls me into his cock tighter and lifts his hips a touch to emphasize his point. “Does this feel like I’m just being nice?”

I put a hand to his chest to keep some safe space between us. The man is confusing. But then again, I haven’t had any interaction with anyone like this other than Jeff for years. “Men can get hard over very little, so I’m not giving myself that much credit. Seriously, don’t try to make me feel better. You can go. But leave the donuts. I’m going to need them now more than ever.”

---