I could get used to this woman-handling thing.
Me and Jace stand at half court of his giant underground basketball court, the fact that we’re completely alone amplified by the sheer magnitude of space. And we’re…flirting. There’s no other word for it. He tickles me and I giggle. I run my hands up beneath his loose gray T-shirt and he hisses a curse. He whispers secrets in my ear about nonsense, just for an excuse to slide his hand up the back of my skirt and I retaliate by taking a hard nibble of his neck.
My nude thong is soaked, stuck to my skin.
Honestly, I can’t remember a single other time I’ve flirted with a man without doing it ironically or being sarcastic the whole time. This is pure, unadulterated enjoyment for both of us. It’s foreplay. At least, I assume so, since I’ve never
