“Yes,” he said, low and unbothered, his fingers still gripping my ass like it was his favorite thing in the world. “And you liked it.”
I couldn’t even deny it.
I couldn’t say anything, because the truth was I was wet. Soaking. Throbbing. My thighs were squeezing together and my stomach was fluttering and my brain was doing that thing where all it could think about was his voice and his hands and his d**k and how badly I wanted to feel him inside me again, even if I was already losing my mind.
I tried to say something. I really did. I opened my mouth to speak, to explain, to go back to the panic and the test and the hormones and all the serious, terrifying things I’d come here to talk about.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Not with his hands on me.
Not with my body betraying me like this
