He hesitates at the waistband of my leggings, though. Pulls back again. The sun has risen far enough that we’re awash in gold. It’s cold as f**k where my neck is exposed to the wind off the water, but beneath the blankets, both of us are burning to bits.
In the elevator, we both acknowledged that this—this—was a bad idea. There’s no point in repeating ourselves now.
He just looks down at me. f**k knows what he sees or why I’m going along with this insanity.
But all I have to do is nod.
Then we both know there’s no going back.
As soon as I do, his hand slides inside of my leggings. My panties are a thin scrap of cotton, and they’re embarrassingly soaked. He rubs his middle finger across my seam and the smallest whimper passes my lips. My hands scrabble for purchase on his shoulders.
A
