Page 138 of Just for the Plot

“Insignificant,” he whispers as his lips caress my ear. “My fingers were fucking drenched, Bower. That doesn’t seem insignificant to me.”

I can feel my stomach quiver, the spot between my legs throb, my skin prickle.

“Um, yeah…I don’t know what to say to that.”

And I don’t, because his proximity is frying my brain.

All rational thoughts have completely gone out the window as I attempt not to throw myself at him.

“Tell me you were lying. That it was significant.”

“No,” I say as his hand finds my hip, and my body begs for his hand to slip down my pants again.

“Why not?” His lips caress my ear, sending body chills down my arms and legs.

“Because if I do”—I take a deep breath—“I fear it will happen again, and it can’t happen again.”

“Mm,” he rumbles in my ear. “And why is that again?”

“You know why,” I say as my hand presses against his chest, attempting to push him away. Instead, my fingers glide over his muscular chest.

“Can’t recall, actually,” he says.

“Bennett?” My palm glides over his pec.

“Yeah, beautiful?” he says, the nickname he’s used four times now, filtering right past the cobwebs and dreariness of my sex life and straight to my freaking soul.

“We shouldn’t—” His lips barely pass over my cheek, not kissing, just a whisper of their presence. “Fuck, we…can’t…”

I’m throbbing.

So fucking bad.

My legs want to spread, my heart is nearly beating out of my chest, and I’m buzzing to strip down to nothing and just rub my body all over him.

Every last inch.

“But you want to?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Sure as fuck does to me,” he whispers, his lips pressing against my lobe before he pulls away so I’m forced to look him in his beautiful blue eyes. His hand lifts and he pinches my chin with his forefinger and thumb. “But that’s not why I came here.”

My breath feels short, but the brief distance allows my brain to function again. “Oh, not to, uh, not to chat about that? Because your text made it seem like that’s what you wanted to chat about, like you told your sister or—”

“Let’s get one thing fucking straight.” His anger rolls in, surprising me. “Whatever the hell goes on between you and me doesn’t apply to my sister. She’s not a part of this. She doesn’t make decisions for either of us. And if I want to read a book and then fuck you with my fingers, then that’s what I’m going to fucking do, and she’s not going to hear a word about it. Understood?”

Oh my God, I think I might have just orgasmed.

The power.

The strength in his words.

The conviction.

The protection.

God, why does he have to be so hot, so attractive, so everything I think my body and my mind want? And why is he off-limits? Although, is he really? I haven’t told him to stop. I haven’t truly ended anything that he’s started, but rather, I’ve indulged.