Page 129 of Just for the Plot

“Perfect,” he says as he holds his book with one hand and then rests his other hand on my stomach.

His palm spans from my waistband to the underside of my breasts, almost short-circuiting my brain from his warm touch. And here I thought the dry-humping filled a hole inside of me. Nope, he just busted it wide open, as I can feel my skin twitch with excitement.

It’s just a hand, Bower. A hand on your stomach. Get a grip.

Taking a deep breath, I focus my attention on the words in front of me, and start reading, allowing myself to get lost in the story.

My mind gets so lost in the story that I forget about everything around me.

The cupcakes.

The dry-humping.

The man whose fingers are slowly sliding across my waistband…

My eyes pause on a sentence, my breath hitching into my chest as his fingers slide across a small patch of exposed skin. Why the hell does that feel so damn good?

I glance up at him, as much as my eyes will allow, only to find that he’s not paying any attention to me but is enamored in his book. As if the slide of his fingers is just an absentminded gesture rather than one with purpose.

Therefore, I shouldn’t think much of it.

Right?

With that settled, I go back to my book, to a scene where the hero andheroine are in a sauna together. They’re fake dating and he’s ten years older than her. He’s trying to keep his hands off her, but she’s making that exceedingly difficult when she starts stripping in the sauna.

His eyes are focused on her tits.

His mouth’s watering from the thought of sucking on them.

His cock’s hardening as she approaches, closer and closer and…

Bennett’s finger glides just under the waistband of my shorts, making me still, my pulse skyrocketing from a comfortable rhythm to an all-out erratic throb.

The swipe…minuscule. The impact…enormous.

Others might not have even noticed, but not me. It was as if he burned me with one gentle stroke.

I can still feel it, the tip of his finger has found itself past the waistband of my loose shorts. Static, resting, but it’s there. I’m not dreaming this, I’m not—

Swipe.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

My clit immediately starts throbbing, my nipples harden, and suddenly I’m sweating everywhere. This should not be happening. I should stop him. I should flee and move to the other side of the couch. I should put an end to this madness, and yet, I wait on bated breath for the next swipe, the next…something, anything, but as the seconds tick by and he does absolutely nothing, I resign myself to the fact that maybe it was just a spasm of his finger, or perhaps that’s just as far as he’d go, which is probably for the best.

Wait, I know it’s for the best.

I turn back to my book and reread what I’ve already read because I need to get back into the scene.

She’s naked.

Her tits.