And somehow, the two needs spark a desire inside me that I can’t seem to get rid of. My center throbs, making me aware of how long it’s been since he last touched me.
I lie flat on the bed and slowly slide the hem of my nightgown up my thighs. I palm my center and then drag my fingers over my slit. I’m already wet.
My eyes flutter closed, and I imagine Anton standing above me. Those pale gray eyes running over my body with appreciation. I sink into the fantasy and my skin tingles with the excitement of it.
He was hard when he got into the tub with me the other day. He’s hard around me more often than not.
And still, he never touches me. At least, he doesn’t touch me in a way that will lead to anything. I haven’t initiated out of pure self-preservation. I don’t think I can take another
